Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One What were they trying to achieve when, not long ago at school, the homeroom teacher investigated everyone's fathers' occupations? Starting from the class representative, they answered in seat order with occupations like "Ministry of Finance engineer" or "Shirokiya department store clerk," and as my turn approached, I grew quite perplexed—my father had no occupation. His constant "I'll do something eventually" was all talk—even as he remained without a stable occupation while being the parent of five children with me as the eldest son. Given that the saying goes "At forty, one has no doubts," he seemed to have truly taken it to heart, having long since resolved himself to remain unemployed with steadfast resolve. I had recently learned during reading time that living without doing anything is called idleness, but when I found myself unable to answer "idleness as an occupation," the guy in front of me suddenly stood up,

“Unemployed!”

he answered energetically. Oh? When I realized there was someone else in the same situation, I suddenly felt heartened. However, the teacher,

“Unemployed!” “To be honest, I’m troubled by this ‘unemployed’ designation—genuinely unemployed individuals are exceedingly rare.” “Surely he must be engaged in some occupation?”

the teacher pressed Morishita further. “He isn’t doing anything.”

“Then does that mean he’s a wealthy man who simply idles about?” “No, he is not a wealthy man.” Morishita denied. “Then how does he make a living?” the teacher probed. It was a harsh world those days. A first-year middle schooler had to answer questions about making a living. “He receives rent.”

“Then isn’t he a landlord? Do you own many rental properties?” “There seem to be quite a few.” “And those are on your own land, I presume?” “Yes.” “He also receives land rent.” After such an exchange of questions and answers, Morishita’s father was officially deemed a landlord. And then it was my turn next. “He’s unemployed.” After answering, I thought this probably wouldn’t be resolved so simply either, so I remained standing. True to form, the teacher refused to accept “vagrant” as sufficient. After verifying whether we owned rental properties or land, he went so far as to imply suspicions of usury by asking things like, “Does anyone come to your house to request items?”

“This complete unemployment poses quite a dilemma.” “Then what does your father principally do to pass his days?” the teacher inquired.

“He mostly reads books.” And I answered truthfully.

“What sort of books might those be?” “Well, mainly books on literature.” “In that case, let’s put him down as a literary scholar.” “We can’t have someone being fully unemployed.” The teacher—perhaps influenced by his own wife being a career woman—did not consider the unemployed to be respectable citizens.

The survey kept moving forward relentlessly. In the end, among the forty-some guardians, my father stood alone as the only one who truly made idleness his profession. Everyone else had some means of earning their livelihood. Beside my own entry sat a Navy Vice Admiral. Five or six places beyond that appeared the branch manager of Mitsui Bank. They only bother teaching in moral education that "all occupations are equal" precisely because society clings stubbornly to ingrained hierarchies that resist all attempts at change. You only post "No Trespassing" signs where shortcuts exist. Even among these forty-odd students declaring their parents' occupations, some brimmed with pride while others wilted with shame. What baffled me most was how salaried workers—those propertyless office clerks and company men from the uneducated classes—strutted about with such inflated self-importance, while merchant families running independent businesses somehow felt compelled to grovel. The most pitiful case was Tsuchiya-kun at the very bottom of the list—this student had begun by,

“Army contractor!” Having said that, he immediately— “We are contractors for the Army Garrison Hospital.” Tsuchiya-kun corrected himself. “An official contractor? That would fall under commerce, correct?” “That would fall under commerce, correct?” The teacher pressed for confirmation and tried to jot it down. At this point, Tsuchiya-kun could have simply said “Yes” and been done with it, but “No, it’s not commerce.” “We prepare items and supply them to the Army Garrison Hospital.” Tsuchiya-kun added an explanation.

“Then that would be manufacturing, correct?”

Because the teacher was already at the end of the session and wanted to wrap things up quickly, he picked up his fountain pen again. However, Tsuchiya-kun remained unsatisfied even with manufacturing, “No, that’s not quite it.” “No, it’s still as an official contractor for the Army Garrison Hospital.” and he kept striving to connect his family business to government authorities. “If you supply to the hospital… Ah, I see.” “An apothecary, then?” “No, it’s not an apothecary.” “No, it’s something quite the opposite.” “The opposite?” “What in the world is it?”

“We prepare them and supply them to the hospital... They’re coffins.” “Ah, I see. “That’s enough now. Quite enough.” “That’s quite enough.” The teacher oddly panicked and made Tsuchiya-kun sit down. Everyone snickered. I found Tsuchiya-kun’s efforts quite amusing. Funeral supply stores are as indispensable as rice shops. No—even those who eat bread and don’t patronize rice shops will inevitably require a funeral home’s services sooner or later, so one might say it’s an even more legitimate occupation than rice dealing. Tsuchiya-kun himself fully understood this logic, but given the inauspicious nature of his trade, it wasn’t the sort of legitimate business one should proactively advertise. If he were to declare something like “We’re a funeral home,” there’d be a risk of being shunned. That’s why Tsuchiya-kun, unable to state it outright, had invoked his family’s dealings with the army—a relationship he normally maintained—to add a veneer of respectability. The only awkwardness fell upon the Army Garrison Hospital itself, where this explanation made it seem patients were dropping dead daily. But given how indiscriminately people invoke official connections—a common Japanese tendency—it would be unfair to blame Tsuchiya-kun alone, whatever the military doctors might have thought about it.

Now, setting aside digressions regarding Father’s unemployment, I felt even more self-conscious about his idleness than Tsuchiya-kun did about his family’s funeral supply business. Without any proper business, there was no way to present oneself to the army or the navy. If labor is sacred, then idleness must be deemed profane. It would be nice if he would do something, but it’s truly troubling. Mother also seemed to share my view on this point, “Since Mr.Miwa has been urging you so strongly to accept it, how about taking up a position at that school?” “Ken’ichi will soon be an adult too, so I think it’s hardly appropriate for him to see his parent lazing around every day.”

She had just recently been urging him quite forcefully, but Father, in his usual manner, “I’ll do something eventually—I’ll definitely do it! Now now, don’t rush me like that—it’s not like we’re starving or anything.”

He had merely offered empty reassurances, and it seemed things had remained unchanged as a result. When it came to wanting Father to get a steady job, Mother was more urgent about it than I was. Especially since the beginning of this year, Mother's urging became more frequent. She seemed to be constantly on the lookout for opportunities. I frequently overheard exchanges like the following. “Aren’t you already forty?” “I know that already.”

“If you understand that, then I’d like you to actually do something about it.” “I’m telling you I’ll do it eventually, aren’t I?”

“Your ‘eventually’ has now continued for fifteen years, which is quite astonishing.” “Don’t be so reluctant—anything will do, so…” “Wouldn’t even a school or newspaper do?” “And if you wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t even a company do?” “Since you’ve memorized my pleas well enough to recite them back, please start giving this some serious thought.” “While anything would do, it would be most splendid if you could assist my family back home as I mentioned before.”

“What do I know about business? First of all, I can’t use an abacus at all. What on earth does that Onigawara fellow want to make me do?” “I’m sure he won’t make you do anything. He said that since you have such a large build, it would be perfectly fine if you just sat in the shop with a stern face. Whether sitting at the desk in your study at home or sitting in the manager’s chair at the shop—isn’t it all the same thing?” “Because it’s the same thing, I’m staying home. Don’t rush me so much. I’ll do something eventually.”

“If you continue without any occupation, I’ll feel self-conscious even when returning home.” “At Akiko’s place they’re even on the verge of buying a car.” “At Yoshie’s place there’s now a doctor.” “I can’t rest easy even if I stay silent.” “And Father never notices this at all—whenever he sees my face he always asks,‘Is old Guutarahee still lazing about as usual?’”

When Father talked to Mother, he would refer to her father as Onigawara this and Onigawara that. In return, Grandfather apparently called my father Guutarahee. Even while exchanging these teasing nicknames, Father and Grandfather understood each other well. In fact, Mother had counted on her fingers—twice or maybe three times—how Father had been mentioned as the most conversational son-in-law among all husbands. Be that as it may, there were times when Onigawara sent over an errand boy because he had Go guests, and times when Guutarahee had me go as a messenger under the pretext of haiku gatherings. In Go, the father-in-law was the teacher, while in haiku, the son-in-law appeared to be the master. All in all, they maintained a perfectly satisfactory father-in-law and son-in-law relationship.

By way of preface, it should be explained that Aunt Akiko of the automobile and Aunt Yoshie the doctor were Mother’s sisters. Mother, who cared deeply for her sisters, took joy in seeing their respective spouses prosper and succeed, yet at the same time—as siblings mark the beginning of strangers, fostering a natural competitive spirit—she grew exasperated by Father’s indecisiveness. Nevertheless, Father remained utterly unperturbed, fully embracing his role as Guutarahee. Another thing that troubled Mother due to Father's unemployment was that the stream of visitors hardly ever ceased. Because the protagonist was an idle man craving companionship, friends came flocking in an endless stream. And since they were all kindred spirits who shared a deep bond with Guutarahee, everyone carried a touch of his idle temperament, so when their discussions grew lively, they would forget about the sun setting and the night deepening. Among them were those who,

“Coming to your place is killing two birds with one stone.” “You’re bound to meet someone from our group here, so you never end up neglecting your friends.” “It’s really convenient!” and, “How about this—why don’t we consider meeting here at New Year’s as our greeting and do away with all the troublesome formalities?” And then there were those who treated the house’s guest room as their club. People really did come often. Last year, when the neighborhood was burgled almost every night and even the houses on both sides suffered, the reason my house alone was spared might have been that the burglars thought it suspicious due to the constant comings and goings of people. Father was unfazed by this state of affairs, but Mother was unbearably busy. Moreover, with so many children, the maids and old women were overwhelmed and frequently voiced complaints. In other households, the husband at least went out to work during the day, so the housewife could catch her breath during that time. Generally, wives did not work so hard even when their husbands were not watching. She timed it for when the master returned home and tied on her work sash. Even in my house, on the rare occasions when Father was absent, Mother would pay no mind even if the children cried and read a magazine. This was by no means laziness or hypocrisy. It was a wife’s rightful due. The husband worked outside from morning until evening, and the wife worked inside from when the husband returned until bedtime at night. While the husband worked, the wife rested; while the wife worked, the husband rested. Thus, while the time both men and women claimed to work roughly aligned with the official standard of eight hours, at home—since Father remained present throughout the day—Mother had to submit to sixteen hours of labor.

Given these circumstances, I had been wanting Father to start something soon when the teacher said, "Being completely unemployed is problematic," so the impact struck me profoundly. To be fair, the teacher had said that having no occupation would interfere with his survey, so it wasn’t as though he meant it was socially problematic for a person. Even so, I found myself preoccupied with Father’s occupation problem throughout the entire day, and as I left through the school gate, I thought I might take this opportunity to admonish him myself. When I turned from the tram tracks toward home,

“Is your father a literary man?”

Morishita-kun, who was walking with me, suddenly asked. “No, he’s a literary scholar.” I answered. “Is there a difference between a literary man and a literary scholar?”

Morishita-kun looked puzzled. "That’s not right," I said. "Anyone who can appreciate literature is a literary scholar, whether they write or not. And those who make their living by writing are all literary men, regardless of whether they can actually appreciate literature." I was just parroting Father’s argument. Truthfully, I’d wanted to say he was a literary man, but Guutarahee only ever spun elaborate theories without writing a single thing—there was no helping it. "So your father’s in that non-writing category then?"

“That’s right.”

“In that case, it would’ve been better if we’d called my family literary scholars too.” “My old man’s always reading pulp fiction.” Morishita-kun lamented.

When he arrived home, as usual, there was a guest. Normally, he was completely indifferent to whoever came, but today, anything related to his father caught his attention. I remained seated at my desk and found myself eavesdropping on the conversation in the parlor before I knew it. The guest was Mr.Miwa. If Mr.Miwa had come again to urge him to take up a position at a school—a heaven-sent opportunity—I thought I would do my humble best to assist, "I really must do something soon. If I keep thinking 'someday soon,' I'll end up getting old before I know it."

Father said. He spoke as though realizing for the first time that time’s passage brings added years. Still, it wasn’t necessarily a bad tendency. “Did something prompt this realization?” Mr.Miwa asked. “It’s not that I’ve been particularly inspired—it’s just that these past four or five days saw you declared ‘no longer a youth’ twice by unexpected people, which has made me start panicking somewhat.”

Father answered. “Even though I have five children, if I keep pretending to be a young man, Mother will lose her mind.” Mr.Miwa looked slightly startled, “Hmm, did you actually think you were still young?”

He laughed. “Of course I don’t consider myself a youth, but when I saw a description in someone’s novel about an age that could no longer properly be called ‘Young Man,’ I thought it matched my own age exactly.” “In the West, thirty-five or six—no, even up to seventy-eight—they’re still considered youths, you know.” “But the other day when I went to have shoes made and said, ‘Shall I try lace-ups this time?’ that damned clerk replied, ‘Deep rubber soles would be most suitable for you.’” “‘All esteemed elderly gentlemen prefer deep rubber soles,’ he said.” “And his tone was so natural that it clearly wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment judgment.” “I was rather taken aback.”

“You’ve been soundly put in your place.” “You’ve been considering yourself far too young, that’s why.” “And then you ended up postponing the order, right?” “No—without a second thought, I settled on deep rubber soles and came scurrying back with my tail between my legs.” “But then the very next day,” “Since Mother said her glasses prescription wasn’t working anymore, picture me stopping by an optician on my way out.” “When I requested, ‘I’d like these replaced with lenses one or two degrees stronger,’ the clerk examined the lenses, fitted a trial frame with reading glasses, and came back with ‘How about this strength? Please try them on for a moment.’” “I was convinced they were my glasses.” “That happened with the shoe shop just the other day, you see.” “I’ve really given up on being a youth now.”

“Of course,” "But it’s good your uncertainty has lifted." “When you see someone daily, you don’t notice, but any pure third party would see you’ve now reached a fitting age." “So I’ll urge you once more...” “School’s out of the question for me. Time-bound work doesn’t suit my sort." "It’d only trouble you as my recommender." “But now that it’s settled I’m no youth anymore, I can’t keep on like this." “I’ll really do it now.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure what exactly, but I’ll do it anyway.”

“So finally，Father-in-law complained，huh？”

“No—as they say,‘A child can’t outdo their parent,’and Father-in-law never urges me to get a job.If you were to carelessly start a business,”he says,“our meager assets would vanish in an instant”—so he’s actually expressing support for maintaining the status quo.“But I’ll do it.”“I’ll definitely do it.” Father kept saying he’d do it，do it—though what exactly he’d do still seemed unclear．Until recently，he had always prefixed the verb“do”with the future adverb“soon，”but today he had omitted it．It was unclear exactly why，but he seemed ready to act very soon．Father seemed to have been spurred into action thanks to the clerks at the shoe shop and optician．At the very least，he had left behind the word“soon”at either the shoe shop or the optician．

“By the way, you were in Kumamoto—it’s still a place where cultural refinement hasn’t progressed much, hasn’t it?”

After a short while, Father steered the conversation in a completely different direction.

“Why?” Mr.Miwa was immediately drawn in. “There’s no water supply.” “There’s no streetcar.” “Wouldn’t you say it’s less a city and more like a place where houses are clustered in great numbers amidst a forest?” Father said this as though he had seen it all himself. “You know a lot about it.” Mr.Miwa’s tone conveyed unexpected surprise. “What are you doing living in Japan without knowing anything about it? “Do you know the story that Gorō of Yokote is the reincarnation of Kiyama Danjō?”

“Gorō of Yokote?” “I know.” “But you’re oddly knowledgeable about Kumamoto!” “That’s not how to sum it up.” “‘I did get married, battens.” “‘Cause of Gonzaemon-don’s pockmarked face, they still haven’t offered me a cup yet.” “‘With no village officials, constables, or headman-don around, what’s left but to go “kyah!” and raise a ruckus?’ How’s that?”

“You know some pretty impressive stuff.” “Where did you learn that?”

“Impressed, aren’t you? There’s still plenty more, but expounding every bit of my knowledge would be endless, so I’ll stop here for now.” “You probably admit you’ve run out of material around this point, but I must say I’m a bit impressed. Since I came here as a child, I only half-remember songs like ‘Otemoyan’ now.” “Who did you hear it from?” “Actually, I had to look into it recently out of necessity.”

“If it’s about Kumamoto, my father knows all about it—I can ask him anything you need.” “But what are you going to do?”

“I’m getting ready to write.” “I’m not particularly focusing on Kumamoto.” “That was just me seizing the coincidence of you being from Kumamoto to present a fragment of my research and startle you, that’s all.” “I’ve long wanted to write something like the Pickwick Papers, but for that, holing up in my study all the time won’t do.” “Because I don’t understand society in the slightest.” “So for one thing, to gain broad insight into human customs and manners, I plan to soon embark on a nationwide tour as a lone wanderer.” “What I've been going on and on about doing since earlier is this trip.”

Father had described what was essentially mere sightseeing as if it were some grand Arctic expedition. Even so, Mr.Miwa, “Hmm, quite the ambitious plan.” and expressed admiration as if a decade’s worth of astonishment had welled up within him, “That’s a good idea. It’s sure to produce something fascinating. Brilliant—invoking Pickwick like that! Your setup is a veritable Pickwick Club. If you like, I could accompany you and serve as your Mr.Tupman or Mr.Winkle.” “Having a travel companion would be ideal. To tell the truth, going solo feels a bit daunting. But you don’t have the time, do you?”

“If it’s during vacation, I can make arrangements however needed.” “Besides, with this neurasthenia business—the doctor’s been urging me to recuperate—so a trip would be just the thing.”

“In that case，I’ll wait for your spring break.” And so，a promise to go on a trip together was swiftly made between Father and Mr.Miwa. Father must have been planning this for quite some time，as he brought out a notebook containing the travel itinerary. Just as the two were still deep in conversation，Mr.Dan lumbered into view.

“Mr.Dan, something extraordinary has happened! Mr.Muraoka has finally resolved to act! He’s going to write *the Pickwick Papers*!”

And Mr.Miwa promptly proclaimed.

“Pickwick Papers?” “What’s that?” “What’s this ‘Pickwick’?” And Mr.Dan was not a literary scholar but an architectural engineer. “Don’t you know Dickens?” Mr.Miwa, the English literature specialist, said in exasperation. “Dickens?” “I don’t know him.” “Such architectural scholars don’t exist in Britain or America, at the very least.” Mr.Dan had no regard for novelists.

“Ah yes, it was you, Mr. Dan, who mistook *Ivanhoe* for a bicycle.”

Mr.Miwa dropped the matter of Dickens and explained the purpose of father’s trip in plain terms. However, the engineer,

“In that case, isn’t this essentially just a sightseeing trip? Neither *Pickwick* nor *Dickens*. You lot always exaggerate everything—it’s ridiculous!” He had just disparaged them yet showed no surprise whatsoever. “You’re as charmless as ever.” Father laughed. “There’s no point scattering charm among you ruffians. But are you truly going on this trip?” Mr.Dan asked.

“Authenticity. Since Mr.Miwa is going too, won’t you come along?” “Well, I’ll have to beg off.” “Why? Are you busy?”

“No, business has been completely slack since the recession.” “If we push through, we’ll only incur losses—so we’re exercising restraint in all matters, though that’s how it stands.” “In that case, isn’t this just perfect?” “Let’s go.” “We’ll stop by your hometown too.” “You’re from the Nagoya area, right?” “Nagoya.” “Right in the city proper.” “So it’s ‘three blocks from Sasashima Station,’ eh?” “‘Skip one house, skip two houses—third one down,’ right?” “‘When y’come to Nagoya, drop on by,’ how about that?”

When Father said with a singsong delivery, “Oh, you sure know some strange things!”

“If we go? If we stay? What’ll you say?” “You won’t get an inch of progress dawdling like this!” “Let’s go.”

“I’m rather surprised. Where did you pick that up?” “You—this sort of thing is child’s play. Unlike architects, we’re the type who know famous sights without ever leaving home. I’ll show you all sorts of peculiar places, so just keep quiet and follow along, will you?” Father declared boldly.

“Well, I do value my life too, you know.” Mr. Dan wouldn’t take the bait. “We’re not going to Africa or anything—what possible danger could there be?” “No—if it were Africa, we’d hire a guide, but precisely because it’s Japan, where we can actually speak the language, it’s all the more troublesome.” “Just think about it!” “If I’m dragged around by you with no mathematical sense and Mr. Miwa with no directional sense, there’s no telling where we’ll end up or when we’ll ever get back!”

“I can’t let that remark about me lacking mathematical sense slide. Do you have any evidence?” And Father voiced his objection.

“Of course there is. You can’t even read numbers properly, let alone grasp mathematical concepts, I tell you. If you wish, I can prove it for you right here.”

Mr. Dan declared with conviction. "For reference, I'd like to ask you to show me one example." "That's simple enough. So, Mr.Muraoka, how much is 100,000 yen multiplied by ten?"

“A million yen.” “How much is a million yen multiplied by ten?” “Ten million yen.” “Don’t mock me.” “How much is ten million yen multiplied by ten?” “A hundred million ten thousand yen.”

“There, see?”

“What’s that? If ten million times ten isn’t a hundred million ten thousand yen, then what is?” “There’s no such unit as ‘hundred million ten thousand.’”

“Hmm, a hundred million yen? Got me there! I just slipped up a bit.” “No, you always say that. You can’t talk your way out of this.” “If you’ve got proof I lack any sense of direction, then show it!”

And Mr.Miwa, who had been waiting for Mr.Dan to finish making his point, brought forth his own complaint. It seems no one truly understands themselves. “Yours is even more egregious than Mr.Muraoka’s, I tell you.” “You haven’t shown your face once since coming to my house last New Year, have you?” “That’s right.” “But that’s because we meet here often enough as it is—it goes both ways, doesn’t it?” “That’s not what I’m asking about.” “You saw that large building photo hanging in my study back then, didn’t you?”

“I did see it.” “That photo of the what’s-it-called German trading house in Shanghai, I suppose?” “You do have an impressive memory, I’ll give you that.” “But that’s neither in Shanghai nor a German trading house.” “It’s the Marunouchi Kaijo Building, I tell you.” “You read ‘Kaijo Building’ written from left to right backwards as ‘Gunderubi Shanghai’ and said, ‘There’s a building in Shanghai that looks just like the Kaijo Building.’” “Didn’t you say, ‘Is it a German trading house, I wonder?’”

“I see—that was quite a blunder.” “But anyone can make mistakes.” “You’re the sort who nurses petty grudges forever, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that I’m nursing some grudge or seeking vendetta for that Aiwahō incident earlier—I only used it as an example because you demanded proof.” “If you keep reading left-to-right things backward for a whole year without caring, you’ll end up boarding a train heading east when you meant to go west.” “If we get dragged all over Japan by Shanghai’s Gunderubi and that hundred-million-ten-thousand-yen nonsense, even the hardiest constitution wouldn’t emerge unscathed, I tell you.” “Ha ha ha ha ha!” And Mr.Dan laughed uproariously, his exhilaration reaching its peak.

“Well then, why don’t we have Mr.Dan lead us around?” “Hey, Mr.Miwa.” “That sounds perfect.” “Mr.Dan, we’ll accompany you.” And the two resumed their persuasions. Their mindset was that any form would do as long as they could secure traveling companions. “Once we’re out there, we’ll figure something out.” “However, unlike the unemployed or teachers, I have office matters to consider, so you’ll have to wait a little while for a definite answer.” “However, setting aside jokes—I might just accompany you all.” “If it’s not a leisurely time like this, I can’t take a rest cure, you know.”

And Mr. Dan finally blurted out his true feelings.

“If I didn’t come through like this, it’d be a sham. Agreeing without a moment’s hesitation would’ve spoiled the whole effect, you know.”

“Since he traveled all over during his government service days, having him along will steady our nerves. We’ve truly stumbled upon something splendid here.”

And the two already considered the matter settled.

Part Two

I was disappointed in Father. He’d been saying 'soon, soon' forever, but when he finally decided to act, I thought he was starting some grand venture and geared up to support him—only to find out he’s now supposedly beginning preparations for a trip. And those very preparations were supposedly for a trip. If he’d called it an inspection tour of Europe or America, I might have given it some thought—but traipsing around the well-trodden paths of Japan with friends under the guise of recuperation? Even I couldn’t help doubting Father’s true intentions. Mr.Miwa made a big fuss by calling it Pickwickian, but given that he’s the type to take a day off school over a cat going into labor—as Mr.Dan said—the whole story was just an exaggeration. In reality, it was neither Pickwick nor Dickens. It was a sightseeing trip by idlers. With Mother's pressure growing increasingly severe by the day, this scheme of temporarily leaving home under the pretext of studying society and human nature could only be interpreted as Father's attempt to catch his breath. "Seiichirou gets too meticulous with preparations, so he ends up losing interest before even starting the crucial work," Grandfather said with a laugh. Even if he were genuinely intending to write something at this moment, that would merely be a fleeting notion conceived in his initial enthusiasm—by the time he finished traveling all over Japan, his mind would undoubtedly change again. Having passed through an abundance of ceremonial decorations after all, Grandfather had a discerning eye for both household and hometown matters. Father was ultimately Gutara Tarabē.

I had thought this way, given up expecting Father to conform to societal norms, and resolved to let things be—when one day, I found myself in a position where I had to take a serious interest in Father’s sightseeing trip. It’s almost comical how quickly things have turned around, but I now find myself compelled to have Father thoroughly explore every interesting corner of Japan. The circumstances are as follows.

Noticing I had returned from school, my younger sisters Aiko and Utako came into my room grinning.

“Big brother, I hear Father is going on a trip?” Aiko was the first to burst in with the news. “So they say,” “But they haven’t even settled on when to leave yet, have they?” I answered as if it were no concern of mine. “Big brother, you’re being sneaky!” This time Utako chimed in.

“Why?” I truly didn’t understand what she meant. “Why? Because you’re going with Father too, aren’t you? Earlier, Father and Mother said so. You kept quiet because you thought it’d be trouble if we wanted to go, didn’t you?”

Aiko explained. “Exactly!” “Truly sneaky!” Utako added triumphantly.

I found myself breaking into an irrepressible smile at this unexpected good news. Try as I might not to laugh, the muscles in my cheeks refused to obey. “See?!” “You’re hiding it!”

And the two raised a triumphant cry, convinced they had cornered me. The truth was, I had been caught off guard and wanted to confirm the details of the news a bit more, “But Aiko… Utako… just wait a second…” I tried to ask after saying that, but being too happy sapped my strength. I grinned oddly, my words trailing off. They mistook this for an attempt at justification, “Gotcha! Cornered, cornered!” “Stuffed to the brim!”

While jeering, they leisurely withdrew toward the tearoom.

However, I soon began to have doubts. Somehow, this story seemed too good to be true. Why on earth would Father take me along?! It made no sense that he would order me to accompany him on a long trip when he always went out alone even for walks, saying children were bothersome. Or perhaps my sisters had jumped to some hasty conclusion and said such things. I thought about going straight to Mother to confirm, but given my tendency to get overly excited the day before excursions or sports meets, they might have been planning to keep it secret until the last minute. If that was the case, asking would be pointless. In this manner I continued indulging in various speculations, but ultimately arrived at an utterly mundane conclusion: there was nothing to do but wait for things to unfold.

Shortly after dinner was finished, Keiji, the eldest "magistrate," grew sleepy. Children of four or five still do not know to spare themselves exertion. Since they make sure to play as hard as possible from early morning onward, they apparently tire out and go to bed surprisingly early. Of course, if this little one could stay awake indefinitely, Mother would never get a moment's rest. Even we felt like we'd forgotten something after Keiji fell asleep. Now, next, Fumiko began nodding off.

“Hey, Fumiko’s sleepy.”

Father, who had been sitting by the hibachi, called Mother. Having finally gotten Keiji to sleep, Mother took Fumiko along next. Of course, with Fumiko, once changed into her nightclothes, she could sleep alone without much fuss. “Hey now! Looks like Aiko and Utako are fighting!”

And a short while later, Father called Mother again. Mother was truly busy. She had no leisure even for receiving guests. Yet Father remained perfectly at ease. Sitting by the hibachi smoking a cigarette, he would observe with his eyes and catch sounds with his ears, “Hey now, the iron kettle’s whistling.” All he needed to do was report these things aloud with reasonable accuracy—that sufficed.

Mother mediated the fight in the study room and came to sit on the far side of the hibachi. This marked the completion of the day’s work. When Father tried to stand up, Mother— “You always rise when I sit here, don’t you?” she stated the plain facts.

“It’s not exactly like that.” Interpreting this as criticism, Father settled back down without moving.

“If it’s the kind of trip where you can’t even clearly tell where you are while I’m left looking after so many children and elderly folks, then I must decline staying behind.” Mother abruptly declared.

“That’s no problem. I’ll prepare a schedule so you’ll know which days we’ll be staying where.” From how Father immediately responded, this conversation was clearly continuing from before. I thought I grasped the situation anyway and kept staring intently at the evening paper. “Of course you must prepare a properly organized schedule, but you’re hardly the type to send meticulous letters.”

“I’ll write,” Father said. “Letters at least.” “Absolutely not! You’re utterly unreliable!” Mother retorted. “That’s precisely why I’ve been insisting—to give the family peace of mind, you must take Ken’ichi with you!” When Mother said this, I instinctively straightened my posture. “I don’t mind bringing him,” Father conceded bluntly, “but he’ll just be dead weight.”

“How could he possibly be a hindrance? He’s already a middle schooler—he can manage everything himself. If Ken’ichi sends daily reports without fail, I’ll be able to rest easy.”

And Mother asserted an extremely reasonable point. “That’s true too. “I’ll take one along then.” “But Ken’ichi has school.”

Father tended to find fault with me at every turn. “If Mr. Miwa is joining you, it must be during the school holidays anyway?” “School holidays are the same everywhere.” Mother spoke in my defense. That was indeed the case. “Ken’ichi, you want to come along?” “Walking around with adults all the time would get boring, don’t you think?”

And this time, Father directly sought my opinion. It was so abrupt that I couldn't respond immediately. "If we ride trains every day, the child will get bored." And Father tried to further placate me with excuses. By this point, I had completely composed myself and smiled a gentle smile. "Ken’ichi will of course be delighted to accompany you." "He does enjoy traveling, you know." Mother added by way of explanation. "I'll take him along. Since it seems everyone’s set on it, I can’t win against that. At Mr. Miwa’s house too, his wife had been talking about Ken’ichi’s accompaniment as if it were a condition for Mr. Miwa’s departure. 'Ken-san being with you puts my mind at ease,' she keeps insisting. Seems like having a burden tag along provides some reassurance beyond just letters."

And Father said mockingly. “Do men truly have so little self-respect as to imagine such things?” And Mother threw back a counterargument,

“But since Mr. Dan will be joining you, Mr. Miwa’s wife must have been somewhat reassured.” She had completely shifted all responsibility onto Mrs. Miwa.

“Mr. Dan is the one who’s in for a fine embarrassment. However, putting that aside—even the retired gentleman along with Father and Mother were insisting that Ken’ichi absolutely must be taken along. Though in this case, the ostensible reason was that Ken’ichi is so self-willed that he’d be too much to handle without a father around. In short, since it’s everyone’s earnest request—though I don’t know where the driving force lies—let’s take him along.” Having said that, Father finally ordered me to accompany him.

Now that matters had progressed to this point, even I could no longer remain as carefree as before. I had been warned that if I couldn’t manage my own affairs, Mother would request to have my accompaniment canceled. I thought it was just a bluff, but I couldn’t let my guard down. So I had to fold up the futon myself every morning too—otherwise Aiko or Utako might make some comment at any moment. If I kept having Otsuta polish my shoes all the time, there was a risk of getting caught. What particularly worried me was whether my capricious father might end up canceling the trip altogether. Since he was the sort of person who treated planning and execution as entirely separate matters, it truly left me feeling uneasy. So I couldn’t wait for Mr.Dan to arrive. Since both Father and Mr.Miwa were counting on him, if he were to say he couldn’t get away due to construction work or something like that, there was no telling how things might change. Even if it didn’t come to cancellation, it could easily end up being postponed.

Given these circumstances, when I showed Mr. Dan into the parlor on Sunday morning, I was beside myself with anxiety, wondering whether this boded well or ill. However, without me needing to worry, Father—whether Mr. Dan had even sat down or not—

“How about it? What about that matter we discussed the other day?” He demanded a definite answer as promised. “I’ll take a look today. But don’t expect too much.” Mr. Dan answered.

“So that’s no good?” Father seemed disappointed. Having sat there determined to wait until I heard a definite answer, I too found my expectations completely dashed.

“It’s not entirely impossible, but achieving complete security in a Japanese house is ultimately an impossible proposition.”

“What are you talking about? You there...” “What do you mean ‘what’? You’re the one who asked me to check the locks before your trip the other day, aren’t you?” Mr. Dan was referring to the house security. There still remained hope. “Fair enough, that’s part of it—but what I’m asking is whether you’ll be joining us or not.” “Naturally I’m coming. That’s precisely what I came here to report.”

“If you were going to agree, you should’ve said so sooner.” Father seemed satisfied even though he’d been kept waiting. Needless to say, I was relieved.

“Travel ranks second in social considerations,” “while securing the house takes first priority in administrative matters.” “Shouldn’t we properly address first things first?” “The fundamental issue is you all possessing such slipshod minds—it’s positively perilous.” “As your friend, I couldn’t possibly stand by watching—I’ve rearranged my entire schedule to shepherd you lot around.” “You ought to show some gratitude.”

And Mr. Dan was as argumentative as ever.

“That’s very kind of you. If I just hear that confirmation about your participation, we can leave securing the house for another time.” “No—if I’m to accompany you, there’s preparatory work I must complete first, so I won’t be able to visit frequently anymore.” “I’ll inspect things today while I’m here.” “But your demand to make it completely burglar-proof—that’s unfeasible.” “Since Japanese houses can be breached quite easily even by amateurs if they’re determined, we can only make them secure enough not to tempt burglars in the first place.”

“That’s rather uncharacteristically passive of you.” “Shouldn’t someone in the construction business be capable of perfect security?” “Actually, regarding securing the house, I ended up making a complete fool of myself the other day.” “A former minister who was about to travel abroad consulted me about his mansion’s security.” “I incorporated some of his ideas and reinforced key points thoroughly, but being a financier, he was an excessively meticulous man—after personally testing every corner himself, he made this request: ‘I say, could you introduce me to someone versed in burglary?’”

“Introducing a burglar—now that’s inspired!” “As expected, you really do have a face that looks untrustworthy.”

“It’s not a matter of physiognomy.” “He said we should put the locks to the test.” “By the way, while I have acquaintances across all social strata and my social circle is by no means limited, I’m afraid I don’t have a single close connection among burglars.” “So at a loss, I went to the Metropolitan Police Department and dragged Mr. Iguchi out.” “That’s a clever observation you made there.” “His Sherlock Holmes would certainly outclass any burglar.” Whenever the conversation turned to slightly unusual topics, Father would become needlessly delighted and bring up characters from novels. In this regard, he shared something in common with Mr. Miwa.

“He’s not a Westerner.” “You know that Mr.Iguchi of his.” “It’s not just this time I’ve been impressed by that man—he’s truly remarkable.” “He brought all sorts of burglary tools, explaining as he went—‘This is how you’d pick this lock,’ ‘That’s how you’d remove that one’—and demonstrated breaking in through thirty-nine different points.” “When it comes to business, he’s the type who doesn’t distinguish friends from family—utterly impossible to handle.” “I was utterly humiliated.” Father looked equally startled, but the carpenter gaped in disbelief and asked, “Who on earth is that man?” When someone explained, “He’s the head of the Metropolitan Police Department’s Forensics Division,” the master carpenter studied Mr.Iguchi’s face before finally advising, “Take my advice—you’d do better to quit the police and become a burglar,” which made everyone burst out laughing. “In short, Mr.Iguchi practically demonstrated that if he tried breaking in as a burglar, there’d be no stopping him.”

“That does sound like something he’d do, but for someone in his position, it’s rather improper.” “Isn’t that just showing off for burglars’ sake?” “That’s not it.” “On the contrary, he was showing off for the Metropolitan Police Department’s sake.” “But doesn’t that lead to the conclusion that security measures are completely ineffective?” “Not at all, that’s not the case.” “Securing homes is something the Metropolitan Police Department constantly promotes, just like fire prevention.” “Even someone as contrary as Mr.Iguchi wouldn’t object to that.” “But since that man specializes in researching crime, his mind has been fermenting with knowledge dating back to Ishikawa Goemon.” “A burglar as skilled as him should be practically non-existent.” “Since that authority here gives fair warning he’ll break in openly in broad daylight to demonstrate his skills, the job becomes remarkably straightforward.” “But if you add conditions like breaking in undetected on a pitch-black night without permission, even the head of the Forensics Division wouldn’t know where to begin.” “He himself said as much.” “And then he said, ‘Since there are many conditions besides secure locks that make burglary difficult, having them thoroughly secured is most commendable, but there’s no need to get overly worked up about it.” “‘Upon researching this, I can say there’s no business as foolish as burglary.’” “‘The average monthly earnings are eighteen yen and fifty sen.’” “‘To earn such a paltry income, they take on enormous risks—they must be complete fools who can’t even grasp profit and loss.’” “‘There’s absolutely no need to fear.’” “‘Secure your house appropriately for its structure and leave everything else to us police officers,’ [Mr.Iguchi] preached to the minister.” “I have to admire how he never misses a chance to promote police authority, no matter the situation.”

“He’s an interesting man,” Mr.Dan concluded. “By the way, isn’t Mr.Miwa coming today?”

It appeared Father was preparing to move on to the second issue. "I'll send someone to call him now."

Having answered, Father turned his gaze toward me. Without waiting for further words, I stood up. One couldn’t fulfill secretarial duties unless they acted this way.

Mr.Miwa's house was just a stone's throw away. It didn’t even take five minutes. When I rang the front doorbell, instead of a maid, Mrs.Miwa came out and opened the lattice door for me.

“Are you here on an errand?” “That must have been quite a task for you.” “He’s at the barber now, so I’ll have him come up as soon as he returns.” Since this happened every time, she would immediately assume I’d come to request her husband the moment she saw my face. With this, I realized there was no point even trying to think of a way to phrase it midway. So I was about to bow once and leave as I was, but Mrs.Miwa called me in, “Ken, I heard Kei-chan caught a cold. How is she doing?” she asked.

“She’s already completely recovered.”

And I spoke for the first time.

“That’s wonderful to hear.”

Mrs. Miwa said with apparent relief, “Ken, you must be so happy—getting to accompany your father on his trip.” He already knew. He had coordinated everything with Mother. “Since Mr. Dan is here to discuss the trip, please ask him to come right away.”

And I answered with a grin.

“Was Mr.Dan also accompanying you?” “Yes, he’s coming along. Mr.Dan will kindly guide us to various interesting places.”

“How enviable.” “I almost want to come along myself.” “I’ll make a proper request later, but please look after my husband well in the meantime.” “And since you’re your father’s constant companion.” “Wherever you go, you must cling firmly to your father.” “It’s all right. It would be terrible to get lost during the trip.” “My husband is like an overgrown child, so I’m truly worried about this trip.” “And Ken, your father—though I shouldn’t say this—is just as much of a handful as my husband, given how well they get along.” “I’m actually quite uneasy about it.” “But Ken, you seem less like a clever child and more like an adult who never grows old—why, I even told your mother as much the other day—so I earnestly hope you’ll look after this overgrown child for me……”

Mrs. Miwa still wouldn’t let go of me. Even if I didn’t engage, this was how it went, so I thought it made sense that when Mother came over, it would take half a day. Fortunately, Mr.Miwa returned home then, so I was saved. “Isn’t your hat different?” “And another thing...”

Mrs. Miwa promptly reprimanded him. There are wives who, though not particularly skilled at belittling their husbands in front of others, nevertheless regard it as proof of their affection.

“Is that so? I thought it felt a bit large, but I figured it was because my hair had been cut. Take a look at this.” Mr.Miwa took off his hat and handed it to his wife. Given how he’d given up from the start—being so indifferent that he relied on others to identify his own belongings—Mrs.Miwa had her hands full. To be fair, their household customs differed from others’—Mrs.Miwa was said to purchase and assign all items like hats and neckties—so it was hardly surprising that those who selected their own belongings failed to recognize them.

“As I thought, this is yours.” “Why has this navy faded so quickly?”

Even if Mrs.Miwa realized she had made do with a domestic substitute, “Hmph, it’s not like I make such mistakes every day. And when you think about it, today was early, so ’twas I alone.”

And Mr.Miwa puffed himself up while tacking on an explanation that wasn’t even worth boasting about. During all this, “Then please make haste.” “Goodbye.”

With those words, he ran back.

Before long, Mr.Miwa arrived. Having apparently heard from his wife, when he met Mr.Dan, “So we’re going then?” He looked happy. “We’re going.” Mr.Dan remained as composed as ever.

“If you side with me, it’s like gaining a hundred men’s strength.”

Mr.Miwa’s remarks were, as usual, wildly exaggerated. “It looks like we’re about to have a family feud on our hands.” Mr.Muraoka laughed. “Now that you two have gathered, shall we steadily move to the main discussion?” “However, before that, there is one thing I must have you both acknowledge.”

And Mr. Dan began in an oddly formal tone.

“I’ll agree to anything. Right, Mr.Miwa?” “Agreed. Since this discussion’s moving at such breakneck speed, I was prepared for conditions to be imposed.” The two gentlemen put on a show of meek compliance. “Actually, I have to take my daughter along. My wife insisted I absolutely must do so—I ended up agreeing—but would that still be acceptable to you all?”

And Mr. Dan said in a listless tone quite unlike his usual self. “If that’s all, there’s not the slightest need for hesitation.” “You’re more dutiful than I expected.” “I’m actually one of those who nodded along too.”

Mr.Muraoka replied. "What? Are you bringing a child along too?" "Right. This kid insists on tagging along, so I can't help it." "You're surprisingly not trusted either, huh. How about you, Mr.Miwa? Huh?"

“I’ve got no vertical or horizontal ties.” “Well, I don’t have any children.” “If I carelessly nod yes, my wife will come along.” When Mr.Miwa muttered this, I couldn’t help but laugh.

"I know you don't have children." "With that tone of yours, we're clearly still the untrustworthy group then." And Mr.Dan proceeded to include everyone in his own category. "Why's that?"

When Mr.Miwa asked, “Why? Because trying to send us off with a kid in tow means the wife’s got an ulterior motive.” “You drink sake and don’t exactly have a reputation for uprightness, so that’s only natural—but mine’s different.” “Mine and Mr.Miwa’s…” Even though Mr.Muraoka tried to explain their position, “As if it’s any different.” “It’s just a matter of degree.” “Of course, they wouldn’t say that outright.” “In your case, I suppose the stated reason was something about maintaining contact with the main family or whatnot?”

“You know that well.” “If I couldn’t figure out something that basic, how could I ever manage my wife? Literary scholars are surprisingly obtuse about human feelings, aren’t they?”

And Mr. Dan puffed himself up with a touch of bravado, "In my case too, it's the same tactic." “Tazuko will soon graduate from girls’ school, but once she marries—as you can see from me—she’ll completely degrade into a household slave and vanish from society altogether,” she began with pointed sarcasm before adding, “Given these modern times, I implore you to let her accompany you.” “Since she’s already eighteen, she’ll prove useful rather than burdensome,’ says my wife. “Even when we clearly see through their schemes as plain as enemy headquarters on a battlefield, it’s only logical that we can’t refuse.” “Since it amounts to the same either way, I ended up cheerfully agreeing.” “If I don’t occasionally let their demands pass unchallenged upfront, I lose all bargaining power later.”

“There’s an awful lot of scheming involved.” “It’s because your usual conduct is so dubious that you twist things this way and end up distrusting even us.” “But even from the child’s perspective, the trip isn’t useless—so if that keeps my wife satisfied, it’s killing two birds with one stone.”

“Ken, it’s good that you’ll have someone to talk to and won’t get bored.” “It’s progressing more and more smoothly and swiftly.” “I should at least be able to have her fold my kimono.”

And Mr.Miwa was already taking Ms.Tazuko for granted. After that, the three gradually moved on to the main topic. I brought a map from Father's study and spread it out on the Chinese-style desk in the parlor. Normally when there were guests, I had to stay out of sight, but today things wouldn't get done unless I stepped up. Being included among the adults like this and being treated somewhat as a full-fledged member made me feel immensely proud. Even if my actual role was that of a figurehead, my official title was secretary—by no means superfluous. In fact, I had just rushed out to the magazine shop to buy the latest travel guide. Mr.Dan appeared to have traveled around quite extensively, but Mr.Miwa had only been to his hometown of Kumamoto two or three times—and even then, without ever really seeing anything along the way. As for Father, having never left Tokyo except for a school trip in his childhood, he remained convinced that savages inhabited the lands beyond Hakone.

“You – are there barbershops in Kumamoto?” That was how he phrased it.

“Of course there are. However, it’s better to bring a razor—erysipelas is practically their local specialty there. After all, it’s a long trip—I’ve got so much to bring, it can’t be helped. Two suitcases would never be enough.”

Mr.Miwa pondered. “Don’t talk nonsense! “Since it’s a long trip, we should keep our luggage as simple as possible.” “What on earth are you all doing—discussing luggage or planning the itinerary?!” And Mr.Dan called the two’s attention back to the map.

“Anyway, as a general principle, let’s omit all places we could visit from Sunday to Saturday, shall we?”

“From Saturday to Sunday, right?” “Fine.” “Then it’s settled.” “Since we’ll be traveling all over Japan anyway, starting anywhere would be much the same—but as Mr.Muraoka here proposed this trip, we should give some consideration to his preferences.” “So following Mr.Pickwick’s plan, shall we make it our general policy to start from beyond Hakone and go as far as we can reach in two weeks?” “We can add the remainder during summer break, right?”

And Mr.Dan pushed for progress in the proceedings.

“Very well.” And Mr.Miwa agreed. “How far do you think we can get?” This was Father, “That depends on how you walk. But a courier-style trip won’t serve as recuperation. We’ll limit train travel to about five hours a day at most and go as far as we can while sightseeing leisurely. Though for folks as devoted to serving their families as you all, it might be better to first head straight to your destination and then sightsee bit by bit on the way back. Since you’ll be getting closer to your wives day by day, you can rest assured, right?”

And Mr.Dan made rather sardonic remarks.

“If we’re going back after all, better take the straight route.” “Bit by bit would drag on forever.” Mr.Miwa was already contemplating the return journey before they’d even departed.

“Having set the general policy like that, shall we leave the detailed schedule to Mr.Dan? I tried all sorts of ideas, but I just can’t get it to come together.” It wasn’t that Father was simply lazy; the task had genuinely become too much for him to handle. “That would be quicker. Mr.Dan, I’m counting on you.”

Mr. Miwa responded. “Very well, I’ll take it on.” “I’ve looked through this notebook of yours, Mr.Muraoka, but this schedule certainly wasn’t made with the assumption that a day has twenty-four hours.” “If we keep up this level of activity, even a sturdy fellow like me would be worn out in two or three days.”

Mr. Dan said while flipping through the notebook. "That’s merely an ideal." Father remained nonchalant.

“No wonder there’s not a single moment accounted for lunchtime, and it’s all planned assuming clear skies every single day. But you’ve certainly managed to collect quite an impressive list of famous sites and historic landmarks. And this list of local specialties is packed here. It’s planned to eat every last one of them as we go, but this also misjudges the limits of human digestive capacity. You turn out surprisingly radical when you actually decide to do something. Fine, I’ll devise a more practical schedule. I’ll borrow this notebook and do my best to accommodate your wishes as much as possible.”

“Please don’t take it too seriously and make appropriate selections as you see fit.” “I’m counting on you, alright?” “Please make it as comfortable as possible.” “Was Mr.Muraoka’s schedule really that intense?” “That was close!” “If you hadn’t joined our party, I would’ve been dragged all over by Mr.Muraoka until my neurasthenia worsened, I tell you.” And Mr.Miwa said exasperatedly. All this talk of rubbing and kneading made it quite a hassle. It seemed they would need to meet once more for discussion before departure. How I can’t wait! Though, my school hasn’t started vacation yet.

Part 3

Thanks to the mimeographed travel schedule received from Mr. Dan and poring over it nearly every day while waiting, the departure day at last arrived. I accompanied my father and Mr. Miwa and hurried to Tokyo Station by rickshaw before eight in the morning. From our house came Mother with all the children in tow, while from Mr. Miwa’s side came his wife—having nothing to offer but her helpless solitude—both arriving to see us off. While Father would criticize those old-fashioned Japanese who couldn’t shake off antiquated customs—claiming how troublesome it was that they made such a grand fuss over every little send-off or greeting—he himself showed no discomfort whatsoever when his own wife and children all turned out to see him off on his travels. He was actually delighted, holding Keiji and such. Because most people, like Father, drew a strict distinction between theory and practice, Tokyo Station became quite crowded. We promptly settled into the waiting room.

Before long, Mr. Taguchi came lugging in his large frame—quite unbefitting of a painter—while looking around bewilderedly. After scanning the surroundings through his thick nearsighted glasses for a short while, he hurried over immediately upon recognizing us,

“I made it. “I made it.” “Oh, Mrs. Muraoka, I must apologize for the other day.” “Mr. Muraoka, here it is.” “Mr. Miwa, I’m counting on you.”

and handed Father a strangely bulky newspaper-wrapped package. “You’ve brought quite a large item.” “This thing’s a shocker!”

Father sighed as if weighing the bulk of the entrusted package. “It’s light for its bulk.” “I’ll carry it.” And Mr. Taguchi remained unfazed. “So this thing’s going to trek a thousand miles, eh?” And Mr.Miwa said.

“Well, a promise is a promise—there’s no helping it. But I hadn’t expected it to be this large,” Father remarked again. “Finding something this size was no easy task—I had to scour everywhere,” said Mr.Taguchi. “Do take good care of it. And when you reach a scenic spot, show it around properly. I’ll entrust this to Mr.Miwa too. Speaking of which... where’s Mr.Dan? He’s late, isn’t he?”

And Mr.Taguchi looked around his surroundings. In reality, Mr.Dan and Ms.Tazuko did not readily appear in their promised Western-style attire. Since Mr.Dan had taken charge of all financial matters, we waited without even buying tickets, our anxiety gradually growing. All the while, Mrs.Miwa repeatedly drew near to me and entrusted her husband’s care. When I thought I would be looking after adults, I felt quite proud and, with my hands in my trouser pockets, suddenly felt taller. Even my sisters—who normally wouldn’t treat their older brother like some wealthy patron—clung to me from all sides today pressing for souvenir promises. Anyway, thinking it was already about time for the ticket gates to start opening one by one,

“What do you suppose has happened to Mr.Dan?” At the very moment I repeated it for the fifth time,the much-discussed gentleman and Ms.Tazuko strolled in leisurely. “We’ve waited ages!” said Father and Mr.Miwa.

“Waited long enough!” said Father and Mr. Miwa.

“There’s still twelve minutes to go.” Mr.Dan remained as composed as ever; after greeting Mr.Taguchi and the rest of the send-off group, he introduced Ms.Tazuko to Mrs.Miwa, who had not yet met her. I, thinking myself a fellow participant in this venture, took particular care to show respect, hoping to secure proper guidance throughout the journey. Mother and Mrs.Miwa, “We earnestly entreat you to look after them.” repeatedly entreated. “You there—be quick about buying the tickets.” When Mr.Miwa pressed him, Mr.Dan—

“The redcap will bring them now,” he answered, “Everyone’s in Western attire, and the luggage amounts to one, two, three pieces.” “You’ve kept your promise admirably.” It was just a domestic tour around Japan—we would be back soon enough—but when it came time for farewells, it proved disagreeable nonetheless. After boarding the train, I exchanged handshakes repeatedly with my sisters and brother. Mother too “Ken’ichi, do take care now—write me every day,” kept saying without leaving the window. Mrs.Miwa was also speaking to her husband Mr.Miwa. Mr.Taguchi likewise

“Gentlemen, I earnestly entreat you to take good care of it.”

he shouted, but this might have been referring more to the newspaper-wrapped package than to our own well-being. Soon the bell rang, and the train began to move. “Farewell!”

“Farewell!” I encountered for the first time an opportunity to gaze upon Tokyo—my birthplace—from the position of a third party. Though I had ridden national railway trains to Shinagawa many times before, those instances occurred while I remained within Tokyo’s mental framework, making it akin to seeing my family members’ faces within my own home. Mother’s right eye was smaller than her left. I had been unaware of this for over a decade but discovered it only recently when, climbing the stairs at Mitsukoshi, I saw her reflection in a mirror. Now that I had become a traveler surveying my surroundings with the mindset of one who had already left Tokyo behind, I saw that the city where I was born was by no means as grimy as my daily impressions had suggested. Particularly this morning—perhaps due to the aftermath of rain—the sky looked as if it had been wiped clean, and the great buildings towering near and far stood out distinctly in form and color, creating a truly magnificent sight. Ms. Tazuko seemed to share this sentiment,

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it? Tokyo, I mean.”

as she gazed out intently. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Oh look, the kites are racing around up there!” and I pointed at the sky above the Imperial Palace.

“Oh my! There are so many!” “There are so many!” With this exchange as our starting point, we abandoned our efforts to maintain formal decorum toward one another. The adults had been talking nonstop from the outset, but when the train stopped at Shinbashi Station, Mr. Miwa leaned out the window to look and declared, “I’ve made a monumental discovery!” “What is it?” Father inquired. “Whenever I see someone off at Tokyo Station, I always feel the train departs in the opposite direction of where it should go. Yet clearly this orientation must be correct,” he mused. “Why does that illusion persist there, I wonder?”

“Still stuck on your ‘Gunderubi Shanghai’ routine, huh?”

Mr.Dan laughed. “I also mix up east and west whenever I go out onto the platform at Tokyo Station.” “Our sense of direction is fundamentally flawed, you see?” “When I visit a house with a long path from the gate to the entrance, I invariably end up heading the opposite way after leaving.” “When I was a child, I once got so lost I even had to ask a policeman where my school was.” And Father was giving up on directions. “I was with you back then.” “Did the policeman give you an earful?”

“Ah, were we together?” “Anyway, we were around Ken’ichi’s age and had just entered middle school.” “We went out for a walk during lunch break—yes, we were indeed together then, since we’d just entered the school and likely didn’t have any other friends yet.” And Father, tracing back twenty-five or twenty-six years, “We went out for a walk, but then we got lost on the way back.” “Fortunately, there was a police box, so when we asked, ‘Where is the academy?’ the policeman just glared at us with a scary face and refused to tell us.” When we asked again, he barked, “Hey! Don’t mock people! “Aren’t you wearing your academy’s badges right there?” he snapped. Startled, we ran about fifty meters, but when we glanced around, there was the school’s back gate. “Hey, Mr.Miwa, that policeman had every right to be angry, you know.”

“You two have been proper partners since way back then.” “Given that the pair of you—who couldn’t tell east from west—tried venturing out alone, that’s bold indeed!” With that, Mr.Dan ceased engaging and unfolded his newspaper to begin reading. After a short while, Father—as if suddenly remembering—took down from the luggage rack the newspaper-wrapped package entrusted to him by Mr.Taguchi. I had been speculating wildly about its contents, and now unconsciously leaned forward. From within emerged a papier-mâché tiger. It was rather large. Its head shook vigorously. The attention of nearby passengers converged instantly upon this bizarre luggage.

“What’s that there, you?” Mr.Dan set aside his newspaper and rounded his eyes. “Mr.Taguchi pulled one over on me.”

Father answered. “A farewell gift?” “No—if it were a farewell gift, there’d be ways to handle it, but this is an awfully troublesome request to carry this thing around on our journey.”

“That thing will just be cumbersome luggage.” “You should have just refused it then.” Mr. Dan was exceedingly wary of luggage. According to his theory, a civilization’s advancement was determined by how little baggage its travelers carried. In Japan’s past, people had hauled rice on their journeys. The military—a relic of feudal culture—still marched with Dōmyōji rice even today. In uncivilized Africa, there were reportedly tribes who carried entire houses on their backs. By this standard, I had privately judged the middle-aged couple across from us as Tibet’s upper crust since earlier. The wife alone occupied enough space for three people with two bulky Shingen cloth bags and an equally large rattan basket pressed against her body. Astonishingly, these very people now laughed at Father’s oversized tiger while ignoring their own clutter. No—the real issue was that tiger.

“I ended up accepting it, so there’s no helping it now. As you know, that man loves tigers so much that when you enter his studio, it’s practically an exhibition of tiger figurines. When I told him about the upcoming trip during his recent visit, Mr.Taguchi slapped his knee and said, ‘This is an unparalleled opportunity—I have a favor to ask.’ When I asked, ‘Are you going to buy a tiger or something?’ he said, ‘No—I want you to take one with you.’ They say a tiger can leap a thousand miles through thickets, and also that it can charge a thousand miles out and return a thousand miles back. I have quite a few tigers, but not a single one has walked a thousand miles yet. Since you’ll be traveling all across Japan, I must ask you to take one along. Later, I’ll have you inscribe the box, and it’ll be passed down to my descendants as a tiger that has journeyed a thousand miles.’ ‘How about it?’ he kept insisting. ‘If it’s heavy, that’ll be a problem,’ I told him—and since I’ve been tricked by that man many times before, I was somewhat cautious—but he insisted, ‘It’s light,’ so I ended up accepting it. It’s actually light, but I never imagined it would be this bulky. He really got me good.”

Father explained. “He insisted it was the absolute lightest thing possible, so I assumed it’d be small enough to fit in a pocket. What a terrible guy!” Mr.Miwa also muttered while clicking his tongue and staring at the entrusted item. “No matter what you say, it’s already hopeless. Look here—it’s shaking its head nonchalantly just like that. Seems even this thing is making fools of you all. You’re equating weight and volume, aren’t you? This is what happens when you’re the type who thinks a kan of iron weighs more than a kan of cotton!”

Mr. Dan, refusing to engage in discussion, began reading his newspaper again. “Shall we just toss it out?” When Father said this,

“I suppose so.”

Mr. Miwa gave a noncommittal reply. “Since we made a promise, we have no choice but to carry this thing all over Japan.” “How could we possibly dispose of it without consulting Mr.Taguchi?” “Since I know nothing about this matter, you two can take responsibility for it.” Mr. Dan was inwardly amused.

Once the tiger was stowed back on the shelf again, I—already familiar with the area up to Tsurumi from visiting Kagetsu-en—had little interest in the scenery, so I immersed myself in cross-referencing the travel itinerary with the guidebook. Ms.Tatsuko was quite the studious type, always clutching Tolstoy or some such book. When we arrived in Yokohama and a considerable number of passengers had boarded, in our vicinity—after a Tibetan woman had stowed her Shingen bag on the shelf at the porter’s instruction—a young lady holding a child took a seat. Up to this point, it had felt like an extension of Tokyo’s outskirts with nothing particularly new, but from Hodogaya onward, the scenery abruptly took on a rural character. Along the roadside, thatched-roof houses were lined up. They all had grass growing on the very tops of every last roof as if by prior agreement, and among them, some even had what looked like flowers beginning to bloom.

“Ken, this is the old Tōkaidō.”

Mr. Dan explained to me. “Indeed, the appearance of these thatched houses and rows of trees certainly looks like a highway thoroughfare—it’s just like Hiroshige’s prints.”

When Father said this, “Do you like the view? If you do, I’ll show you the tiger for a bit.” Mr. Miwa stood up and took down the tiger from the shelf. Hearing “Hiroshige” must have made him connect it to the scenery and recall Mr.Taguchi’s request. “This is utterly absurd,” Father muttered. “What a splendid embarrassment.” “May I borrow this?” Ms.Tatsuko—apparently also concerned about the tiger—reached out. The nuisance passed from Mr.Miwa through Mr.Dan and Father to my hands.

“There, I’ll show you the Tōkaidō.”

I let Ms. Tatsuko take a quick peek outside from the window and handed it to her.

“Oh, it’s so big! “It’s shaking its head!” “Are you going to walk all over Japan too?” “Right?” Ms. Tatsuko said with exaggerated expression, making me laugh. For a short while, the tiger passed back and forth several times between Ms. Tatsuko’s hands and mine. Even such a simple toy served as a decent distraction from the boredom.

We had arrived at Ōfuna before we knew it.

However, among them, the boy on the opposite side—having grown tired of playing yet still staring enviously in our direction—began calling out: “Hey, Mom! Mom! I said Mom!” This insistence of his was no small trouble. If this had been at home, we would have been roundly blamed for showing a child something he’d likely covet and had it confiscated by the magistrate without further ado. They could have dedicated it to a shrine if necessary, but given that this very item had already become a matter of responsibility among the adults, there was simply no solution. Yet if they were to suddenly put it away, he would surely burst into tears. Since he was already sniffling, Mother offered up an entire basket of mandarins and prayed fervently for peace.

“You, that pin—I don’t believe I’ve seen it before. Is it new, I wonder?”

Mr. Dan somewhat abruptly questioned Father’s tie pin. “What, this pin?” “No, it’s not new.” “I’ve no interest in such things, so I only have this one and use it year-round.”

Father answered. “However, it’s quite an interesting design, isn’t it? “The craftsmanship is quite elaborate as well.”

“Oh, it’s just an ordinary thing.” “It’s a tiger’s face, isn’t it? The way its mouth is open is unconventional yet well-done. This seems like the kind of item that would suit Mr.Taguchi’s taste.”

“This is it?” “Well, well!” “What’s wrong?” When Mr.Dan asked, Father,

“This isn’t mine. What a strange turn of events.” [Held the pin between his fingertips and tilted his head.] “That’s exactly why I said I hadn’t seen it before. Solid gold with silver eyes and teeth, and the mottling is red copper, perhaps? You won’t find such a finely crafted piece among ready-made items. Each of these teeth was implanted one by one afterward.” “Let me have a look.”

As Mr.Miwa, who had been stretching his neck, reached his hand toward Father, "Oh, Mr.Miwa's cufflinks also have tigers on them." Mr.Dan grabbed the sleeve.

“I see,” “But this is odd.” “When did I have this bought for me?” Of course, he himself had no recollection.

“This one also has an unconventional design. The slight difference in facial features between left and right must be meant to distinguish male and female. You there, do watch out—there’s a pickpocket around here!” Father said with a laugh. Mr.Miwa took this seriously and checked the frog-mouth pouch in his pocket. “If only someone could have their pins and cufflinks swapped without ever noticing—now that would be a blessing,” Mr.Dan remarked gleefully, thinking it was someone else’s problem. Meanwhile, the boy in front of me finally burst into full-blown tears. Mother turned crimson as she tried to placate him, but to no avail. Since my conjecture had been mistaken—realizing ordinary methods wouldn’t work—

“Here you go! Take his tiger!” he began to declare his intentions without ambiguity. As someone with younger siblings, I simply couldn’t sit idly by such a scene. He stood up almost instinctively and presented the item, intending to lend a temporary hand. Then Father,

"Young master, I'll give you that tiger." "It's already yours, young master." "Take it and go play with it now." he added. The boy fell silent immediately after hugging the tiger. He seemed rather calculating, but this very trait was what made his artless innocence so endearing. Since he lacked any pretense, he didn't keep whining about the matter long after it had been settled, unlike adults. "I'm terribly obliged." "Then I'll borrow it just for a little while." The mother said in a deeply apologetic manner. "No, I'm giving it to the young master." "Please don't hesitate to accept it."

“No, I couldn’t possibly accept it.” “I humbly ask to borrow it just for a little while.” “There’s absolutely no need for hesitation.” “To tell the truth, we had all been at a loss with that item since earlier, so the young master kindly desiring it was nothing short of most opportune.” “Is that so?” “I must truly apologize if it seems I’ve pressured you into giving it.” “Young man, say thank you properly.” The stuffed tiger had now been fully disposed of, but the tiger pin and cufflinks still remained questionable.

“The pin I could understand, but when you think about it, having both sleeves’ cufflinks swapped like this is utterly impossible.” “I believe my wife must have had these newly tailored for me before this trip after all.” Mr. Miwa was examining the cufflinks on both sleeves.

“But it’s a tiger, I tell you! Starting with that stuffed tiger, there’s no earthly reason we’d keep running into nothing but tigers like this, is there?”

Mr.Dan called attention to an indisputable fact.

“That’s mere coincidence,” he declared. “Such fortuitous alignments happen all the time! Why, in theater don’t we see women born precisely in the Tiger year, Tiger month, Tiger day, and Tiger hour?” “You’ll drain all vitality from real-world matters with your theatrical analogies,” came the retort. “Though I’ve no doubt Mr.Taguchi crafted his scheme with great care—sadly, he seems to have misjudged his mark.” “The scheme succeeded perfectly! Observe—didn’t we just dispose of the main prop? This pin represents the son while these cufflinks signify the parents.” His laughter rang out—dry and knowing. “As for why I redirected those impossible-to-lose items toward Mr.Miwa... Well! Though lacking divine sight”—another chuckle—“the reason’s plain enough! Come now—out with your full confession this instant!”

Then Father made his grand move.

“Oh dear, has my wicked deed come to light?” “Now, kindly wait a moment, if you would.” “Since this train doesn’t have a dining car, we have to buy bento here.”

Mr.Dan hurried out as the train had just arrived at Kōzu station. The woman opposite, since she was alighting here, after profusely expressing her thanks, lifted up her son, who hugged the tiger, “Bye-bye!” The boy bowed repeatedly. After finishing their bento boxes, the adults began talking again while smoking tobacco.

“The fact that you figured out it was me so quickly shows an unexpectedly sharp eye, doesn’t it?”

Mr. Dan unapologetically admitted his guilt. “At first I thought it might have been Mr.Taguchi, but your demeanor gave you away. When on earth did you swap them?” When Father asked,

“While you were saying farewell to your wife at Tokyo Station.” “If I was going to do it anyway, I thought to pick a time when you couldn’t talk big about it later.” “You really are quite the wicked pickpocket.” “What about Mr.Miwa’s?” “Mr.Miwa’s was in a tricky spot, so I had a real hard time with it.” “I had them change seats multiple times and finally fulfilled Mr.Taguchi’s request.” “No wonder you kept making unreasonable demands like ‘Go over there’ and ‘Come here’—I thought you were just being capricious.” “If you’re going to swap things with that many conditions attached, even I could do it.”

Mr. Miwa made a sore loser remark. No matter how conditional it was, I thought it was truly something to have both cufflinks swapped without noticing. "In any case, there’s no use boasting about being pickpocketed—you’d better be careful." "It’s fine because it’s me, but anyone else would’ve taken them clean away."

Mr. Dan admonished them about the future and returned the items in a small box to the two of them. Mr.Taguchi’s tiger remained as it was and ended up touring all of Japan from Father’s tie and Mr.Miwa’s cuff.

Amidst all this back-and-forth, the train began to enter a tunnel. No sooner had it emerged than it plunged back in. Opening and closing the window, I was in a flurry. “This is Hakone.”

Tazuko-san told us, keeping her handkerchief pressed to her nose. I had been so preoccupied with the adults that I hadn’t written much about Tazuko-san, but by this time, we had already grown quite familiar with each other. “Right? Is it because it’s a twenty-mile mountain road that there are so many tunnels?”

And I had long since discarded my formal speech.

“That Hakone is Motohakone, where Lake Ashi is located. You couldn’t possibly run a train through a twenty-mile mountain road like this!” “Have you been there before?” “Yes. On our school trip last year.” “You girls’ schools go pretty far for those trips, don’t you?” “How mean to say ‘even girls’ schools’! But since I don’t know what lies beyond Hakone, that’s part of the excitement. I do wish we’d reach Numazu soon.”

“Truly, I can hardly wait...” “I’m so excited I can’t stand it—this is my first time staying at an inn!” We arrived at the long-awaited Numazu a short while after Tazuko-san had captured the rugged Mount Fuji with her camera in Gotemba. Mr. Senmu, a friend of Father’s, was waiting on the platform to greet us. After a brief introduction, we immediately boarded the waiting car and had just dashed through the town like lightning when before we knew it, we were already at the coast, resting at Senshōkaku Hotel.

“The area we just passed through is Menuki’s main street, and this here is Senbonhama Park.” “Well, that’s about all there is to Numazu for starters.” Mr.Senmu said. What a terribly concise guide he was. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since leaving the station. I was utterly deflated at the thought that even here in the renowned village of Numazu along the Tōkaidō, our sightseeing was already over. “If you’re not too tired, shall we head straight to Mishima?”

Mr.Senmu was on the verge of standing up as if about to do so. He’s quite impatient. Since he let us rest, he must have acknowledged our fatigue—so why is he trying to rush us now? “Does it take very long to get to Mishima?” When Father asked,

“If we hurry, the round trip takes thirty-five minutes.” Having answered, Mr.Senmu seemed intent on dragging us around in his usual fashion. “Now, now—it’s a sightseeing trip, so let’s take it easy, shall we?” If Mr.Dan hadn’t said that, we would have been taken straight to Mishima right then and there. True to its name of “Senbon,” the beachside path was a pine grove stretching as far as the eye could see. Not only were they far from modest in size—with trunks that looked to require three arm spans to encircle—but perhaps from being buffeted by sea winds, they had taken on every manner of capricious form. Mr.Senmu explained that it continued all the way to Tagonoura. The languid waves of the calm spring sea stretched out beneath Mount Fuji peering down from atop Mount Ashitaka.

“What a beautiful view!” As we were gazing in wonder, “This is the one spot we can truly boast about.”

Mr.Senmu also seemed satisfied. Then he dragged us off to where there was a fountain. “Well now! ‘The season is spring; on a gourd pillow, someone snores.’ Indeed, Takehiyashi!” And Mr.Miwa read the large branch-shaped haiku monument.

“Was Mr.Tsunoda from here, I wonder?” When Father raised this question, Mr.Senmu— “Well, anyway, they say he grew up here and worked as a lawyer here.” “In any case, shall we get moving now?” Mr.Senmu urged again. So we packed ourselves into the automobile like sardines once more and headed for Mishima. The speed remained just as dizzying. “You—does this automobile business turn a profit?” Father asked. “We operate at a loss every term. But I keep at it believing it’s for society’s benefit.”

Mr.Senmu answered.

“You talk big. “Are you the president?” “I’m the managing director.” "That's right, that's right. "It was in the letter that you took the name Senmu because you’re the managing director, wasn’t it?" “Still keeping up with haiku?” “Company duties keep me too busy—there’s just no way.” “If you try to hush up running someone over with just thirty yen or so, naturally you’d be busy.” “Don’t go saying things that sound so scandalous.” “At my company, accidents are extremely rare.” “In the countryside, there are fewer pedestrians, so driving must be easier for you, right? But even so, isn’t this speed above the regulated limit?” “But even so, isn’t this speed above the regulated limit?”

Mr. Dan interjected. “As long as the police aren’t watching, it’s no problem.” Mr. Senmu remained unfazed.

“It’s just unbearably dangerous. If you drove this fast in Tokyo, you’d be caught right away.” Mr.Miwa had also been worrying about this for some time now. “This is Sanmaibashi.”

After a short while, Mr. Senmu said.

“Sanmaibashi?”

Father requested an explanation. "Hondaidō's a detour—Sanmaibashi's beach route—a self-taught shortcut we've..." "Ah, that Sanmaibashi! So then, the Numazu episode is based on a true story?" "If you don't treat this as a true story here, it'll be problematic for me. In fact, they're making a fuss about erecting a bronze statue of Heisaku at Senbongahama, you see."

“That’s just fine too. It’s an age where even Momotaro gets bronze statues.”

Just then, we entered a pine grove bordering a large river to our right. Almost immediately, the car came to an abrupt stop with a clunk, and I found myself face-to-face with Ms. Tazuko. As Mr. Senmu flusteredly tried to get down, “It’s all right. He just tripped and fell.” The driver said. Indeed, an old man who looked like a mountain dweller stood up and was dusting himself off. “Well now, here you are smoking away leisurely in the middle of the road with a cigarette butt resting on your palm.” “Be more careful, y’hear? That was dangerous.”

The driver admonished him, then took out a notebook and wrote something down. It appeared he intended to take him into custody if he obstructed traffic again. Crossing Hakone makes the world change this much—it’s fascinating. Anyway, we began moving again. “The driver was writing something in his notebook just now, wasn’t he?” Mr. Dan also grew suspicious. “He was just making a show of writing it down. “If you don’t give them a good scare like that, country folk won’t learn to be careful.” Mr. Senmu was laughing.

“How smug—making him trip right here and leaving it at that.” “If they keep up this approach, they might start charging the injured for ointment fees.”

Father remarked with mock admiration. “What just happened may have taken the form of an automobile and an old man, but in essence, it was a clash between old and new ideologies. “The old man’s way of smoking tobacco perfectly exemplified conservatism. “And this automobile represents progressivism taken a bit too far. “The background being the Tōkaidō pine grove makes the contrast all the more striking.” With that, Mr.Miwa looked delighted. “Mr.Senmu, didn’t an accident like that just occur right after you said they’re extremely rare?” “Since it’s dangerous, could you please drive a bit slower?”

Father made his request. Then Mr.Senmu conveyed this to the driver and said, "To tell you the truth, since your letter stated this trip was meant to observe local characters' rustic charm and hometown pride, I've been working hard to subvert that very premise." "If people write that country automobiles are slow, it immediately hurts our business." "You've really twisted yourself into knots over this." "That explains why you weren't boasting about your hometown at all." "But since we've come all this way as tourists, I'm counting on you to show us around properly."

“If you understand things that way, I’ll leisurely show you around. “I suppose I’ll try giving a guided tour as practice.” “...There, young man—we just crossed that bridge now, didn’t we?” “That is the Kisagawa River—the site where Yoritomo and Yoshitsune met remains just beyond.” “And then, miss—you’re familiar with the Soga brothers’ play?” “The tomb of Kamezuru—that beautiful shirabyōshi dancer from the tale—lies right where we passed.” “Shall I teach you the Numazu lullaby? ‘Little one’s a good child—now sleep tight. This child’s sweetness knows no height. Count them as stars when you reach heaven’s light, Or sands at Shichirigahama’s shore in sight. Mountains hold trees beyond numbering, Grasses beyond measure spring. Descend to Numazu—Senbonhama’s strand, Senbonmatsubara’s pines stretch grand.’ ‘Lovelier still than pine needles’ might!’ How about that? It’s far more poetic than what today’s poets write.”

Part Four “It’s also called Grand Shrine and Myōjin-san.” “The people around here...” “It’s the foremost shrine in Izu, but really, the only notable thing is how large the carp in that pond are—there wasn’t anything else remarkable about it, was there?”

Mr.Senmu said this when we passed through Mishima Shrine's precincts. "What kind of blessings does it grant?" Mr.Dan asked something uncharacteristic of him. "It's effective against all diseases." "Shrines and temples work much like hot springs." "Since this is where Yoritomo prayed for reviving the Minamoto clan, it also helps with career success." Mr.Senmu answered cleverly, "Now let me show you one of this town's miracles." "Oh, what beautiful water!"

As they happened upon the river, Ms. Tazuko promptly came to a halt atop a rock.

“It’s really deep!” “Ah, there are fish!”

And I too gazed into the water’s depths. “This is that miracle, you see. The only thing remarkable about Mishima is its water.” Mr.Senmu introduced. “Well now, Mr.Senmu, even an automobile company seems a bit out of your field.” “No wonder you’re a literary scholar—your pronouncements are just as grandiose as this lot’s.” “It certainly is beautiful water without a doubt, but a river like this can be found in any town.” Mr.Dan had grown so close to Mr.Senmu that he now spoke his mind without reservation.

“You flatter me,” “However, a river with such volume gushes up right before your eyes.” “People say it has no equal elsewhere—everyone finds it marvelous.” “Ah, I see.”

“Mishima differs from other towns in that we don’t import rivers.” “When it comes to waterways alone—if I may boast—we’re entirely self-sufficient.” “This land nurtures five or six homegrown rivers like this one, each cutting straight through the town.” “Being freshly sprung from the earth, they steam like bathwater on winter mornings and turn icy cold come summer.” “Thanks to these waters, Mishima enjoys warm winters and cool summers.” “As an ideal refuge from both cold and heat, Tokyo visitors flock here year-round—we’ve even prayed at the Grand Shrine that they’ll all come by Asahi Bus from Numazu like you gentlemen, then return the same way.”

“What’s this? I thought this was an explanation about the water, but it’s just an automobile advertisement? Still, what a beautiful river. You used to sing that song often—‘Fuji’s White Snow melts in the morning sun, melts and flows down to Mishima’—but this water couldn’t possibly be that, could it?” retorted Mr. Muraoka. “That’s precisely it,” replied Mr. Senmu. “The Cosmetic Water of Mishima’s Courtesans,” as they say. It’s a popular belief that Mishima has such abundant and clean water because the white snow falling on Mount Fuji melts in the morning sun and flows underground through this area.”

“That’s quite interesting, isn’t it? Explaining it that way gives it poetic charm—quite nice indeed,” Mr.Miwa exclaimed joyfully. “Depending on the spot, even if you bury a bottomless sake barrel, water gushes out in abundance,” said Mr.Senmu. “It’s a place with such abundant water that even the folklore seems to have some basis.” “That’s quite an absurd folktale,” retorted Mr.Miwa. “Just how many miles is it from Fuji to here?”

Mr. Dan was not one to unquestioningly accept such commonplace explanations. “About five or six miles, I’d say.” “By the way, here is the source of the river.” “What do you think?” “The fact that this welled-up water immediately forms a river—isn’t that the miracle here?” “Indeed, it is welling up.” “When it fills up, it’s only natural for it to flow, but given the sheer volume, it’s quite a spectacle after all.”

Mr. Dan amended "miracle" to "spectacle" and tacked on "after all" as a qualifier—quite the penny-pincher. The source of Mishima Beautifying Water was a modest pond, its clarity such that one could even discern the eyes of minnows playing among waterweeds. The sandy bottom swelled here and there in undulating motions, forming shapes resembling chrysanthemums both large and small. From these sandy blooms, they say, the water welled up. "In this area, we call such ponds spring-fed pools," Mr.Senmu explained. "Larger ones lie yonder, but the smaller ones are beyond counting. The white snows crowning Fuji's lofty heights..."

Mr. Senmu pointed at Mount Fuji—whose foothills now appeared more elongated than when they had seen it from Numazu—and explained: “...The proof that it travels underground to these spring-fed ponds is how Mishima’s water increases most when the snow melts between spring and summer.” “In summer, it wells up twice as much as in winter, you see.” “You’re rather clever,” Father remarked admiringly. “You must’ve polished those lines through constant guiding.” Mr. Dan stayed silent, while Mr. Miwa merely smirked as if holding back a comment.

Soon, we once again boarded the automobile and began driving through Mishima. “This is one damn long and narrow single-street town.”

When Father spoke ill, Mr. Dan— “Country towns are usually long and narrow, you know.” “Cities are just like people—when they’re malnourished, they’re as narrow as you lot.” “Mr. Senmu, does Mishima still put up those ‘Today’s Beef Available’ signs?” “You’ve judged it rather harshly, haven’t you?” “Though back in our childhood days, whenever beef arrived from Shizuoka, they used to put up red flags in Numazu saying ‘Today’s Beef Available’ to celebrate—these days, what with the military barracks being built, prices are said to be higher than Tokyo’s.”

“What is Mishima’s local specialty?” “It’s still the water, I suppose.” Mr. Senmu kept promoting the water. “Despite the good water, there weren’t any particularly beautiful people there, were there?”

Miss Tazuko said. “Fuji’s White Snow isn’t reliable either.”

When Father said that, Mr. Senmu—

“Beauties are in Numazu,” said Mr. Senmu. “I’ll introduce you to them soon.” “I’ve brought this much water from that pond for reference,” Miss Tazuko declared. She carefully produced a small bottle from her handbag and showed it. “Miss Tazuko, you’ve been deceived by Mr. Senmu,” Mr. Miwa chuckled. “That’s not Fuji’s White Snow.” “It is Fuji’s White Snow!” she insisted. “All of Mishima’s water is Fuji’s…” “No—in fact,” Mr. Miwa countered, “my hometown Kumamoto has Suizenji Park with water just like that pond. Warm in winter and cold in summer, with identical fish swimming about. And despite having no snow-capped mountains nearby, twice as much water wells up there in summer compared to winter.”

“I can’t argue my way out of this one.” “This was a complete miscalculation!”

Mr. Senmu scratched his head and burst out laughing,

“However, for appearances’ sake, it’s better to keep presenting it as Fuji’s White Snow—it’s more poetic that way.” “If we explain things too logically, it takes all the charm out of our local prosperity strategies.” “If that were to become mere well water one day, it would immediately impact my business prospects, you see.” “Moreover, there’s an ulterior motive behind me promoting Mishima’s water like this.” “In the future, I plan to bottle that and sell something called ‘Fuji Brand White Snow Cosmetic Water’.” “All you need is to add a drop of Risurin, slap on a fancy label with some bluff, and it’ll sprout wings and fly off the shelves!” “Women are such foolish creatures, you see.” “When it comes to liquids they put on their faces, women will buy even the most nonsensical things, you see.” “Oh—we have a young lady here.” “My deepest apologies!”

“How dreadful!” Glaring, Miss Tazuko spilled the sample of White Snow Cosmetic Water. When we returned to Numazu at dusk, we were taken to a restaurant for dinner. We settled into a second-floor room at Ukage-ro—the name left untranslated—where our figures would have reflected from the railing onto the Kanogawa River’s surface had it been daytime. Mr.Senmu must have made thorough arrangements beforehand, for the meal trays appeared immediately. I thought how remarkably long a single day could feel depending on how one spent it. The morning farewell with my family at Tokyo Station already seemed like ancient history. After traveling thirty ri by train since then—visiting Mishima in Izu from Senbonhama and doubling back—were we only just now having dinner? If I’d been home, it would’ve been around the time he comes back from school after playing ball. What was Keiji doing now? Probably still awake. I kinda wanted to see his face. Musing that my sisters must be feeling lonely without their big brother around, I picked up my chopsticks beside Miss Tazuko.

“The kids must be worn out by now? If you’d prefer, shall we have the luggage forwarded to Mishima-kan once we finish dinner?”

Mr. Senmu, who had been urging everyone to drink, said after a while. If we’re to be discussed alongside the luggage, Miss Tazuko and I might just be nuisances. However, since I’d received covert orders from Mother to cling to Father like a shadow, leaving early for the inn would make me both an unfilial son and someone failing Mrs.Miwa’s earnest entreaties. “The grown-ups are rather exhausted too, you know.” And Mr.Miwa—he of the neurasthenia—made haste to rest.

“The sun’s only just set,” said Mr.Dan calmly. “It’d be such a dull move to go back to the inn and sleep right now. Why don’t we take our time drinking?” Mr.Senmu responded smoothly, “Please go soak in the baths and relax properly. We simply must get a taste of Numazu’s local flavor—otherwise there’ll be nothing worth recounting later. There’s actually an ulterior motive behind my bringing you all here.”

This host, Mr. Senmu, was truly a man full of ulterior motives.

“Mr. Senmu, please dispense with the band.”

Father said while indicating Miss Tazuko and me to Mr.Senmu with a jerk of his chin. "You’re surprisingly uptight, aren’t you all?" "No, some of us aren’t—" "Now now! What’s that supposed to mean?" Mr.Dan interjected. "If it’s just serving drinks, what’s the harm?" "They’re already here." "That’s troublesome, I say."

“It’s fine.” “This is actually a problem.” “You think so?” Just as Mr. Senmu said this, a woman peeked her face out from behind the sliding door. The instant I thought her nose was terrifyingly large, she had already vanished. Two or three more appeared after that, but each time Mr.Senmu shook his head, so not a single one came in. When I looked back at Miss Tazuko, she—who was already putting on a composed front—had assumed an even more formal, public-facing demeanor. So I shrugged my shoulders and earnestly straightened my posture.

“Geisha, I wonder?” “Those people are…”

When Mr.Miwa asked as if he had made a great discovery, Mr.Dan answered, “Yeah, don’t get so worked up,” then said to Mr.Senmu, “The first one was quite a beauty, wasn’t she? Her face seems familiar—isn’t she from Nagoya?” “No, that one’s from Shizuoka,” replied Mr.Senmu. “She’s called Hamayū, the top fashionable geisha in these parts. Did you find her to your liking?”

“That was a big nose, wasn’t it?”

Even Mr.Miwa appeared to have noticed that nose. However, the hypocritical father said nothing.

When we had finished our meal, “Well then—let’s make this child-focused and retire early to our lodgings,” proposed Mr.Senmu. With that declaration, we boarded the automobile again. We were just thinking how this resembled Tokyo’s outskirts when suddenly rice paddies spread before us. “Where exactly are you heading?”

When Father asked, “Mishima-kan—we’ll eat in Numazu and stay at Ushibuse; that’s the plan. I’m trying to show you around various places in such a short time—it’s quite a challenge, you know.”

Mr. Senmu answered. After driving a considerable distance more and weaving this way and that through large pine trees, we finally arrived at our lodging for the night. Miss Tazuko and I were busy writing our first letters home. Especially since I had to write Mr. Miwa’s portion as well, it was a real pain. Admittedly, since I was accompanying them not just as a geisha repeller but also serving as a secretary, I couldn’t really complain.

Since the adults were just about to bathe and go to bed, they were being utterly carefree. “Mr. Tōgō is quite the boldly bad calligrapher, isn’t he?” “The person who requested such characters is misguided, but the calligrapher himself shows far too little artistic conscience.” “Though I suppose it’s precisely this much audacity that let him crush the Baltic Fleet.” Father was critiquing the hanging scroll in the tokonoma, “Country folks are always thoughtlessly demanding calligraphy, you see.” “My own father gets coerced into writing it sometimes too—he’s taken up this ‘sixty-year-old’s new pursuit,’ as they say.”

said Mr.Miwa. Mr.Tōgō’s calligraphy was highly valued even in Tokyo. Even the Marshal couldn’t stand dealing with this sort of people. “I’d give this top grade.” “When I was a government official, I was often asked to write calligraphy when visiting rural areas, but things never went quite so smoothly.” “And since it ended up sounding exactly like my own phrases, it’s quite something.”

Mr.Dan was using children’s practice copies as his standard. “Did you write this?” “Yeah. No need to look so surprised.” “In rural areas there’s this admirable custom of official worship—even third-rank bureaucrats get pestered endlessly for calligraphy.” “What would you write?” “What do you mean? My method’s quicker than dealing with half-baked literati. No thinking required—simple.” “I just copy down signboards from inns we stayed at previously.” “Horizontal ones usually have four characters—manageable with some effort.” “Though when they ask how to read them, I sweat bullets! But that’s where providence helps—someone nearby always deciphers them somehow.”

“Now that’s what I call a bold calligrapher.” “When I was on assignment in China, I wrote out ‘The Sound of Whips Falls Silent’ in full.” “I learned that during my student days through sword dance, but whose poem the heck is it anyway?” “That’s Rai San’yō.” “No wonder the Chinese were so impressed.” “However, in Hankou, I completely lost their trust.” “Since the protagonist kept tilting his head in confusion, I asked the interpreter, and he said that a Japanese dignitary who came the other day had also written this poem.” “You just can’t get away with anything, can you?” “Furthermore, according to that interpreter, when Japanese are asked to write calligraphy in China, they usually manage with ‘The Sound of Whips Falls Silent,’ so apparently we need to prepare some other phrases to bring along.”

Just then, Mr.Senmu arrived guiding the master of the house, Mr.Seguro Rokudayu, and for a short while, a lively conversation about tales of Numazu blossomed. Names like Kudayu and Sandayu suggested relatives with old-fashioned appellations, but Mr.Rokudayu was a young, modern gentleman with neatly parted hair and rimless glasses, not even a frog’s tail’s worth of his topknot remaining. According to this person’s explanation, during the old shogunate era, in post towns such as Mishima and Numazu, there were establishments called honjin—official lodgings for daimyo—and each town always had two such inns.

“That’s correct. Until my great-grandfather’s generation, we ran Mishima’s honjin. In any case, since honjin were vital institutions for serving daimyo during sankin-kotai, they were permitted to bear surnames and swords and received stipends—that is, they enjoyed the government’s special designation and subsidy privileges—so they were not meager existences like today’s Rokudayu.”

Rokudayu XI handled everything in modern language and dismissed the matter, “Since there are various artifacts from the honjin era, allow me to show them to you.”

He opened the trunk that the maid had just brought in. “I’ll begin by showing you the letter of apology.” Since Mr. Senmu was related to Mr. Rokudayu and seemed to visit frequently, he pulled out a scroll with tattered mounting from inside. And then, “This is what is known as Ōtaka Gengo’s letter of apology and is this house’s treasured heirloom.”

he introduced it. Written Statement of Apology We, having traveled down on this occasion, caused you inconsiderate trouble regarding the completion of horse-attached cargo loading areas, whereby our hasty plans resulted in great inconvenience. Therefore, through the honjin officials, we submit apology sake money. Thus the matter stands as follows:

Genroku 14 Ninth Month of the Snake Year, Ōtaka Gengo Lord Kunizō “Indeed, it seems Master Shiiba was quite mortified—he wrote his opponent’s name shockingly low down.” Father said.

“For a samurai of Ōtaka Gengo’s stature to have his sake money and letter of apology taken by a mere townsman’s groom—it must have cut him to the bone.” “Yet in the storytellers’ tales, Ōtaka Gengo becomes Kanzaki Yogorō, Kunizō becomes Ushigorō the Horse-Biter, and the setting shifts to Enshū Hamamatsu.” As Mr. Rokudayu elaborated, “This relates to Chūshingura, does it not?” “But why was the apology letter taken in the first place?”

It seemed that Mr.Miwa, like me, didn’t know the details of the story either. “Now, this naturally becomes the tale of Kanzaki Yogorō’s journey eastward—but just as the time for vengeance had ripened, Ōishi and his band set out for Edo.” When Yogorō arrived in Hamamatsu four or five days later, this fair-skinned, handsome man—perhaps due to his youthful appearance—was mistaken for a traveling actor and found himself challenged by a stablehand named Ushigorō at a wayside teahouse. Ushigorō was a man of such ferocious temperament that even as a horse bit into him, he bit off a chunk of its thigh meat—hence his nickname “Horse-Biter.” “To cut him down with one stroke would be simple,” he thought, “but even if he were but a common stablehand, killing him would not be permissible.” “Trivial matters before a great cause—if delayed now, all previous efforts would come to naught! Enduring what can be endured—anyone can do that! But true forbearance lies in enduring what cannot be endured!” With this conviction, he gripped his sword’s hilt…

“You’re quite skilled, Roku-san. Just an amateur stumbling barefoot!” Mr. Senmu interjected with a quip.

“Don’t go mixing in now. You’ll break my flow!” Mr.Rokudayu briefly slipped into the Numazu dialect and, “Well, in short, this is how this letter of apology came to be created. This has been passed down through generations in my family to this very day, so it’s an authentic piece. However, since there’s no need to revise what has been presented as Kanzaki Yogorō into Ōtaka Gengo at this late stage, I’ve let the storytellers keep spinning those professional lies they’ve been telling all along.”

“This honjin diagram is really well-drawn. It says ‘Carpenter Yozaemon’—is he related to that Yogorō after all?”

Mr. Dan asked while hunched over the old, insect-eaten blueprint.

“No, Kanzaki Yogorō was a rōnin serving Asano Takuminokami of Akō in Harima Province.” “Hmm, some naniwa-bushi melodrama?” The architect dismissed it with a sniff through his nostrils. True to his proclaimed ignorance of literature, Mr.Dan barely knew about the Akō gishi (the loyal retainers of Akō), let alone The Pickwick Papers. When hearing “Chūshingura,” he likely understood it as referring to nothing more than a sturdy storehouse.

When he awoke to the restless putt-putt-putt-putt-putt of what should have been a car engine, it wasn’t his home but an inn’s guest room. It seemed he had fallen asleep last night while writing a letter to Mother as he listened to everyone’s talk. Father was still asleep nearby. The others must have retired to a different room—no one else was there. I stealthily rose and peered through a crack in the sliding door at the bright world outside. The sea lay practically under his nose now. That putt-putt-putt-putt sound came from a fishing boat’s kerosene engine.

We were supposed to visit Enoura before departure, but everyone’s night-owl tendencies backfired—particularly due to Mr.Miwa’s insomnia-induced difficulty leaving bed—so we ended up barely managing breakfast before dashing to Numazu Station. “If we’d had a little more time, I could’ve shown you more of Izu,” said Mr.Senmu. “But since you’re hellbent on this reckless haste, there’s no helping it.” “Trying to grasp this region’s essence in a day or half-day shows rather thick-skinned ambition.”

Mr. Senmu escorted us all the way into the train car and said. “Not at all—thanks to you, we toured most thoroughly. “We really ought to pay a visit to your home as well, but with such a large party in tow—please do convey our regards to your wife.” Father offered a polite greeting. “My wife would like to prepare proper accommodations too, but with such a large group again...”

“How many are there?” “Just how many are there?”

"This makes six now." "Hey! You! The train's leaving!" "Nah, still plenty of time!" "We're off now, Mr.Senmu—thank you for everything."

Mr.Miwa, perhaps intending to hasten things along, hurriedly began expressing his thanks.

“Not at all—it’s nothing. “Truth be told, the farewell felt rather abrupt. Since it’s Sunday today, I’ve resolved to accompany you all for the entire day.” “I’m deeply obliged.” “Ah! That explains your composed demeanor!” Just as Mr.Dan made this remark, the train began moving.

“My goodness, how beautiful!”

And soon, Ms.Tatsuko let out an exclamation of admiration. Indeed, peach blossoms were blooming. And not just ten or twenty trees either. As far as the eye could see were peach orchards. “What a waste! I mean, we’re just barreling through even a place like this!” I said.

However, the eye-catching crimson haze continued to linger against the backdrop of Senbon Matsubara for quite some time.

“Originally, Shizuoka Prefecture has been famously deficient in both human resources and material goods, but lately it’s been rousing itself to devise various schemes. These peach orchards are one such example—the fruits of recent efforts. But when it comes to human capital, there’s simply no helping matters. Being content with modest accomplishments is part of the local character here—even among the wealthy, those with over a million yen could be counted on one hand. Particularly from Izu through this region, it’s the very heartland of weak resolve and feeble initiative. To put it bluntly, even those who go train in Tokyo—precious few return having amounted to anything. I myself never managed to graduate, but this very failure makes me a quintessential Shizuoka man—might even come in handy when I become a Diet member someday.”

Mr. Senmu expounded from the peach orchards to the character of Shizuoka Prefecture residents, “Even in its famous sites, one can clearly see the traces of this dearth of notable figures. The Izu area remains entirely dominated by Yoritomo and Yoshitsune. From here onward, if you visit Shizuoka, you’ll find nothing but Lord Ieyasu until dawn breaks. Even when the stage belongs to us, all the actors are imported candidates. Isn’t this a pitiful state of affairs? The proposal to erect Heisaku’s statue at Senbonhama is essentially a desperate cry stemming from this shortage of local luminaries. When all you have are memorials for first-class privates who died in the Russo-Japanese War, it leaves one feeling rather disheartened, don’t you agree?”

he lamented.

After quite some time had passed, when the sea began to come into view, I leaned out the window and got coal cinders in my eyes. As I kept vigorously rubbing, “Ken, you mustn’t rub them.” “Just close your eyes tightly for a moment and see.” “They’ll naturally come out near the inner corner with your tears.” Ms.Tatsuko instructed me. I kept my eyes tightly closed, but tears spilled out in drops. “Does it feel better now?” “Not yet.” “Oh, you mustn’t rub them!” “But the tears keep coming out, and it’s really bothering me.”

“Try wiping with this cotton.” “It seems a little better now.”

“Oh, a warship! A warship!” “Where?” “Ah, it’s a warship!” “Does it feel better now?” “Still a bit...”

“Oh, a submersible!”

“Where? Where is it?” “Nothing but lies!” “Does it feel better now?”

“Yeah, it’s okay now.”

I found myself being effortlessly maneuvered by Ms.Tatsuko. I had fallen for the same trick yesterday too. When dust gets in your eyes, apparently focusing intently on rubbing them to remove it only makes things worse, so it’s best to leave it to the eye’s natural structure and wait as I was doing now. Even so, things often got into my eyes. Was it because I kept leaning recklessly out the window, or did those coal cinders have a particular fondness for children’s eyes? “Ken, you can see the statue now!” “Marquis Inoue!”

This time, Ms.Tatsuko spoke truthfully. Blown by the sea breeze, its color had turned a pale blue. “This is also an imported figure.”

Mr.Senmu remained fixated on historical figures. When we disembarked at Ejiri and passed through Shimizu Port by rickshaw, he continued: "Here we had Jirōchō - a true local hero born of this soil." "When rare exceptional men emerged in these parts, they inevitably became gambling bosses." Once more, his thoughts circled back to notable personalities. Soon after, we viewed Jirōchō's wooden statue at Tesshū-ji Temple. The benevolent old man depicted bore no resemblance to the violent enforcer whose trade involved cutting down rivals and brawling. Mr.Dan recited from a stone inscription: "Fair weather or foul, Fuji's form stands eternal - unchanged through ages." "Tesshū's handiwork?"

Mr.Dan read the poem carved on a stone in the temple grounds, “It’s saying something or other.” “Since even I can understand it, it can’t be anything special.” “First of all, if it’s cloudy, you shouldn’t be able to see its form at all.” At the neighboring Ryūge-ji Temple, we were astonished by the enormous sago palm. The rickshaw driver emphatically stated that from a single clump sprouted fifty or so stalks. “There’s also a grave of an imported figure here.” With that, Mr.Senmu guided us up the garden hill and introduced an imposing Western-style grave.

“We must transcend modernity... I wonder.” “It looks like a Jintan advertisement, doesn’t it?” “That man Chogyu was so adept at self-promotion he had his grave placed somewhere scenic.” “Somehow it seems covetous and not at all transcendent.”

Father seemed discontented.

“Indeed.” “Just now, the rickshaw driver also said with a triumphant look, ‘There’s Dr.Takayama’s grave.’” “For someone merely holding the title of Doctor, having their stone monument become a landmark—it’s pretty much just this person.” “It’s certainly achieved its purpose well.” And Mr.Miwa concurred. “Liberal arts? This guy.” “Engineering gets shafted.” Even Mr.Dan grumbled discontent.

“Anyway, isn’t the view splendid?” “Days this clear with absolutely no clouds over Mount Fuji are rare.” “That peninsula jutting into the sea over there is Miho no Matsubara.” “Hey, rickshaw man—don’t just stand there silent! Lend me a hand here, won’t you?” After they descended into the garden, Mr.Senmu prompted. Then my rickshaw driver extinguished the bat’s flame, tucked it behind his ear, and took two or three steps forward, “That promontory over there is called Miho because its nose splits into three parts, as you can see.” “It forms a single village and has the reputation of being number one in the prefecture for sending laborers to America.” “The iconic pine tree from the Noh play ‘Hagoromo’ stands on the offshore promontory, and the view of Mount Fuji ranks as the finest nationwide—as one of Japan’s New Three Views, there stands a monument personally inscribed by Marshal-Admiral Tōgō His Excellency.” “What appears castle-like on the central promontory is called Saisōkaku—a Nichiren sect school where Mr. Tanaka Chigaku conducts public health lectures every summer…”

He proceeded to expound at length in this manner.

Soon, we set out for Kunōzan. When the sea came into view on our left, my rickshaw driver struck up a conversation with Mr.Dan in the rickshaw ahead. “Sir, all those single-masted ones are deep-sea fishing vessels. “Since all the fishing boats from Enshū to Izu call here, the way fish gather at Shimizu Port isn’t just a drop in the bucket—it’s downright astonishing!”

“So then the fish must be cheap, huh?” Mr. Dan responded while still facing that direction. “But those fish are so expensive it makes your eyes pop out!”

“Why’s that?” “They all get shipped off to Tokyo.” “Last winter, we caught thirty thousand yellowtail.” “Thirty thousand, Sir!” “That’s a massive haul.” “With such a huge catch, I’d thought we’d finally get our share—but would you believe it? The restaurants only used a tiny portion, and the rest all got sent off to other places.” “Fish caught here don’t even end up in locals’ mouths. Pitiful, ain’t it?” The rickshaw driver must’ve really wanted that yellowtail.

After a short while, “Sir, can you see those red things on the mountain’s stone wall?” “I see—strawberries, huh?” “Early season?” Mr. Dan looked up at the mountainside. “On the contrary, this is a late variety.” “Early varieties begin appearing from New Year’s.” “Even in the cold, since those stone walls catch sunlight as you see, the strawberries mistake the stones’ warmth for summer and ripen at unthinkable times.” “So these are what winter restaurants serve as strawberries, huh?”

"That's right," "Known as stone wall strawberries, they all get shipped to Tokyo and Yokohama." "There's no shortage of households making two or three thousand yen every year by tricking plants that can't even speak up for themselves." "So they must fetch high prices?" "For early berries, the going rate is five to seven or eight sen per piece—unless someone gives them to us, there's no way we'd ever taste them here." "It's like we're just temporary caretakers for goods that belong to others." The rickshaw driver spoke with lingering regret about the strawberries too. Then—

“They also force cucumbers and snow peas to grow early and bring them out in the cold of winter.” “These things are money-makers too…” “So they probably don’t end up in the locals’ mouths either, huh?”

This time, it was Mr.Dan who preempted.

Part Five

Having learned our lesson from staying up late two nights prior, yesterday we cut our visit short at Kunōzan after that and, upon arriving in Shizuoka by train from Shimizu, immediately booked lodgings. Even so, after dinner we saw Mr. Senmu off as he returned to Numazu and wrote correspondence home before going to bed a little past eight. “Will you all be having your meals together in the master’s room, sir?”

When I awoke in the morning, the maid soon appeared and asked. “Yes, same as last night is fine.” Father answered. I waited for everyone to come for a short while, but since there was no sign of them, I peeked into Mr.Miwa’s room next door. Uncharacteristically for someone who’d slept in, he was already neatly dressed and reading a newspaper, seeming instead to be waiting for us. In the next room over, Mr.Dan’s room, Ms.Tatsuko was waiting expectantly. Moreover, five meal trays were laid out, and two serving maids stood by. Thereupon I urged Mr.Miwa and Father and entered Mr.Dan’s room.

“That’s surprising,” said Father as he settled onto the zabuton cushion. “So this is what they meant by ‘the master’s room’?” “I was waiting all this time thinking it would be in my own room,” said Mr. Miwa, sounding genuinely taken aback. Mr. Dan puffed out his chest with mock dignity. “Do I truly resemble a master? Terrifying notion! I’ll have to mind my manners now. These ladies have professional eyes,” he added, nodding toward the maids. One maid stood her ground. “No amount of playacting will help your case, sir. Didn’t this young master here keep calling you ‘sir’ repeatedly?”

And one of the maids adopted an unyielding attitude. “Ah-ha, so Mr.Dan was recognized as the master.” Father realized. “No use fussing – if the act’s blown, then it’s blown. By the way, Mr.Miwa – you did send last night’s telegram, right?” And Mr.Dan, getting carried away, increasingly put on masterly airs. “I didn’t send any telegrams!”

But even when Mr.Miwa denied it, it was no use. The maids remained convinced that the portly, eldest Mr.Dan was the master, regarding the slender Mr.Miwa and Father as mere attendant clerks in his entourage. As clear proof of this conviction, they began serving Mr.Dan first without the slightest hesitation. "I was properly done in by Kunōzan yesterday. “When you’ve got over a thousand stone steps to climb, it’s rough on us fleshier types.” “Count me out if there’s any mountain climbing today.”

Mr. Dan said a great many things that weren’t exactly jokes.

“By the way, miss—is this Daitōkan a honjin?” Mr. Miwa applied the term “honjin” that he had learned the night before last. “That is correct.” “It used to be located in the town center and was called ‘Daiman.’” “This station area was developed after the railway came through, so I hear it was all rice fields here before.” The maid answered. “You managed to get us lodging at a honjin, huh?” “So this really is a daimyo-style trip after all.” “Since this place is of a different class than Mishima-kan, there must be Ōishi Kuranosuke’s letter of apology here, right?”

Father asked. However, the maids paid little attention to the entourage and focused solely on the master’s questions.

“That’s correct.” “Suruga hanshi paper is also a local specialty here.” “In this area we simply call it ‘hanshi,’ while paper from other regions gets called ‘Kura hanshi.’” “Makes sense – that rickshaw puller yesterday kept saying ‘the Mountain’ when he meant Fuji.” “So in Suruga Province ‘the Mountain’ means Fuji-san and ‘hanshi’ means your local paper?” “Then if we went to Mino they’d just call theirs ‘paper,’ eh?” “Remarkable!” The master expressed admiration over such trifling matters.

When the meal was finished, we soon went out sightseeing. Mr.Dan, worshipped as the master to the very end, rode in the foremost rickshaw. Ms.Tazuko, being recognized as the master’s daughter, was second. I, acknowledged as an attendant’s attendant, naturally took the rear position. “This is the outer moat of the old castle.”

The guidance of Mr. Dan’s rickshaw driver could faintly be heard. I felt terribly uneasy. They passed in front of barracks and the prefectural office, but the commentary remained difficult to make out. When they raced through the castle grounds, the rickshaw drivers all came to a halt, and Mr. Dan’s— “This outer moat springs forth water, which is why it remains clean like this. They tried growing wasabi here, but crabs ate them, so they didn’t thrive,” he explained. “Can wasabi really grow in a place like this?”

As Mr.Dan said this, "It can be grown in streams with clear water." "Shizuoka is an exceptionally water-rich region, and that water at Daitōkan also comes from a drilled well." "Since there’s no shortage of water, even though it’s a major city with a population of seventy thousand—the largest in the prefecture—there’s no need for waterworks." "So it is Fuji’s White Snow after all?" "That is indeed the case." "You are quite knowledgeable indeed." And indeed, this rickshaw driver seemed to be a former soldier. And then,

“The area we are about to pass through, Nishikusa Fukamachi, is an officials’ district where Shizuoka’s high-ranking officials reside.” Having said that, he lifted the shaft. Leaving Asama Shrine for later, we went to Rinzai Temple with the large rock on the outskirts of town. Any shrine or temple with even a modicum of history will invariably brand their collections as treasures and display a great many old utensils. Is it that these antiques became treasures because many people come to see them, or that many people come to see them because they are originally treasures? It’s somewhat difficult to judge. One could say that the chicken lays the egg, but it’s not impossible to say that the egg gives birth to the chicken. In any case, today we viewed the treasures as well. The sheer number of utensil varieties here stems precisely from the historical connection of Ieyasu having come as a child hostage to Imagawa Yoshimoto’s family temple. There was a hanging scroll labeled as Lord Yoshimoto’s self-painted and self-praised work. It depicted Semi-maru in monk's attire, with "This indeed—those who go and those who return, parting..." inscribed above.

“Mr. Dan, even Imagawa Yoshimoto made do with borrowed works like you do. It seems ‘The sound of whips hushed’ has been popular since ancient times.” Mr. Muraoka teased. “True experts—not just architects—are too busy for literary pursuits,” Mr.Dan retorted in defense of Lord Imagawa. After viewing the antiques, they visited Lord Yoshimoto’s grave. Compared to Lord Ieyasu’s grand mausoleum at Kunōzan seen yesterday, this proved utterly insignificant—just a crude wayside shrine-like structure with no stone pagoda in sight.

“Rickshaw driver, this soldier was from Suruga, right?” asked Mr. Miwa. “Yes, Lord Imagawa Yoshimoto is a Shizuoka Prefecture native,” replied the same ex-soldier.

“No wonder he didn’t succeed. Mr. Senmu’s theory truly pierces through the facts.” “Imagawa-yaki aside, I quite like this temple’s architecture. The way they’ve made the most effective use of the narrow grounds is somewhat instructive. The ground seems to be mostly rock. That must be why it’s called Ōiwa. The stone steps in the garden were carved directly into the rock. Now observe these steps—though old, there isn’t a speck of warping. Even you oblivious lot can see that, can’t you?”

And Mr. Dan made a harsh remark. Before long, we returned to Asama Shrine and climbed up to Shizuhata-yama Park. The cherry buds had turned quite red. Mr. Dan, having been chastened by yesterday’s Kunōzan, “Is there still more?” “I’ll wait around here.” He tried to give in to laziness midway, but the signboard proclaiming “Japan’s Best View of Mount Fuji Is Here!” spurred his courage once more. “Given your physique, sir, mountain paths would prove quite arduous.” “In the military, we refer to that as excess fat and greatly disapprove of it.” “Excess fat inevitably leads to flat feet, you see.”

“said the rickshaw driver.”

“Since I’m heavy, rickshaw drivers never welcome me wherever I go. But what exactly is this ‘flat feet’ thing?” “It refers to feet without an arch. Since the feet are flat-footed, long journeys are out of the question.” “My reputation keeps getting worse, huh?” “Shall I give you a bit of a push from behind?” “That won’t be necessary. Still, this is so provincial. Even if you call it a park, it’s no walk in the park.”

Mr. Dan made a spiteful remark out of desperation.

Shizuoka was quite a sizable city. When we looked out from Shizuhata-yama, we thought it had considerable width, but even when traveling through by rickshaw, there was still a considerable distance to the Abe River at the edge of town. “I’ve been to Tokyo too, but seeing Shizuoka like this, I wasn’t the least bit intimidated!” And Father’s rickshaw driver began to boast.

“It’s rather bustling here, isn’t it?” Father chimed in agreement. “Bustling it certainly is,” “Whether Ginza or Nihonbashi, they’re naught but widened versions of this Kofukumachi district with broader streets and larger buildings.” “The liveliness comes from heavy foot traffic, you see.” “Nothing astonishing about that in the least!”

And this rickshaw driver had an extremely strong love for his hometown. By this logic, there would truly be nothing in the world to fear. "So this is the Abe River, huh?" When Father asked, "That it is," he said, clipping his sentence endings. "Warashina Bridge that it is." "Nozaki, Ozaki, and Miyazaki are counted among this city's wealthiest that it is. They say the predecessor of that Mr. Miyazaki you see today built up his entire fortune selling Abe River Mochi right by this bridge that it is." Human life is like pulling a rickshaw up a slope. "Enduring what you can bear is something anyone can do—but enduring what you can't? That's what we call Suruga patience. Perseverance is what matters, you see."

It turned into something akin to a moral lecture. Even in Fuchū alone, the rickshaw driver spoke as if channeling Tokugawa Ieyasu. Mr. Miwa’s rickshaw driver was also straining himself in boasting about his hometown. Apparently, it was all about moxibustion—he claimed that Tegoshi’s treatments worked for every ailment under the sun, while Sakuraido’s were simply unmatched when it came to boils and sores. “A facial boil demands immediate attention, you see. If you dawdle around and let it get too late at some Tokyo hospital, you should come rushing here instead.” “It’s the kind of thing where just stepping over the threshold there would be enough to work, you see.” “I’ll surely have it cured for you.”

he was making rash guarantees about curing diseases they hadn’t even contracted yet, as if it were his specialty.

Before long, we approached a pine-lined path so quintessentially Tōkaidō, passed through Maruko Post Town, and arrived at Tozetsuhō. When I first saw the itinerary, I had thought Tozetsuhō was a name I had seen somewhere before. However, no matter how much I thought about it, the only thing that came to mind was the brand mark of an ash tray, so I concluded it must be a mountain after all. However, upon arriving, I found it was a Buddhist temple called Tozetsuhō Shibadera. Admittedly, regarding its connection to tobacco trays, I felt a sense that was both unexpected and yet somehow inevitable. The monk was making ash trays as a side job. We promptly viewed the tiny garden—no larger than a cat’s forehead—and the antique tools.

“There are so many Tozetsuhō being made here, aren’t there? Are you supplying all of Japan’s Tozetsuhō from here?” Mr. Dan asked. “No, since this is just my personal hobby work, I can’t do much. At this temple, since the time of our founding head priest Sōchō, we have crafted ash trays as a side endeavor and sold them. Moreover, since we branded and released them as Tozetsuhō, today Tozetsuhō has become more widely known in society as ash trays rather than this temple’s name.” “I think I’ll take one authentic Tozetsuhō with me.”

And Mr. Miwa brought down a large one from the shelf. “You, that’s a brush stand.” Father pointed out.

“No wonder I thought it was absurdly thick,” he said. “But it’s labeled as Tozetsuhō.” “Everything made here gets called Tozetsuhō,” came the reply. “But some clueless fool’ll think it’s a giant ash tray and go spitting in it, mark my words.” Mr. Dan meanwhile was already flaunting his Tozetsuhō expertise.

When they turned back and approached Shizuoka, “Oh no!” “I didn’t get to have Maruko’s grated yam soup!” Father lamented. “You promised all sorts of treats, but you haven’t kept a single one since we left.”

Mr. Miwa turned around and said. “In such dirty houses, it could never possibly suit the palates of Tokyo gentlemen like yourselves. You must prepare and bring bowls and chopsticks from your lodgings.”

And the rickshaw driver comforted Mr.Miwa. "It would’ve been nice to at least see the house, but…" And Father was rather fixated on local specialties.

And so,

“Isn’t there anything else left to see?” “Well, there’s just Lord Yui Shōsetsu’s grave left, I reckon,” Father’s rickshaw driver answered. “I absolutely must see that! Hey now, Mr.Miwa – since we visited the shrine of a great success yesterday, why don’t we pay our respects at the grave of a great failure today?” “Was Yui Shōsetsu from Suruga?” Mr.Miwa seemed convinced that any mention of failures inevitably meant people from this region. “Lord Yui Shōsetsu was indeed a man of this prefecture.”

And Mr. Dan’s rickshaw driver answered.

And so, “When Lord Marubashi realized he had failed in Tokyo, he immediately took his own life here in Ume-ya-chō.” “By the time the police officer arrived, it is said he had already slit his windpipe with admirable precision.” “Ever since then, Lord Yui’s ghost appears in this city every year.”

“Hmm, so ghosts appear here?”

Mr.Dan said． “That is correct．When April and May come each year，vast numbers of mosquito-dragonflies emerge．They swarm so densely that even Asama-san’s shrine’s eaves and pillars become completely obscured from view．And it’s said these mosquito-dragonflies are completely unparalleled elsewhere．”

“What exactly are ‘mosquito dragonflies’?” Mr.Miwa voiced his doubt. “They’re skinny little things like you all, I tell ya.” It seemed yesterday’s Kunōzan was still taking quite a toll on Mr.Dan.

Shortly after crossing the Ōi River, we got off at Kanaya. It had been just over an hour from Shizuoka, yet here we were in Enshū already. And so, the language had changed quite significantly. "It’s a rough mountain road to Maruishi – gentlemen like yourselves won’t manage a rickshaw there, I tell ya." The station rickshaw driver said. He seemed intimidated by Mr. Dan’s imposing physique. "How about adding a pusher to a two-man pull?" When it came to mountain roads, the spineless Mr.Dan relied solely on the rickshaw. "What do you think? They say we could manage with a two-man pull and a pusher all the way to Maruishi..."

And the rickshaw driver consulted his colleagues. However, Kawagoe’s descendants remained seated in their gathering spot that looked like a beggars’ hut, "As you can see, we're all out here, but regardless, he's got a fine physique, I tell ya." He did nothing but praise Mr.Dan’s physique. In reality, there were only three rickshaws. Though even if they had all been gathered, it didn't seem like a town that would have ten rickshaws. “Is the road really that bad? In that case, we’ll walk there, so could someone guide us to the Night-Weeping Stone?”

“In that case, we’ll walk there, so could someone guide us to the Night-Weeping Stone?” Father said. Before long, we were following the rickshaw driver and entered the mountain path. Miss Tazuko and I didn’t mind this genuine mountain climbing at all, finding it novel, but the adults were quick to voice complaints. “What a terrible place,” Mr.Miwa gasped. “Indeed, rickshaws can’t get through here.” “Nay,” said the rickshaw driver. “The path where rickshaws pass lies yonder, but this here’s the shortcut, I tell ya.”

And the rickshaw driver said.

“Since it’s called Sayo no Nakayama, that area over there must also be mountainous. When I make plans next time, I’ll exclude any place with ‘mountain’ in its name entirely. This daily routine isn’t sustainable!” Mr.Dan wiped his sweat. “What do they call this mountain? This one here...” Just as Father asked this, we reached the flat main road at the summit. “This is Shiroyama. It’s where Lord Baba Minobu’s castle stood – these are the remains of its stone walls. When the castle fell in war, they say many palace women threw themselves into the moat and died. That’s why snakes around here have red lips.”

And the rickshaw driver explained.

“Why?” “Because the palace women turned into snakes – they still put on lipstick, you see.” “What a good road! This should be easy then,” said Mr.Dan, perking up. After glimpsing what they called Kikugawa Village in the valley below, we soon reached the teahouse with the Night-Weeping Stone once the path began its steep descent. The stone was perfectly round, about the size of an enormous snowman’s torso. To our astonishment, young women visitors had come to this lonely mountain spot – two refined ladies listening intently to the old teahouse keeper’s lecture.

“...Todoroki Gōemon cut down Princess Koishi with a single stroke of his sword. “At that moment, the blade’s tip struck this stone, chipping its edge slightly.” “Princess Koishi was in her final month of pregnancy at the time—from her body that vanished like autumn night dew emerged a plump baby boy.” “Just then, the head priest of Kannon Temple happened by. He picked up the crying infant, bathed him in this mountain-top pond for his first ablutions, and took him straight to the temple.” “With no milk to feed him, they raised the child by obtaining candy daily from the confectioner before the temple gate—thus began Sayo no Nakayama’s famed Night-Weeping Candy sold at our humble shop today.”

And the old man chattered on fluently, this being a daily occurrence. “Was it that this stone cried when the Princess was killed?”

And one of the refined ladies asked. "Nay, it is said that ever since Princess Koishi was killed, this stone has wept every night." "The princess's grudge enveloped the stone, you see." “When Great Master Kōbō Daishi passed through this land, he declared it a pitiable matter and graciously inscribed the four characters ‘Namu Amida’ upon this stone, as you can see here.” “With this act, it seems her spirit found peace at last—the stone ceased its weeping.” “Given this backstory, everyone takes home the sand beneath this stone.” “If you place it under the pillow of a child prone to night crying, the crying stops completely—truly a mysterious phenomenon.”

“Then wouldn’t this actually be the Night-Not-Weeping Stone?”

And Mr. Dan interjected. “By not crying, this stone has proven to be a great failure." “Around Meiji 10 (1877), the local people, aiming to make a quick profit, discussed taking this stone to Asakusa in Tokyo to exhibit it as a spectacle.” “However, a Tokyo showman—sharp enough to pluck the eyes from a live horse—caught wind of this reputation and fashioned a papier-mâché stone that could have someone inside to make it weep.” "In those days before trains, while our side was crossing Hakone to reach Tokyo, the counterfeit one had already made an immense profit." “Having been beaten to the punch and with it not crying at all, they ended up crawling back in disgrace without earning a single customer, then dumped the stone here and vanished into hiding.” “It used to be at the top of this mountain, but since hauling it back up there would cost money, as you can see, no one’s laid a hand on it.”

“That was a huge blunder, huh? That’s how you don’t bring shame to Shizuoka people, I tell you. But hauling such a massive thing all the way to Tokyo in an age of poor transport—their conviction was downright impressive.”

And Mr. Miwa was impressed. “Now, the boy who had been raised by the head priest of Kannon Temple resolved at age fifteen to avenge his mother.” “Then one night, Kannon-sama appeared in his dream and delivered this divine message: ‘Otohachi, Otohachi—if you wish to avenge your mother, become a sword polisher and bide your time.’” “So Otohachi went to Yamato and took up residence at a sword polisher’s shop.” “Time flew like an arrow, and ten years passed.” “One day, a samurai around sixty years old came to request sword maintenance, and when Otohachi unsheathed it to inspect, he found a slight chip near the tip.” “‘This is indeed a fine blade, sir, but there is a flaw in an unfortunate spot,’ he said. The samurai answered: ‘If you count on your fingers, it has been twenty-five years since I struck down a woman at Sayo no Nakayama—this chip comes from hitting a stone during that strike.’” “‘The rest is of little consequence.’” “Otohachi took on the sword maintenance with a nonchalant demeanor.” “And when the samurai came on the appointed day once the polishing was completed, he seized him and achieved revenge with that sword.” “This sword is still displayed at Kannon Temple up above here.”

And with that, the old man concluded his tale.

We rested at the teahouse and ate Night-Weeping Candy. The ladies had started talking with Tazuko-san unbeknownst to anyone and,

“Oh, could it be Hongō?” “We are from Ikenohata.” When one of them expressed delight, the other asked, “What part of Hongō are you from?” “It is Yayoi-chō.” “That’s quite nearby, isn’t it?” Tazuko-san was engaging with the two of them. “Oh my! Yayoi-chō? “You’re truly nearby, aren’t you?” “Then we must have met in Tokyo before.” “I did think you looked like someone I had seen before.”

“The world is rather small, isn’t it?” “To think one would meet someone practically under one’s nose even in such remote mountains!” “That’s precisely why one mustn’t do anything improper.” “Are you ladies turning back from here already?” “Well, I suppose that must be so.” “How foolish—I’m quite ridiculous myself.” “I can’t even comprehend my own self, you see.”

Ms. Tazuko laughed with expressive flair.

“What a shame—just when we thought we’d found such excellent company.” “We’re visiting this Kannon-sama shrine with the Night-Weeping Stone as an added stop for our prayers—why not join us while you’re here?” “Since this truly isn’t a place one would ever visit again, why don’t you try asking your father?” And the ladies pressed their invitation.

Women’s conversations, much like this Night-Weeping Stone, were more a spectacle than something worth listening to. They accompanied each and every word with precise facial expressions. When they said things like “Oh” or “My,” they seemed to have agreed to move their eyebrows and widen their eyes as much as possible. And since those listening also responded with matching expressions and made faces that precisely mirrored the content of each word, it was said that even a deaf person watching could follow the gist of a conversation between women. However, men could say all manner of things without moving a single facial muscle, provided they weren’t angry. When I whistled, Father scolded me in a flat tone without looking up from his book: “Hey, hey, Ken’ichi, you’re being noisy.”

“Old man, what kind of divine benefits does this Kannon offer?”

Mr. Muraoka asked while jotting something down in his notebook. “Those without children who make pilgrimage here miraculously receive one right away—people come all the way from Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka for this.”

the old man answered. “Is it quite far from here?” Mr. Miwa asked, his cheeks still stuffed with water candy, while looking outside. “It is on the mountain right above here. When you return via the old road, it will be on your way, so I suggest you pay a visit.”

“Then since it’s on the way, why don’t we stop by? Hey, Mr. Muraoka.” “Well, I wonder what Mr. Dan will say? Since that rickshaw driver gave him such a scare earlier, he might still insist we turn back and take the new road. Mr. Dan—don’t tell me you lack the courage to take the old road through Inaka Hakone?” When Father floated the idea, “Inaka Hakone? I wouldn’t dream of refusing! After all, this is to make Mr.Miwa visit the Child-Granting Kannon.” “It’s all for getting Mr.Miwa to that Child-Granting Kannon, you see.”

To everyone's surprise, Mr.Dan agreed readily. "He agreed right away because he thought there'd be a beautiful traveling companion." "What a mercenary man."

Mr. Muraoka said in a small voice to Mr.Miwa. And then, to the rickshaw driver, “Well then, driver—since we’re here already, we’ll visit Kannon and return via the old road.”

“That’s true. Even if the road is rough, now that we’ve come this far, it’s unthinkable not to go through Kikugawa.”

the rickshaw driver answered. After resting a short while longer, the wives began preparing to depart, and the rickshaw driver began preparing ours, “Let’s get going!” he urged. We couldn’t afford to dawdle forever either, so we took that as our cue to move on. “You’ve bought a lot of foolish things.” “Yesterday you bought so many ashtrays, and with this disease of yours where you want to buy every little thing you see, there’s just no helping it.” Mr.Dan grumbled at Mr.Miwa and Mr.Muraoka, who were carrying a large number of candy souvenirs.

The wives devoutly offered their prayers at the Kannon Hall. Because Ms.Tazuko had displayed her social graces and settled in with them, we had no choice but to wait. In the meantime, we viewed the treasures as usual, but those here—with their serpent-bodied bird fangs, stones, and fragments of bells—didn’t even qualify as old utensils. Precisely because the items were crude, they were lined up on the straw mats of the veranda. “The harmful aspects of superstition must at least be suppressed by the authorities.” “Those women are mistaking the Kannon Hall for a gynecology hospital.” “If it were just about wanting a child, that’d be one thing, but if it’s an active issue like trying to cure a disease, they’ll be too late.”

As this was taking too much time and trouble, Mr.Dan began voicing complaints. “Those who can’t conceive won’t conceive even if they go to a gynecologist.” “How could they possibly perform kyphosis corrections or curettage with sutras?” “Since they brazenly offer prayers that have no effect, those monks are beyond redemption.” Even Mr.Miwa, who had always particularly sympathized with childless couples based on his own experience, became indignant. “They may look like proper housewives from good families, but how shallow-minded they are!” “This is exactly why the third page of the newspaper is never without some women-related scandal.” “I can’t fathom the mentality of these husband bastards who send their wives all the way to a place like this for pilgrimage.” “They’re probably businessmen or something.”

Mr.Muraoka also started badmouthing. These three had apparently come not to worship Kannon-sama, but to voice complaints. The head priest, unaware of his terrible reputation, dragged out the already lengthy prayer ritual even longer before, “Gentlemen, my deepest apologies for keeping you waiting,” bowing deeply, “Long ago, a monster called the Serpent-Bodied, Blade-Feathered Monstrous Pheasant haunted these parts. You see, it was a monstrous bird with a serpent’s body and blade-like feathers…” He launched into a tale that rehashed Yorimasa’s Nue-slaying legend, meandering from the Bell of Perpetual Torment to the Night-Weeping Stone.

“That monk is truly uneducated, huh?”

As Mr. Muraoka exited the temple and followed the old road, he muttered, “Uneducated? Well, he’s just a monk after all.” Because it was a downhill slope, Mr. Dan was in high spirits. “How could there be a Tsukikoyo or Koishihime among bandits’ or hunters’ daughters? It’s absurd!” Mr. Muraoka continued. “Princess Tsukikoyo was the daughter of Lord Toshimoto, who was killed in Kikugawa. Even his serpent-bodied bird is wrong—it’s not a hunter’s wife but Lord Toshimoto’s vengeful spirit.”

“You sure know such trivial things.” “That monk stated Princess Tsukikoyo was a demure and beautiful maiden.” “I suppose this Sayononakayama got its name from that Princess Tsukikoyo?”

When one of the wives proposed her theory,

“That must indeed be the case.” “It’s a much better name than things like cut-throughs or wide avenues, isn’t it?” “It has such taste.”

Another wife chimed in, and Ms.Tazuko responded, “Names taken from stories inevitably carry a romantic lingering effect.” “Especially when it comes to Princess Tsukikoyo, even the most insensitive person would imagine someone of such translucent beauty.” “That ‘Sayo’ in Sayoko-san’s name is poetic, you see.”

she concluded in a very scholarly manner.

When they finished descending the slope, they reached Kikugawa Village. It was said that ironically due to the railway's opening, towns along the Tokaido route had become desolate like this, with many no longer able to maintain their former prestige. Nestled at the valley floor between endless mountains, its very defensiveness as a stronghold seemed to have made modern transportation systems completely avoid it. We saw the grave of Lord Muneyuki Chunagon, a famous site in this village. "This too is an esteemed noble lord who was killed here long ago. Since this person's ghost incited Lord Toshimoto's ghost to transform into a serpent-bodied, blade-feathered monstrous pheasant, this tomb—resembling a pile of rocks—is essentially the foundational source of all historic sites in this area."

Mr. Muraoka explained to the wives with a serious face.

Inaka Hakone's slope was as steep as the rickshaw driver had made it out to be. However, Mr.Dan endured without uttering a word. He might not have had breath left to speak. "The only way to make Mr.Dan climb mountains is to bring along a beauty." Mr.Muraoka whispered close to Mr.Miwa's ear.

When we returned to Kanaya, we found a splendid statue near the station that was unusually grand for this mountain village.

“Whose statue is this?” When Father asked, the rickshaw driver replied, “It’s Sakujū-san, a wealthy man from this area.” “Isn’t it oddly facing sideways and looking sullen?” “Yes. It used to face the station, but due to an official directive from the prefectural office stating he’d just amassed wealth, it was made to face sideways like this.” “If he’s saved up money, can’t he have it face the station?” “No—it’s because when noble people ask from the train who that is, it would be difficult to answer.”

“I see. Because he’s a Shizuoka Prefecture native.” Mr. Miwa interjected from beside them.



At Hanaya Honten in Hamamatsu, the night ended. The sound of raindrops could be heard. Last night had been so clear, I thought as I listened carefully, but it was definitely raining. I was disappointed. And then, “Father, it’s raining.” he said while lifting his head from the pillow. “Hmm, it’s raining quite hard, isn’t it?” Father had already composed himself. Since the others had also resigned themselves to sleeping in, by the time Mr.Murata—who was supposed to guide them for the day—arrived, they still hadn’t finished breakfast.

“In any case, there’s nothing to be done about this rain. When I called the weather station, they said it would clear up by noon, so let’s take our time discussing things,” said Mr.Murata. He was a friend of Mr.Dan’s who had met us at the station the previous night and guided us to this inn. “You sure that’s okay? Even if it’s the sticks, you’d think one or two patients would come by noon, right?” Mr.Dan showed not a shred of restraint even toward someone he hadn’t seen in ten years.

“Don’t say such unkind things. Even this flower shop falls within my patient catchment area. Country doctors aren’t like those city ones who just scurry from the examination room to the pharmacy, you know.” Mr. Murata fired back in kind. “How many bamboo shoots do you have sprouting there?” “I’d prefer you call them assistants. There are four besides the nurses. Even then, we can barely keep up. In ophthalmology—unlike internal medicine—the patients arrive with their bodies in perfect working order. That’s why they come from distant places.”

“Hmph, ophthalmology then.” “Clever choice going with eyes.” “At least you can’t kill anyone—mess up one eye and there’s still another left!” “Hey now, that’s enough.” “The landlady’s coming!” Sure enough, someone different from the maid entered, “I’m afraid we’ve nothing grand to offer.” “This wretched rain must be spoiling your sightseeing plans.” she greeted them warmly. “Aren’t you going to treat us to some folk songs?” When Mr.Murata said this,

“Oh my, what a sharp-tongued doctor you are!” The landlady tapped Mr.Murata’s shoulder. “But I thought it was a sumo ring-entrance ceremony!” As Mr.Murata had remarked, this landlady was large. I recalled that Ms.Tazuko had mentioned running into a sumo wrestler in the dark corner of the veranda last night. “By the way, Madam, could you share a story about Hamamatsu with the guests?” “That is indeed the case...”

“What on earth is Hamamatsu’s famous specialty?”

“It’s pretty much just Hamanatto and the dry winds.” “Indeed, they say the west wind is a local specialty in both Numazu and Shizuoka.” “It seems that comes all the way here.”

Mr. Miwa said as if it had just occurred to him. “It comes from this direction.” “Still the same old Gunderby Shanghai-style, huh?” Mr. Dan seized on his words. “What makes it interesting is the close relationship between those dry winds and my business.” "The dry winds here are no match for Tokyo’s." "In winter, they blow horse-drawn carts clean off bridges—horses and all—so you can imagine what they do to people." "With every gust of wind, the number of conjunctivitis patients increases and comes crying into my hospital." "All the ophthalmology patients have red eyes or are pressing handkerchiefs to them, which is quite commendable. “In winter, it’s pretty much like the dry winds blow in patients for me.”

Mr. Murata explained. "I see, there's quite an interesting effect at play here." "Are you originally from here?"

When Father asked this, Mr.Murata— “No, that’s not the case.” “However, there is a story worthy of an inspirational biography behind why I opened this ophthalmology practice in Enshū Hamamatsu.” “Since the rain shows no sign of letting up yet, shall I share this story for your reference, young master?” “My father was such an upright man who considered it ideal to die before his lord’s steed in battle—every time I hear the phrase ‘the paragon of loyal retainers is Yu Rang of Cathay,’ I recall my father’s face.” “Regretting that three generations of our family had received his benevolence yet he’d never had the chance to lay down his life for our former feudal lord, he said he wanted to at least make his son useful and urged me to study medicine.” “And here I am, having become the very model of filial piety.” “And so…”

“Who knows?”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Mr.Murata continued. “At that time, our former feudal lord having contracted incurable sinusitis, I promptly departed for Germany to study otolaryngology. After specializing in ENT medicine for about eighteen months, I received a telegram from Father: ‘Transfer to ophthalmology stop details follow by letter.’ No sooner had I completed the transfer procedures than Father’s letter arrived: ‘Through years of dissolute conduct, His Lordship’s nose has now fallen off. Concurrent risk of blindness necessitates immediate transfer to ophthalmology.’ Thus abandoning otolaryngology, I completed two years of ophthalmological training before returning home—only to prove myself thoroughly deficient in loyalty through some cosmic jest. Before our ship even reached Kobe, the pathogenic influence had ascended to His Lordship’s brain, driving him mad before his timely demise.” “In bygone days,” he added dryly, “such failure to attend one’s lord’s final moments would have meant seppuku. But this enlightened age permitted mere symbolic seclusion before I tentatively opened this ophthalmology practice here—where these dry winds blew me unexpected prosperity.” His fingers drummed the tabletop rhythmically. “Took a local wife. Produced successive offspring. Put down roots so deep we’ve become part of Hamamatsu’s topsoil.” A sardonic smile twisted his lips. “Occasionally I muse—had that mediocre imbecile’s nose remained attached through his debaucheries, I might be practicing nasal specialties in Kyoto’s cultured circles rather than treating windblown conjunctivitis here.” His gaze drifted to the rain-streaked window. “That absurdly undersized proboscis altering my entire life’s trajectory—the irony still takes my breath away.”

And with that, Mr. Murata concluded his personal story. “That’s fascinating, isn’t it? So even your sitting here like this is entirely due to his nose causing it, isn’t it?” And Father was delighted. “Well, that’s about how it goes.”

“You’re just spouting nonsense. What about the weather? Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up, huh?”

And Mr. Dan let out a big yawn. “Ken, what walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?” “And yet, the more legs it has, the weaker it becomes.”

After a short while, Tatsuko-san brought out a riddle to while away the boredom. “So, it walks on four legs...” I repeated exactly what Tatsuko-san had said, but I couldn’t think of anything that fit. Mr. Dan was also drawn in, “The very last part is three legs, right?” “Alright.” He sank into thought. After thoroughly keeping me in suspense, Tatsuko-san—

“A human!”

Tatsuko-san explained. When crawling, it has four legs; once it learns to stand, two legs; and when old age comes, it uses a cane for three legs—or so the explanation went.

“Hmm, indeed—that’s cleverly put.”

And Mr. Dan clapped his thigh and exclaimed in admiration. Mr. Dan seemed to have a much slower wit when it came to jokes, in contrast to his sharpness with numerical matters. There were often instances where something he had heard two or three days prior would suddenly make sense to him, prompting him to let out an abrupt "Hmm, I see."

“Mr. Dan, that was the Sphinx’s riddle,” said Mr. Miwa. “The Sphinx stood in the thoroughfare and posed this riddle to passersby. And since it came with the condition that she’d devour you if you couldn’t solve it, there was no winning against her. You would’ve been devoured too if you’d been in Greece.” Mr. Miwa laughed. “I know the Sphinx from sculptures too,” said Mr. Dan. “That’s the Sphinx for you. The part about ‘the more legs it has, the weaker it becomes’ is really perceptive.” Mr. Dan was still impressed.

“When you occasionally understand something, you get so full of yourself, don’t you? There’s a story that when someone badmouths Americans, cheerful voices are occasionally heard from hell—so they inquired and found it was British people laughing. It’s said British people only finally understand the jokes they heard in this world after they’ve gone to the next one. Yours at least gets understood in this lifetime—that’s impressive!” And Father also teased. “The part where morning is likened to a baby is interesting. You know, the Sphinx is one of the Seven Wonders of the World, right?” And Mr.Dan had taken an absurdly strong liking to the Sphinx.

“The Seven Wonders are the Pyramids, you know.”

When Father said this,

“Speaking of the Seven Wonders, I’ve just remembered—Enshū has its own Seven Wonders too.” And Mr.Murata, remembering his role as guide, “The Night-Weeping Stone you saw yesterday is also one of them.”

“I would indeed very much like to hear about that.”

And Father immediately leaned forward. “The Night-Weeping Stone, Sakura Pond, the sound of waves on the Enshū Coast… the One-Sided Reeds and the Tengu Fire…”

And Mr. Murata came to a standstill, “Hey, hey—go call Madam here for me.” And he asked the maid, who was at that moment wiping the veranda, “Tengu Fire is probably phosphorus or something like that, I suppose. “It apparently appears rarely at the Ōi River. “There’s also a theory that it’s a dragon lantern, but whichever it is, they’re all rather dubious. “The One-Sided Reeds are truly mysterious—their leaves grow only on one side. “I believe they grow on the northern shore of Lake Hamana. “And as for the sound of the waves at Enshū Coast—this one is real too. If you go to Benten Island, you can clearly hear it. “The sound—like cannon fire or distant thunder—is constantly roaring, so it has a somewhat eerie quality to it.”

Madam reentered with her large frame and, after enumerating exactly what Mr. Murata had said,

“Kyōmaru’s peony and the well soil,” she added two more wonders. “Ah yes. Well soil? I shouldn’t be able to recall it—after all, even I don’t know the reason for this one.” “Well soil?” “You shouldn’t be able to recall it—after all, even I don’t know the reason for this one.” “In Enshū, when you dig a well and try to fill it back in, there’s inevitably not enough soil. Because the amount of soil dug out isn’t enough to fill it back in, they say it’s a mystery.” “Who’d be daft enough to dig something up just to bury it again?” Mr. Dan, whose trade was architecture, could no longer stay silent. No fool would build a practical house only to tear it down.

“This makes sense even without wells,” she said. “In Enshū, during funerals, they dig a grave and bury the coffin, but…” “Even outside Enshū,” Mr.Murata interjected, “funerals generally involve digging a hole and burying things—that’s just how it’s done!” He played the fool with an exaggerated shrug. “Enough from you,” Madam snapped. “When you bury the coffin, the soil fills the hole perfectly.” She pressed her point like a teacher correcting a pupil. “If the soil didn’t decrease, wouldn’t there be extra left over—exactly the coffin’s volume?” “Ah ha!” Mr.Murata crowed, slapping his knee. “I’ll prove it using Archimedes’ principle!”

And Mr.Murata recklessly interjected. “Remember this—you can’t go around using technical jargon thinking people won’t notice.” Madam glared. “Archimedes is all well and good, but your premise is flawed.” “There’s no logical reason for it to decrease, no matter what.” And Mr.Dan remained thoroughly earnest.

“It’s precisely because there’s no logic that they’re called the Seven Wonders.” “What a difficult man you are.”

“It’s precisely because there’s no logic that they’re called the Seven Wonders,” said Mr.Miwa. “What a difficult man you are.” “If we interpret it as humans—originally emerging from earth—always awaiting nothing but a coffin-shaped void beneath the ground, what say you?” proposed Father. “The soil needn’t decrease, and this mystery could take on a religious hue.” “Truly, sirs,” Madam demurred, adopting an evasive posture, “your conversation grows too complicated for me to follow.” Dealing with these layabouts since morning must have been dreadful for business.

“Now, now,” said Mr. Murata. “Don’t get so upset—just explain Sakura Pond to us. There was a festival there where they put red rice into an Ohachi bowl and sank it, right?” Even when Mr. Murata broached the subject, Madam— “You’re trying to make me say that pond’s bottom connects to Lake Suwa in Shinano so you can laugh at me again, aren’t you? I must beg to decline at this point.” “Another one is Kyōmaru’s peony.”

“I really don’t know about that one either.” “They say it’s where the Heike remnants hid, but there’s no evidence whatsoever.”

And so she disposed of the matter quite succinctly.

Even as noon approached, the rain showed no sign of stopping. Today’s plans—Benten Island, Okazaki—all seemed to be washed away. According to Madam’s pitch, Benten Island was the sole sightseeing spot between Shizuoka and Nagoya, making it worth staying another day to see. What still interested me even more than that was Yahagi Bridge in Okazaki, which evoked memories of Hideyoshi’s past. But in this weather, they would have to give up everything. “It’s a shame we won’t set foot on Mikawa’s soil at all.”

Father seemed deeply reluctant. “There’s nothing particularly worth seeing in Mikawa. It’s just Toyokawa Inari—the headquarters of superstition—and Okazaki’s Hatcho Miso that people somewhat know about.” Having concluded his guidance on Hamamatsu from the tatami mat, Mr.Murata had already crossed into Sanshū. Then, “Since it’s within Nagoya’s sphere of influence, everyone in Mikawa is a pack of self-serving demons.” “That’s too harsh.” Mr.Dan protested. “Ah yes—you’re from Nagoya, aren’t you? Like Nagoyans, they’re brimming with the spirit of diligence and frugality. With a great sage like Lord Ieyasu already produced, nothing too splendid gets born anymore—just later-generation offshoots. The manzai performers we see every New Year are essentially Sanshū’s representative figures.”

“Ah, that’s right. It was the birthplace of Gongen-sama and manzai, wasn’t it?”

“There’s a place called Manzai Village,” said Father, “where everyone does manzai—so altogether, their head count must be in the hundreds of millions.” “When year’s end comes, they discard their hoes and spades and scatter throughout Japan.” “Then at the first glimpse of New Year’s sun, they beat their drums and rack up meters for Mikawa Province.” Mr.Murata’s stories proved endlessly entertaining. “You’re still spouting nonsense and looking mighty pleased about it,” said Mr.Dan. “Never mind that—the weather!” “Relying on country weather forecasts won’t get us anywhere.” “Let’s admit it won’t clear up and switch to the second plan today.”

Mr. Dan said while comparing the travel itinerary with his notebook. “Are we abruptly going to Nagoya?” asked Mr.Miwa. “That’s right.” “If it’s going to rain regardless, it’s more time-efficient to get rained on inside the train.” “Now now, there’s no need to hurry so much.” “But it’s raining.” “Why don’t we muster some courage and stay another night?” “It’d be a shame to let such rare guests slip away like this.” “I’ll introduce you to Hamamatsu beauties.” “This house doubles as a restaurant.”

And Mr.Murata attempted to tempt them. In adult society, it seemed there was an unspoken rule that rare guests must always be entertained with geisha. “This hypocrite objects to such vulgar tastes!” Mr.Dan took a jab at Father while venting the frustration he’d harbored since Numazu.

“Well now, wouldn’t it be fine to stay a bit longer? I’d hate for people to forever say ‘That Murata showed them nothing,’ so let me guide you to at least one place. Young lady, you enjoy Western music, don’t you? Hamamatsu is renowned for musical instruments. Do visit the Yamaha organ factory. But Mr.Dan—isn’t getting rained on in Nagoya just the same as getting rained on here? Let it pour!” Saying this, Mr.Murata redoubled his efforts to keep them there.

Thank goodness!

It was a perfectly clear sky, a complete change from yesterday. In Nagoya, staying at Mr.Dan’s brother’s house had been a pre-departure condition, so last night all five of us were kindly taken in there. Mr.Dan’s brother was the spitting image of Mr.Dan himself, “My brother is a slightly older spitting image of me.”

As Mr.Dan had explained, if you weren't careful, you might mistake them for each other. Being his elder brother, "We are always indebted to you, Senkichi... Senkichi, you should also tell them to make yourself comfortable..." In this manner, he addressed him entirely without honorifics. "Brother, since I will handle the guiding, please do not worry." Mr.Dan also knew his place and observed the etiquette befitting a younger brother. Since they were elder brother and younger brother, this was hardly a surprising matter; however, both being middle-aged with slightly receding hairlines, it gave a somewhat peculiar impression. Tatsuko-san heard her mother's name being used without honorifics every day, but this seemed to be the first time she had heard her father's.

“How satisfying! Even Father, who acts all high and mighty at home, becomes just Senkichi when he comes here, you know. I somehow feel like I’m hearing Father’s name for the first time.”

Tatsuko-san said to me.

Now, they had fulfilled the request to "drop by when you get to Nagoya," but Mr. Dan's ancestral home was located much farther than "three blocks from Sasadai Station—skip one house, then another, then the third"—specifically along the grid-patterned Honmachi Street where cotton wholesalers stood in rows. The shop teemed with apprentices. In this large family of ten children—a mix of boys and girls—since the son my age and Tatsuko-san's cousin kept me company, I never felt the least bit bored.

“You, Osu Kannon is so lively, you know. In Tokyo, it’s like Asakusa, you know. There are so many moving pictures that the shop apprentices go every night and cause trouble, you know.”

In this manner, she invariably ended every sentence with the particle "mo". “Sir, it’s been a while, you know.” “We caused you such great trouble last time—thank you very much.” Under the guidance of the shop clerk who had greeted Mr. Dan, we went out to sightsee around the vicinity. When we proceeded straight toward the castle and came to the outer moat where a streetcar ran through, the clerk... “This tram goes all the way to Seto.” “Seto, where Seto ware is produced.”

[The clerk] began explaining. “Tokusan, do it in Nagoya dialect for us.”

“Use Nagoya dialect, Tokusan,” Mr. Dan insisted. “No, you won’t understand unless I speak standard Japanese.” “Ah right—you must’ve mastered it after fleeing to Tokyo twice!” “Now you’re just making fun of me!”

They passed through an area with barracks and came out in front of the castle. The castle keep was visible in the distance. Indeed, the golden shachi were shining brilliantly as they caught the morning sun. When I repeatedly stretched up, Tokusan— “We’ll be arriving right near there shortly.” With that, shortly thereafter, “This is the Baba-sakimon Gate from Tokyo.” “It was relocated to this detached palace in Meiji 43.” “Ah! So when I thought Babasakimon Gate had disappeared at some point—it had been moved here?” “Indeed—this is unmistakably Babasakimon Gate.”

Mr. Miwa remarked as though he had encountered an old acquaintance. “Wouldn’t it be Meiji 43?” When Mr. Dan displayed his usual habit, Tokusan responded, “Actually, it’s definitely forty-three.” “The first time I went to Tokyo—” “—The year you ran away, huh?” “The shachi have been growing bigger and bigger, I tell you,” Father interjected. “‘Ise relies on Tsu, Tsu relies on Ise; Owari Nagoya relies on its castle’—but seems the whole castle actually relies on those gilded shachi.” When Father said this, Mr. Dan once again—

“If you say foolish things，you’ll get laughed at.” “Isn’t it gold-plated?” “No，it’s not about the shachi—it’s about the song.” “That song isn’t Ise’s song or Nagoya’s song.” “It’s an old song explaining stone transportation methods that goes，‘Stones are hoisted and carried，hoisted and carried—the stones are carried to Owari Nagoya Castle.’” “That’s interesting. “‘Stones are hoisted and carried，hoisted and carried—the stones are’?” “You know such peculiar things.” “You too.” “I’d rather not have you sum me up too thoroughly.” The song that the architect recited indeed had substance. “The fact that it explained the principle of cranes long ago is impressive.”

“But doesn’t this song also depict scenes from when Nagoya Castle was built?” “No, it has nothing to do with Nagoya. It’s about stone being the main subject. Even if you changed the appendix part to ‘carry them to Higo’s Kumamoto Castle,’ it would still work as is. After all, it’s describing principles of physics. You could just as well say ‘carry them to Germany’s Wittenberg Castle.’” “What an impressive interpretation. So you don’t sing ‘Ise Relies on Tsu’ around here then?”

“No, we do sing it.” “That version is indeed the genuine one.” “In fact, just last night at the fish market...” When Tokusan inadvertently let slip, “The fish market?!” “This is trouble, Tokusan!” “Didn’t I apologize on your behalf under the condition that you wouldn’t set foot there again?”

Mr. Dan furrowed his brows.

Before long, we arrived at a spot where, separated by the moat, the castle keep stood visible directly ahead. “The shachi are dazzling, don’t you think?” Tokusan said, pointing, “Long ago, a man named Kakinoki Kinsuke rode a large kite and once peeled off one of those shachi’s scales.” “Since then, they’ve put up wire nets as a precaution, and kites using over a hundred sheets of hanshi paper have been prohibited.” “The one Kinsuke peeled was the right female shachi, and if you look through that telescope, you can clearly see where one scale is missing.”

Tokusan explained.

“Ah, I see it now.” “Right by the mouth of the one on the right.” Father was quick to peer through the tea house’s telescope. Following that, while they all took turns viewing the shachi, “To cast these shachi, they melted down 1,940 Keichō Ōban coins.” “Even a single scale amounts to a fortune, so it’s no wonder Kinsuke was tempted to evil designs.” “Even today, when people in Nagoya are short on money, they think of these shachi.” “The eyes are silver-plated with a diameter of one shaku; even these alone could help you scrape by a bit.” “And the pupils are red copper.” “After all, with thirty-six daimyos being commanded, two hundred thousand laborers mobilized, and Kato Kiyomasa himself as construction supervisor, it became an utterly impregnable fortress—not a single tile has fallen in over three hundred years.”

Tokusan devoted himself to his role as guide. After circling the castle, they climbed a slope called Rempē-zaka (Drill Slope). Nagoya is an entirely flat city, and it is said that the only place with a slope worth mentioning is right here. They entered the Gobanwari district again, but when passing through an area lined with nothing but secondhand stores, they were surprised.

“This place would be Hikagechō or Yanagiwara if it were Tokyo.”

“This place would be Hikagechō or Yanagiwara if it were Tokyo,” said Mr. Toku. Having often run away there before, he knew the capital well. In this manner, we entrusted ourselves to Mr. Toku’s guidance and visited Nakamura Park and Tsuruma Park before noon. The former was small but preserved the Sarumenkanja Ubuyu no Ido well where Taikō first cried at birth.

The latter was a large modern-style park—whenever something came up, citizens would gather here much like at Hibiya Park, but since this was the countryside, there was no Metropolitan Police Department. However, it was said that a prison lay immediately nearby.

“They say Nagoya people are frivolous, but that’s the opinion of those who don’t know the truth of Chūkyō, I say.”

Mr. Dan sat on a bench by the pond and began to speak while exhaling smoke. "I believe Nagoya is likely where merit-based competition is conducted most openly in all of Japan." "In all matters, merit—that is, financial power—reigns supreme, with not a trace of personal favoritism." "It’s substance over appearances." "That’s why the old feudal lords and senior councillors are surprisingly powerless, while outsiders who come in with ample resources to operate end up holding sway instead." "It’s a truly exhilarating place, I tell you."

“Your esteemed brother mentioned last night that low prices are one of this place’s defining features, didn’t he?” said Father. “That too is bestowed by merit-based competition,” replied Mr.Dan. “They’re such misers that they even celebrate a girl’s birth by cooking red rice—if they think something’s too dear, they won’t buy a single thing. Naturally prices must stay low, no? It’s different from Tokyo where folks keep buying while whining ‘so expensive!’” “What’s the reason they cook red rice when a girl is born?” asked Mr.Miwa.

asked Mr.Miwa. “Because they can sell them to geisha,” “This place is Japan’s top breeding ground for geisha, I tell you.” “The Okyāse breed—alongside Nagoya Cochin chickens—are so famous nationwide they practically belong in Japanese geography textbooks!” “What does ‘Okyāse’ mean?” Mr.Miwa asked each question pointedly.

“Put it down, I tell you. Stop it, I tell you. It’s also called ‘Okyā!’ for short. Didn’t you hear those schoolgirls rattling it off earlier in the train?” “It’s a characteristic of the Nagoya dialect. With things like ‘Okyāse, okyāse,’ you get ‘I ain’t gonna okyāse!’ See how that works?”

Mr. Toku began to sing in a low voice.

“Labor wages are cheaper here than elsewhere. Therefore, factories are brought in from all over.” “Even entities like the Artillery Arsenal set up branch offices here from Tokyo and Osaka—until recently, they were actually working face-to-face.” “With the population increasing like this, you can’t dismiss a ten-ri square urban plan as entirely reckless.” “Your esteemed brother held that same view, didn’t he?” “Don’t go on about ‘esteemed brother this, esteemed brother that’.” “Doesn’t this make me sound exactly like a foolish younger brother?”

Mr. Dan was somewhat indignant but then, "The thriftiness of Nagoya people can be understood even from this single fact: despite being such a major metropolis, it’s only recently that a flat fare system for streetcars has been implemented here." "Previously, it was two sen per section, with a maximum distance of three sections." "If they rode a full three sections, there was no complaint, but if it was about two and a half sections, they would get off at two and walk the remaining half—that’s the Nagoya temperament for you—so they apparently opposed the five-sen flat fare with all their might." "The very idea of paying for two and a half sections when you’ve only ridden one or half—they simply can’t wrap their minds around that logic, I tell you."

“If it were three sen, even a flat fare they could endure—that argument was all the rage, I tell you.” “While they were idly debating, the streetcar was nearly torched, I tell you.” “When issues of justice and humanity arise like that, all Nagoya folk gather in this park.” And Mr.Toku—a true Nagoya native through and through—considered the five-sen flat fare downright immoral. We boarded that flat-fare tram once more. Perhaps by some trick of perception, it didn’t seem too crowded. Particularly conspicuous was the merchant-like man seated before me, heaving resentful sighs again and again. I couldn’t decide whether he schemed to strip scales from golden shachi statues out of desperation or simply thought five sen per section highway robbery. Just then another merchant-type boarded at the stop. They appeared acquainted—

“Oh, where are you off to?” When he nodded, the man whom I had half-suspected of being a shachi thief—

“I went to the hospital.” “The youngest one came down with hayate, I tell you.” “It hasn’t settled down one bit, I tell you.” “That’s how it is, I tell you.” “Hayate’s just terrible too, I tell you.” “Mr. Muraoka, ‘hayate’ refers to dysentery, I tell you.”

Then Mr. Dan, who was sitting next to him, translated for Father. “It seems dysentery is spreading, huh?” “This place’s local specialty, I tell you.” “This place is probably the main source, I tell you.” “The one here’s particularly virulent and resolves quick, so locals call it ‘hayate.’” “They need to advertise enema syringes and castor oil more.” When Father said that, we had already arrived at Shin-Sakae-machi.

“Let’s take a leisurely stroll to Sakae-cho.” “There’s nothing worth seeing there anyway.”

At Mr.Dan’s suggestion, we began walking along the lively town streets. “At times like these, the flat fare really gets on my nerves.” “It’s just two stops for five sen, you know.” Mr.Toku exclaimed indignantly. “Ah, come on.” “We’re heading to Atsuta this afternoon—that’ll make up for it.” Even though Mr.Dan consoled him, “Even going all the way to Atsuta used to be just three sections—there’s only a one-sen difference now!” Mr.Toku seemed dissatisfied with a mere one-sen profit. The fact that he tried to turn a profit even by riding the streetcar made the situation utterly unmanageable.

“This area must be Nagoya’s Ginza, right?” “It’s quite lively.” Tazuko-san exclaimed delightedly. “Sakae-cho is the Ginza district.” “Over there is where Ito Matsuzakaya is located.”

Mr. Toku informed us.

“Oh, there’s a Matsuzakaya in Nagoya too?” When I asked,

“Matsuzakaya’s main store is here.” Tazuko-san knew this well. “So what exactly are the local specialties here?”

When they turned from Sakae-cho to Honmachi, Mr.Miwa asked shortly after. “The earlier mentioned ‘okyaase’ and Cochin...”

As Mr.Dan was in the midst of enumerating them without finishing, “Animals won’t do.” “...Owari Daikon and...” “Plants won’t do either. Isn’t there something like sweets or anything we can send home?” “For sweets, Nayabashi Manju and Shachi Okoshi are the representative ones. Here, it’s all about items that are cheap and bulky—they’re considered all-purpose. They persist with practicality in all matters. When it comes to Shachi Okoshi, I hear they make it from military barracks’ leftovers—so it’s highly practical. By noon, the nieces will be ready, planning to present nothing but Nagoya-specific specialties.”

“We’re causing all sorts of trouble for your esteemed brother’s household, aren’t we?”

When Father said that, the large noon cannon sounded. It was indeed Mr. Dan’s meticulous planning. They couldn’t help but admire having returned precisely at noon as scheduled.

Part Seven

“What a huge river!” “What river is this, I wonder?” I said. “The Kiso River.” Tazuko-san, who had been consulting the map since earlier, informed us. “Are you on a pilgrimage, by any chance?” A refined old man addressed Mr.Miwa.

All interactions aboard trains began with inquiries about destinations. "Yes, are you as well?" Mr.Miwa responded.

“Yes. Is this your first time traveling the Ise route, by any chance?” “Yes.” “I see. It’s been forty-some years for me. You see, I was twenty-one or twenty-two then—that would have been Meiji 14 or 15. Quite a long time ago now.” “Ah, that would be around when I was just born—or perhaps not even born yet.” If mathematics held any truth, the old man’s declaration—“Still, I’ve managed to live as long as anyone”—would stand validated. “I’m already sixty-three,” he proclaimed, to which Mr.Miwa humbly responded, “I remain but a forty-one-year-old novice.” In such exchanges, when one party reveals themselves to this degree and the other reciprocates with open sincerity, backgrounds inevitably slip out unbidden—a hometown here, an occupation there. Then, adhering to the spirit of single combat, the counterpart would invariably announce in tones meant to carry beyond their seats that they hailed from Nihonbashi Ward in Tokyo City.

“What part of Nihonbashi would that be?”

Father interjected from across the way as if he’d heard news of a fire.

“It is Honmachi 3-chome.”

the old man answered.

“Is that so? In fact, my wife’s family home is also in Honmachi 3-chome.” “Your wife’s family home? Ah—and which household in 3-chome might that be?” “The name is Kimoto.” “Ah—the Kimotos? As for the Kimotos, they’re all lifelong residents here—I’ve been acquainted with them since their youth. So you’re connected to the Kimotos?” In such exchanges, even when discovering mutual acquaintances or shared professions and hobbies, people would immediately bond, exchange business cards, and part ways after passing a bag through the window—never to meet again. But upon realizing this old man was his father-in-law’s longtime associate from the same hometown, Mr.Muraoka found himself compelled to show particular deference.

“Ah—so that’s how it was? You would be... Mr.Kimoto’s... ah... eldest daughter’s... ah... esteemed husband?”

The old man lowered the glasses that had been perched on his forehead to the tip of his nose and said while looking at Father’s business card. “Mr.Muraoka, you’re looking quite smitten there!” Mr.Dan mocked. “Ms.Taguriko, please bring out the camera quickly.” Even Mr.Miwa joined in the teasing. “It was Mr.Kimoto who invited me on that secret pilgrimage over forty years ago.” “Just now, I was thinking about those times.” “After all, it was a time when trains only went as far as Yokohama, so it was quite challenging.” “However, the Ise pilgrimage truly does forge profound connections, doesn’t it?” “So here I am today, bald as can be, traveling alongside the esteemed son-in-law of Mr.Kimoto’s eldest daughter—the very same Mr.Kimoto I once fled here with long ago.”

The old man wore an expression of boundless emotion. "So Old Man Kimoto went through such a phase too? Luring folks out and all—you two were quite the rascals back then, weren't you?"

Father said happily. “No, I can’t say which of us was the bad influence,” the old man explained. “The promise had been arranged beforehand, you see. The plan was that whoever managed to steal travel funds first would act—so when Mr.Kimoto succeeded during his father’s absence or some such opportunity, he invited me.” As the old man spoke these words, we once again came upon a large river. “Back then,” he continued, “we went down this river by boat and arrived in Kuwana. That’s right—we boarded from Tsushima. This entire area had quite an unsavory reputation in those days—they’d do terrible things whenever they spotted travelers. The innkeepers and boatmen were in collusion—the inns served half-cooked rice while the boatmen would shout urgently: ‘The boat’s departing! The boat’s departing!’ It was impossible to swallow anything properly. I later heard all the inns here were deliberately set up that way to keep guests from eating their meals.”

Before long, a toy-like castle came into view in the distance, and they arrived in Kuwana. Indeed, “Local specialty—simmered clams!” the vendor was calling out. “They say the first torii gate stands in Kuwana—when those dragging their lame legs finally made it here, they’d heave a sigh of relief.”

As the train began moving, the old pilgrim from years past started speaking again.

“Does it truly take three or four days to reach the main hall from the first torii gate?” Father inquired. They had indeed acquired an extraordinarily fortuitous traveling companion. Through this old man’s presence, we could now observe actual landmarks through the train windows while learning intricate details about Ise pilgrimages from half a century prior. “From here, it required two nights’ lodging—three for those with feeble legs,” he explained. “In former times, the Ise Pilgrimage ranked as an essential ritual second only to weddings and funerals—every man felt compelled to undertake it at least once.” “One aspect functioned as a mechanism for youths to gain worldly experience.” Those journeying this far would lodge at every notable stop along the Tokaido route, inevitably mingling with Oshu’s rustic folk, Kanto’s brash laborers, and Hokuriku’s provincial types. Beyond Seki, they would further intermingle with travelers from Kyoto-Osaka and western regions like Chugoku and Saikoku, thereby vastly expanding their horizons. “Our ancestors devised remarkably clever systems,” he mused. “They leveraged the Ise pilgrimage to implement a form of civic education for the populace.”

“Ah, quite a theory you’ve got there. “I hear that now that transportation’s gotten more convenient, proportionally fewer people know Ise these days. “In fact, we’re all first-timers ourselves, you see.”

Mr. Dan remarked half in agreement. “Exactly so. Precisely because transportation has been fully developed and newspapers have advanced, the need to travel all this way has disappeared.” “Exactly so. Well, since we’re neurasthenic too, we ended up letting ourselves be talked into coming along.”

Mr. Miwa went so far as to voice things he really ought to have kept quiet about, thus fully confirming the old man’s theory. “Well, you see, since everything’s become so convenient now, people have grown lazy—they think they can visit anytime.” “I’ve got three friends who say, ‘Once we become ministers someday, we’ll just make an official pilgrimage anyway.’” Father formed this opinion straight from his own idleness. When passing through Kameyama, the old man—

“Young man, this inn was your grandfather’s old battlefield.” “You know about those rascally porters called kumosuke, don’t you?” “In our time, the cart drivers still had that kumosuke temperament and were quite pushy.” “Apparently, we got into a huge fight with the cart driver because he called Mr.Kimoto a ‘country bumpkin.’”

He continued his reminiscences that had been briefly interrupted. “What does ‘country bumpkin’ mean?”

When I asked, “It means people from Oshu.” “Those folks wore red blankets and carried cloth-wrapped bundles—pure country bumpkins through and through. That’s why they got mocked as ‘Oku-san’ or ‘Okunbo.’” “After the cart driver kept pestering us, he sneered, ‘What’s with this Okunbo?’” “But we were from Tokyo’s Nihonbashi district!” “We couldn’t let that slide!” “When we shot back, ‘Don’t underestimate us!’, he retorted, ‘You’re the ones underestimating people! Don’t you know Kameyama’s Mr.Kanroku?’” “We fired back, ‘Who’d know some hick like that?’ They say he lunged at us then, but truth be told, even as we spoke, Mr.Kimoto whacked him with his Western umbrella.” “‘You!’ he roared, dropping his rickshaw to charge—but we struck first.” “I jumped in too, and we finally knocked him down. For good measure, we gave him a proper stomping and kicking.”

“You truly stood up for us Edokko in grand fashion, indeed!” Father was delighted. “But what followed next was disastrous.” “Since it happened right in the town center, a crowd immediately gathered, and Kanroku’s companions came rushing over.” Kanroku claimed his back was broken and sat cross-legged in the middle of the road, refusing to budge an inch. “Well then, what’ll you do about this injured man?” With that, the cart drivers’ gang surrounded us. “When things came to this, even we Edokko lost all our nerve.”

“You were charged for the ointment, weren’t you?” “I thought it would be fine if it ended with just the ointment costs,” said Mr. Kimoto as he adopted a conciliatory attitude, calling out, “Hey cart driver—are you truly unable to stand up?” But Kanroku, having been thoroughly stomped and kicked, retorted defiantly while rolling up his sleeves, “Hmph! What’s this now? You think a broken back can just stand up?” “All the while, the cart driver group remained in a threatening uproar, so we truly grew anxious about what might happen.” Just then, a pair arrived, pushing through the crowd of onlookers while saying, “Pardon us for a moment.” “No matter what they argue, if this man’s back can just be straightened, there’ll be no complaints, right?” said one of them. “Yes, if you just make me stand, I won’t say a thing,” Kanroku seemed to have finally realized he was outmatched. Then another person scooped up a shovelful of fire from a tofu shop or some such place nearby with a fire shovel and brought it over, suddenly thrusting it against Kanroku’s backside. In an instant, Kanroku not only sprang up like a triggered spring but, upon seeing the fire, leapt back a couple of meters. “Keep messing around and I’ll make sure your legs give out for real!” the mediator snarled, glaring at the cart drivers. “In the end, Mr. Kimoto and I ended up being beaten into virtue.”

“That was a close call.” “Still, having a good mediator worked out well.” Father looked relieved, and I too let out a sigh. “We visited Seki’s Jizo statue with those two before parting ways.” “They said they weren’t making a pilgrimage but heading to Osaka instead.” “Since they’d saved us from danger, we tried asking their names for future reference—but they just laughed and said, ‘We’re not respectable folk.’” “Turns out they were gamblers.” “Not only did they treat us to lunch saying it was fate, but they earnestly advised us to avoid quarrels during our travels.” “We were quite moved.” “Gamblers aren’t all bad, you know.” “Ever since that incident, I feel strangely nostalgic whenever I hear about pleasure-seekers.”

Having finished speaking, the refined old man laughed. "I must say, it's quite something to hear that Kimoto's Onigawara was lectured by gamblers." Father also burst out laughing.

And then,

“That’s amusing.” “That’s actually quite amusing.” “Seki, right? That’s where it happened?” “The fight was at Kameyama from the Kameyama story on our journey, and the admonishment was at that Seki’s Komatsu in Seki, right?”

He seemed intent on committing the scene thoroughly to memory so he could confront Onigawara with it another day.

“That’s correct. “It’s Seki—the one with the Jizo statue. There’s a song that goes, ‘Dress Seki’s Jizo in a long-sleeved kimono and take Nara’s Great Buddha as your son-in-law.’ It’s the place with the Jizo-sama that’s just as small as the Asakusa Kannon statue and quite famous for it.”

“What kind of place is this here?” “Is it worth getting off to see Tsu?”

Mr. Dan asked this when they arrived at Tsu. "Tsu" was written at the station in only a single character. When one stared intently at it, its utter simplicity somehow made one feel mocked. Since there was neither depth nor breadth to it, Mr.Dan must have naturally doubted its value. "Well, I did stay there at the time, but I have absolutely no recollection of it." "It was just a ridiculously stretched-out town." "The lodgings in Tsu boasted about such trivial things as being seventy-five chō long—quite lengthy for their name’s sake."

The refined old man did not give a particularly favorable recommendation. “Tsu, tsu—it’s like spitting saliva, so even the station attendants must be a pain to call, huh?”

“Tsu, tsu—it’s like spitting saliva, so even the station attendants must be a pain to call, huh?” Ms.Taguriko also said. “It’s an unfortunate name, isn’t it? I hear there’s just a small park and nothing else to see there,” Mr.Miwa remarked. Mr.Miwa seemed to know exactly who had told him this information. Given its poor reputation overall, I thought we’d likely pass through Tsu without stopping on our return trip too.

However, in Matsusaka,

“This is Matsusaka—a town famous as the birthplace of the Mitsui family and known for its wealth.” “Since there’s a cotton wholesaler we do business with here, I plan to stop by on my return trip.” “They say, ‘Don’t lose your way among the famed courtesans of Ise’s Matsusaka—go on home,’ but this place has long been a thriving spot.” He overzealously emphasized. “Did you stay there on that occasion?” When Mr.Dan said this, Ms.Taguriko— “I hear that the study of Venerable Suzunoya remains preserved just as it was.” “Suzunoya? You don’t mean some rendezvous spot, do you?”

“You’re so annoying! Don’t you know Motoori Norinaga?” “I don’t know about that. If it’s Oda Nobunaga, I’m somewhat acquainted with him.” Mr. Dan had a bad habit of invariably mocking literary scholars whenever the subject arose. “He’s a famous poet. If it’s ‘If someone were to ask about the Yamato spirit of Shikishima,’ then even you must know that one, right?” Ms. Taguriko also had an unfortunate tendency to scrutinize Father thoroughly. “If it’s that one, even Father knows. Hmph, him? He’s just a commissioned officer at the Monopoly Bureau, right? I’ve always admired his masterful skill in devising names for cheap cigarettes.”

Mr. Dan only further provoked Ms. Taguriko.

“By the way, are you still quite set on staying in Furuichi tonight?” Father asked the old man with evident regret.

“Yes.” “We simply must stay in Furuichi and see the Ise folk dance—it’s essential, you see.” “Are you all still determined to stay in Toba?” The old man inquired pityingly. “I’ve heard that Toba’s morning sea is simply indescribable, and since I was advised that Toba is the only place to stay when visiting Ise, we’ve already booked an inn there.”

“As for sea views, I hear the sunrise at Futami is splendid, so I’ve settled on Furuichi tonight and Futami tomorrow.” “It would be a true shame not to witness both the Ise folk dance and the sunrise.”

Sightseers' itineraries were akin to articles of faith. Each traveler held their own Buddha as supreme, convinced their way was the most authentic—it was rather amusing. They based absolute judgments on the scant knowledge gleaned from their seniors and allowed no freedom of choice to others—it all bore such resemblance to religion. As for someone like Mr. Dan’s esteemed elder brother,

“Senkichi, it’s best to complete the pilgrimage first, stay at Kaishunro in Toba, and save Futami Bay for the next day. Since you’ll arrive in Ueno, Iga while the sun is still up, you can tour the town and take your time at Tomotada. Since there’s an automobile departing for Tsukigase around nine o’clock the next morning…” In this manner, he tried to make us follow his past itinerary down to the very hour without any regard for the fact that the plum blossoms had long since scattered. Since all such reasoning followed this logic, the old man, though delighted by this auspicious connection, had not anticipated any changes to the plan; when we arrived in Yamada,

“In that case, I must ask that you kindly accompany me from Gekū to Furuichi.” “Since it is a place I visited even forty years ago, I shall serve as your guide.” Having said that, he was the first to board the rickshaw. When they went to wash their faces with Father, Mr.Dan was already performing his cold-water rubdown.

“Good morning. Still keeping up your meticulous routine, I see.” Father praised. “You say ‘still,’ but I’ve been doing this for twenty-two or twenty-three years now.” Mr.Dan replied while vigorously scrubbing his back with a cotton hand towel. “Does it actually have any benefits?” “It’s strange that I never catch colds, don’t you think? Why don’t you give it a try yourself?” “No way. Rather than putting in all that effort every morning, it’s easier to just catch an occasional cold and let things slide.”

“What a lazy man,” said Mr.Dan. “By the way, do you suppose Mr.Miwa is truly unwell?” “What do you mean? He’s just suddenly taken with wanting to see his wife’s face again, that’s all.” Ms.Taguriko had long since finished dressing and was gazing at the sea view from the veranda. Beside her, Mr.Miwa sat entrenched in a rattan chair, tilting his head as he counted his pulse—part of his daily morning ritual. “Well now?” Mr.Dan immediately teased upon arriving upstairs with Father. “Still got a pulse there?” “Actually, I’m rather impressed,” replied Mr.Miwa. “This daily overexertion hasn’t affected me in the slightest. Given that I’m busier now than when attending school from home, my constitution really ought to have deteriorated by now, but...”

Mr. Miwa replied as if his very goal was to ruin his health. “What an ungrateful man,” said Mr. Dan. “Even if you’re equally busy, there’s a difference between playing and working! It’s astounding how he seems to believe he’s doing such grand work.” “Anyway, it’s good that your health is holding up,” said Father. “Since getting homesick now and then is just your habit, I don’t particularly mind it.” He also seemed relieved.

When the meal was finished, the innkeeper came out and delivered a greeting, “Will you be making a pilgrimage today?” asked. “No, we finished both Gekū and Naikū yesterday. Today it’s this area and Futami.”

Mr.Dan replied. “I see. How efficient of you. If you also tour the islands around Toba, it would make for a perfectly pleasant day’s diversion. There are eighty-five islands here—places like Sakate and Momodori nearby are each their own village, complete with a village office and elementary school.” “We had quite a hard time climbing up here yesterday, but the view from this high place is splendid, isn’t it?” Looking out over the sea dotted with islands, Father said. “The view from this Hinoyama is said to be number one in the Orient.”

and the innkeeper promptly stepped forward with confidence, “Unfortunately, it’s hazy this morning, but on clear days Mount Fuji appears just one and a half ken away.” “How on earth did they measure it as one and a half ken?” Mr.Dan became argumentative whenever numbers came up. However, the innkeeper, “It is precisely one and a half ken.” repeated it as if measured with a ruler and saw no need to explain further. The people of Toba were convinced that Hinoyama Park was the finest in the Orient and that Mount Fuji stood precisely one and a half ken away.

“Brother! You knew damn well I’m terrible at mountain climbing yet still sent me to this godforsaken peak-top inn!” “From now on, I’ll make sure every weak-legged soul gets recommended this place!” Mr.Dan showed little interest in the scenery.

“Tokyo may be splendid, but as a man, I must say there’s no greater fortune than being born on these islands around here.” After a short while, the innkeeper began to speak in a deliberate tone.

“Why do you say that?”

This time, Mr.Miwa took up the conversation. “Because all our wives are ama divers.” “Husbands don’t earn a single penny.” “If a woman can’t support her husband on her own, she’s deemed worthless—so there’s no place as easy for men as these islands around here.” “That’s welcome news.”

Mr. Dan was pleased.

“While their wives are diligently earning money in the sea, all husbands need to do is push the oar while holding a pipe in their mouths and reciting *jōruri*—that alone is perfectly sufficient.” “Moreover, there’s nothing as steadfast in chastity as ama divers.” “If you think their morals are bad because it’s a nude trade, you’re greatly mistaken.” “There’s absolutely nothing like how they cherish their husbands.” “It’s admirable how they provide for them and cherish them.” “It’s a whole different level from husbands being valued just because their wives feed them like they do elsewhere.”

Mr. Dan grew even more delighted.

“Not only do they dive into the sea to gather abalone, tengusa seaweed, and pearls, but they also take on all the fieldwork themselves without ever troubling their husbands.” “That’s why I tell my wife too—‘Look at the ama divers, the ama divers,’ you see.” “So tell me, how about the ama divers’ looks?” “Well, since they’re constantly soaked in water, their skin tends to get waterlogged—but there are some who remain quite comely.” “They’re good-looking, they cherish their husbands, and since it’s a nude trade, they naturally don’t crave kimonos...”

As Mr.Dan enumerated the virtues, "In short, they possess all virtues completely opposite to our own wives." Mr.Miwa said, and Father added— "There's nothing we can do about it now, but we should encourage young people to come to this island as sons-in-law." "That's quite useful to know." "Do you have any other interesting stories?" "That is indeed the case, I must say." "Did you happen to see Osugi and Otama's dance at Ainoyama yesterday?" "He did see it, but it doesn't seem particularly worthy of its longstanding fame."

“First and foremost among them is the Ise folk dance, I must say—as for what you should see.”

“Speaking of the Ise folk dance, I just remembered—that oil shop in Furuichi they perform in plays doesn’t seem to exist anymore, does it?” “Oh, it certainly does! When you enter Furuichi from Ainoyama, there was Aburaya Ryokan on the right side, wasn’t there?” “That would be the one.” “That one?” Damn. “I ate lunch there yesterday and parted ways with my companions, but isn’t it just a regular inn?” “It is indeed an inn now, but that is the very Aburaya from the ‘Ise Folk Dance,’ where items used by Okon and sliding doors and partitions bearing sword marks from Kō still remain to this day.” “What a shame you went to the trouble of visiting only to miss out on such things.”

“I simply assumed it was nothing but an ordinary inn, you see. No wonder that old man kept insisting you must stay at Aburaya when visiting Furuichi. What a shame I missed out.” “Another one of your germ obsessions? Who cares about flawed old tools anyway?”

Mr. Dan didn’t put as much effort into this topic as he had with the ama divers story. However, the innkeeper— “Mr. Shirai of Aburaya is truly a man of great caliber.” “When the previous owner passed away, he immediately sent all the employed courtesans back to their parents’ homes and converted the establishment into a ryokan.” “People with progressive ideas certainly do things differently, I must say.” “It’s a feat we could never hope to emulate, I assure you.”

the innkeeper continued the story about Furuichi.

“That’s quite a heartwarming tale, I must say.” Mr. Miwa was impressed. “What was the name—Shirai something?” Father took out his notebook. Seeing him occasionally jotting down such things, I wondered if the Pickwick Papers weren’t entirely just talk after all. Admittedly, Mr.Dan, “What’s next—gonna file a report with the Salvation Army?” He scoffed but still didn’t take him seriously. “Don’t you have any other interesting stories?”

“That is indeed the case, I must say.” The innkeeper must have found dealing with such idle people troublesome, but—

“The oki-hiki is quite a sight to behold, I must say.”

“Oki-hiki,’ you mean?” Father started by asking about the meaning of the term. With this group that had absolutely no prior knowledge, even Mr. Miwa found it no easy task. They had to explain everything from first principles. “Both the Inner Shrine and Outer Shrine undergo reconstruction every twenty-one years without fail,” the innkeeper explained. “When that time comes, all the local people turn out to haul the timber together.” “They parade through town singing, ‘Ise is sustained by Tsu, Tsu sustained by Ise; Owari Nagoya by its castle—this is Ise! That is Ise!’ It makes for quite a lively spectacle, I must say.”

“Ah, I see—they’re borrowing the song about transporting stones for Nagoya Castle, then.” Mr. Miwa uncritically swallowed Mr. Dan’s misinterpretation and paraded his erudition. “No, this is the song for hauling our timber here, I must say.” The innkeeper seemed faintly surprised as he continued, “And when they sing ‘this is Ise, that is Ise,’ it means ‘this comes from Ise-sama’s blessings, that comes from Ise-sama’s blessings—absolutely everything comes from Ise-sama’s blessings, how grateful we should be,’ I must say.”

he provided an interpretation that seemed perfectly reasonable. Given that going up and down took considerable effort, since from Hinokiyama we could see everything at a glance—be it the castle ruins or Hiyoriyama—without having to move, it saved us the trouble of visiting each spot individually. Having thus concluded our sightseeing, we immediately headed for the station upon descending the mountain. “Toba’s a famous producer of pearls. “Since they don’t take up space, go ahead and buy as much as you please.” When they came into town, Mr.Dan teased Father and Mr.Miwa, who were fond of shopping.

“Ms. Taguriko, you should buy some pearls.” “Since they’re a local specialty here, they’ll make a fine souvenir.”

Father, perhaps seeking retaliation, immediately pressed Ms. Taguriko on the matter. “Sure, I’ll buy you some,” “But pearls—even tiny ones like talismanic charms—look so covetable it’s annoying.” “If there were any as big as a fist, I’d buy them for you.” “Ms. Taguriko, how about this?” “You should get him to buy you a large one.” Mr. Miwa added his own suggestion. Amidst this banter, we found ourselves entering—or perhaps being ushered into—a souvenir shop. The clerk hurriedly arranged the goods. Ms. Taguriko picked up each item to inspect them. Even Mr. Miwa and Father began rummaging through various wares.

“Taguriko, how about these here?” Mr. Dan tried several times to gauge Ms. Taguriko’s mood, but it was no use. As I waited, I recalled the time I had gone to Tenshodo with Mother earlier. Whether they were a married couple or siblings—in any case, a young man and woman had come to buy a woman’s gold watch. Whenever the man examined an item and tried to consult her, the woman turned away. By the time I started counting the number of times for reference, the lady had become like a hina doll with her neck twisted backward. And when the finest one was finally pressed upon her, the base of her actress-style chignon nodded in approval for the first time. If they were indeed a married couple, there must have been quite a scene when they got home. If they had been siblings, the brother would surely have learned his lesson thoroughly. Ms. Taguriko, though still a child, seemed to have a proper grasp of such social nuances; after turning away several times, she ended up having someone buy her a brooch containing a large pearl.

“I shouldn’t have carelessly opened my mouth. I had a terrible time,” Mr. Dan muttered.

Soon, they arrived at the station. A large group of sailors, seemingly about to set out on a pilgrimage or some such occasion, were lined up.

“Is this a naval port here?”

Father asked. "It's not a naval port, but warships apparently come here constantly. Didn't you see two or three earlier? Didn't that innkeeper say it's managed by sailors and ironworks laborers?"

Mr.Dan answered. "Sailors differ from army soldiers in looking thoroughly cheerful," said Mr.Miwa. "They're all grinning broadly. Their uniforms being childlike makes them rather charming."

Mr. Miwa said right beside where they were lined up. I worried whether the sailors would get angry. “This isn’t like drills or marches. This is how they gather in formation and head out for fun, you see. Admittedly, the army is conscripted, but since these fellows are all volunteers, that must play a part in it. They actually do seem to be enjoying themselves, don’t they?” Mr. Dan also scrutinized the sailors in blue jackets. “In the past, soldiers used to look like uncles, but these days they’ve gotten so young, haven’t they? There are even officers who make you wonder if such children could wage war—that’s how old I’ve become.”

Father also shared his impressions, using the sailors as his subject.

When we got off at Futamigaura and headed toward Meoto Iwa, emerging onto the coast, rows of tsuboyaki shops stood with reed screen huts.

“Young lady, do come and try the sazae tsuboyaki! It’s our local specialty.” “Young sir, do come and try the sazae tsuboyaki! It’ll even help your science studies!” The vendors called out to each by name. “Ms.Taguriko and Ken both look positively famished for a taste,” said Mr.Dan. “Shall we try some before we go?” Using us as his excuse, Mr.Dan sat down when they reached a relatively clean-looking shop. “Seems rather indigestible,” remarked Mr.Miwa.

Even Mr. Miwa, who had hesitated, polished off an entire portion. “Can you eat this tail-like blue part here?”

he pressed, “The tail works as medicine for stomach ailments.”

Having been instructed by the waitress, he left only the shells.

Meoto Iwa was very poorly regarded. “This makes me feel almost swindled,” said Father. “You could find rocks this size on most any coast.” When Father said this, Mr.Dan added: “The photographs make his toy torii gate look real, tricking people into thinking the rocks are enormous. The real skill lies in making viewers assume the scale uses an actual-sized torii.” “This stone wall’s downright vulgar too,” Mr.Miwa chimed in. “Looks exactly like one of those gaudy shell-encrusted brush holders they peddle at Enoshima souvenir stalls.” Mr.Miwa went so far as to denigrate even the adjacent stone wall.

Part 8

We arrived at Iga-Ueno at the scheduled time, but there was no sign of Mr.Miwa's disciple who was supposed to meet us. The telegram had been drafted according to my partner Ms.Taguriko's wording—I approved it and had it sent from Toba last night—so what could have happened? "Don't you think they're assuming today's first and second trains are delayed again because you never leave for school on time?" Father said. "Don't be ridiculous! I'm perfectly punctual when it comes to school hours! Could it be the telegram was unclear?"

Mr.Miwa tried to shift the responsibility for his disciple onto Ms.Taguriko and me. “Waiting around like this won’t get us anywhere. Anyway, let’s head to Ueno and get settled at an inn, shall we?” Mr.Dan had the redcap buy the tickets. “You said we’re going to Ueno—isn’t this already Ueno?” “It’s clearly written as Iga-Ueno.” “No, the real Ueno lies further ahead.” “We need to transfer here.” Before long, we were crammed into a toy-like train. It was called a light railway, but it was narrow, slow, rattling, and not at all convenient.

“In English, it’s called a light railway.” “Not a single character for ‘convenience’ in sight.” “Calling this a ‘light railway’ is just another example of your mistranslations, isn’t it?” Mr. Dan made disparaging remarks. “Is this Ueno a counterfeit Ueno?” Mr. Miwa was still preoccupied with Ueno. “It’s not exactly a counterfeit, but the town of Ueno lies further ahead. "There are plenty of places where the station’s stuck out in the rice paddies and the town’s tucked away a ri or two inland." "It’s precisely those kinds of regions where development lags behind." “Since our own obstinate stupidity continues to haunt us, there’s no point blaming others now.”

“Why?” “When railways first began operating, rural areas apparently mostly hesitated—they were preoccupied with oddly negative concerns like thieves breaking in once steam trains came through or having all their local products carted away.” “Among them, the sensible regions—since the railway would pass through anyway—petitioned the government to keep stations as far from their towns as possible, and succeeded.” “Seeing how far it is from the station, Ueno must be among those regretting their choice by now.”

“I see,” said Mr. Miwa. “Being mountain folk, their intellectual development must be stunted. No wonder they’re making a fuss by tacking on this light railway now.” The two men continued spouting their fervent opinions despite the local passengers sharing the carriage. “Excuse me,” Father asked the merchant-type man beside him, “this place called Tomotada—is it far from the station?” He struck up a conversation with our neighbor. “For Tomotada, you’ll want Higashi-Ōte station,” the merchant advised. “Nonsense,” interjected the merchant’s middle-aged companion. “Nishiotemmon’s closer. Barely three chō away.”

The middle-aged companion of the merchant interjected. “It’s not three chō.” “It’s about five chō from Higashi-Ōte and seven chō from Nishiotemmon.” “No, from Nishiotemmon it’s three chō.” “Since I live right across the way, I’ve tested it many times—from Nishiotemmon, it’s faster by the time you smoke a pipe and drink a cup of tea.” With neither side yielding, the middle-aged companion ended up guiding us to the inn. I thought the people of Iga were kind yet stubborn. Though it was a trivial matter, when that curious soul walked while measuring the distance, it turned out to be exactly seven chō. Even so, the middle-aged companion,

“How about it? Isn’t it closer?” he said confidently and parted ways. “Well now, we’ve earned enough to have a smoke and drink some tea,” said Mr.Dan.

Urging Mr.Dan—who wanted to set up the portable shrine right then—we left the inn to complete our sightseeing first. Thinking taking a rickshaw would be unnecessary, we began strolling leisurely about, but Iga-Ueno proved far more spacious than its namesake in Tokyo. This wasn't some slender upstart of a town but rather matched perfectly with Mr.Dan's urban theory that well-nourished cities, like well-fed humans, must have proper breadth. By the time we tracked down the hometown monument of venerable Bashō and paid respects to his wooden statue,

“Excuse me, does Aizen-han come this way?” Father practically swallowed his question. Even if you called him “the venerable Bashō,” passersby wouldn’t understand. Then, when they headed to Minomushian as well,

“Excuse me, may I ask—is there a place called Minomushian around here?”

“I dunno ’bout nothin’ like that ’round here.” “Mr. Bashō’s place—I heard it was around here...” “Mr. Bashō? I don’t know any such person.” That was how it went. “That’s surprising. “No one knows.” “So even the venerable one isn’t as popular as I’d thought.” “So even prophets aren’t honored in their own hometowns, I wonder?” Father kept tilting his head in puzzlement. “You’re just asking the wrong people. “You’ve been specifically picking only women, children, and frail old men to ask all this time.”

Mr.Miwa pointed out. "In short, this proves that hokku has nothing to do with modern life—ah, I’m starving." Mr.Dan seemed to know only that Bashō was a haiku poet. After finally managing to find it, the hermitage had now become a private villa with its gate closed.

“No wonder the townsfolk don’t know about it. It’s been turned into a residence now.” Father made excuses for Bashō’s sake, but since getting permission to view it took yet more time, “You lot are too damn nosy for your own good,” “Is this rickety shack really worth all the fuss?”

The hungry Mr. Dan was quite discontent.

“I’m quite worn out myself,” said Mr.Miwa. “Next up is Keya Crossroads, but without a guide, we’ll likely be at a loss. I thought today—after all this time—I’d finally get to relax, but just because of a botched telegram, we ended up in this mess.” “What a nuisance!” Ms.Taguriko glared at Mr.Miwa while making eye contact with me. “They’re blaming everything on us!”

Ms. Taguriko shot me a meaningful look and glared at Mr. Miwa. "Perhaps I should stop helping you get dressed from now on."

And I, matching my companions’ stubbornness, dug in my heels. "You know, I thought Minomushian struck me as oddly modern, but turns out that place was Mr.Negami’s old residence."

Father, disregarding others’ ulterior motives, turned back and once again brought up the matter of the venerable Bashō’s site as he spoke. “Ah, right, right. Mr. Negami once came to a middle school around here while researching Bashō, didn’t he?” Mr. Miwa answered as if recalling something from the past.

“Maybe I’ll send a postcard.” “He said he first started a household at that Minomushian.” “And let me tell you, that’s no simple matter.” “When there was a sports day at the middle school, a young, beautiful girls’ school teacher brought her students to watch.” “Then the teacher got completely captivated, standing there dazed and confused—the sports day was utterly forgotten…” “Which teacher?” “Anyone would be a teacher in that situation. If it were a student, they’d be expelled on the spot.” “No—which teacher are you saying got captivated?”

“Of course, it was the man who was captivated by the woman.” “When a woman becomes so captivated by a man that she drops her fan with a clatter, only to have some wooden contraption spring into action—well, regrettably, that’s something you’ll only see on the theater stage.” “What did you say? “Are you saying they were photographed while mesmerized?”

Mr. Dan approached. “No, rest assured. “It’s not that story of yours. “But you don’t know Mr.Negami, do you? Now, the principal who was nearby noticed this and said, ‘Did it catch your fancy? “Shall I take the trouble of acting as matchmaker?” he is said to have jokingly offered. Then Mr.Negami, ever so earnest, said, “I humbly ask for your assistance. “My family is now engaged in business in Tokyo, but our ancestors have resided in Ōmi for generations—we are descendants of the Seiwa Genji,” he declared, even pulling out his family tree as his face flushed with fervor. “This kind of behavior is so artlessly innocent—his haiku poet nature laid bare. “In one of his poems he wrote: ‘A snail—the Seiwa Genji beneath my nose.’ This was likely his impression of that moment. “Taking a wife, composing haiku—it seems Mr.Negami was quite active here as well.”

“What does that mean?” “The ‘beneath the nose’ part—” Mr. Miwa struggled to interpret. “It’s a reminiscence that in that moment, beneath his nose was surely ample enough to host a snail.” “The fellow called Maitsubro is an embodiment of a dullard, so harmony is preferable in this situation.” “Moreover, since [he] doesn’t fixate on one spot, this makes the length beneath his nose appear quite pronounced.” Father became serious and explained.

“You’re spouting nonsense,” said Mr.Dan as he quickened his pace. “What became of that story about you, Mr.Dan?”

Mr. Miwa asked again. "Since that evidence has already been made public to the world, there's no point hiding it now." "Mr.Dan, when was that Flower Day incident again?" "If you keep spouting nonsense, we'll be here till sundown!" With that, Mr.Dan motioned for Ms.Taguriko to proceed. "Just imagine—two or three years ago on Flower Day, Mr.Dan bought artificial flowers from some young madam in Ginza." "Then a newspaper reporter took a photo of the scene and published it in the evening edition." "Mr.Dan insists he was never captivated, but no matter who judges it, he hardly looks composed." "His wife reportedly tore into him mercilessly: 'Letting someone with such plain looks arrange flowers for you and then smirking like that—it's the height of poor judgment!'" "In any case, the moment lingered so long it became a photo bound to stir controversy." "I've kept the clipping for reference—I'll show you next time if you like."

“That leaves you with no way out either, Mr.Dan.” “At my school too, there’s a man who got caught up in exactly that kind of situation.” Though Mr.Miwa claimed exhaustion, he showed no intention of returning early to rest. And so, “Since last year we’ve allowed women to audit lectures—several applied.” “One was such a striking beauty she drew students’ stares and became faculty room gossip.” “Then a newspaper reporter came to photograph her arriving at campus—accidentally capturing a teacher in the shot.” “They say newspapers mirror society, so this caused quite a stir.” “The fellow insists he wasn’t entranced—just staring—but it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other.” “Just like your case, Mr.Dan—that awkward pause stretched endlessly.” “And since he happened to be unmarried, the rumors bloomed wilder.” “Some wag titled the photo: ‘The Bachelor’s Lament.’” “A clever barb, don’t you think?”

“Ah, clever indeed! “That teacher, Mr.Dan, and Mr.Negami—what a perfectly matched trio they make!” “In that case, even Pope’s famous line would have to be revised to ‘The proper study of mankind is woman,’ wouldn’t it?” And Father was delighted. When he cites Westerners’ words, he reaches the pinnacle of delight.

As evening fell, they trudged back to the inn, bathed, and began eating dinner, but without any local acquaintances present, the conversation never took off. The female staff seemed convinced that serving was their sole duty, bearing no obligation to answer every query; no matter what they were asked, they settled matters with a curt “Yes” or “No.” Father tried earnestly, but “Yes, it is Lord Tōdō. The lord here is—” “A count, then?”

“Yes.” “Was it a viscount?” “Well...”

“So he was a Count after all?”

“He was a Count before, but what is he doing now, I wonder?” That was about the extent of it, leaving no foothold to continue. Just then, a young gentleman came clattering up the stairs and entered.

“Mr. Miwa, everyone, I must profoundly apologize for this outrageous discourtesy.” With that greeting, they immediately recognized this as Mr. Miwa’s tardy disciple, Mr. Matsumoto. “Was there a mistake with the telegram?” “I left it in the hands of a child, you see.” And Mr.Miwa declared boldly. Admittedly, given the presence of his disciples, he likely found it difficult to confess that he had only managed to come this far because these youngsters were taking care of his daily needs. "No, we did indeed receive the telegram last night, but taking the initiative to go all the way to Kameyama to meet you was precisely what led to the mistake."

Having answered, Mr.Matsumoto, “Miss, bring me some rice as well.” “I’ll join you in partaking.” “I’m sorry to rush you, but make it quick.” Mr.Matsumoto ordered. His manner of handling matters and turns of phrase were far more worldly than Mr.Miwa’s. “Ken, I trust the telegram arrived safely?” Ms.Taguriko deliberately turned to look at me. “Truly, it arrived without issue, didn’t it?”

I also responded in accordance with her intent.

However, Mr. Miwa explained belatedly, as though it were only now occurring to him: “That’s the telegram we sent—if it didn’t arrive, then there’s been a mistake.” There was no response whatsoever. “This is entirely my blunder. I’ll explain the details at length later, but in short, the provincial customs of Iga are to blame.” But instead, it was pitiful how his apology only reverberated back upon his own disciples. When the meal was finished, Ms. Taguriko and I, as usual, each attended to our correspondence tasks for home. As the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention; being made to write letters every day naturally leads one to devise various shortcuts. Yesterday, I tried applying the phrase “indescribable.” This thing proved extremely handy. Good scenery could mostly be handled with this. Today, I made use of the phrase “I shall write at a later time.” This proved remarkably convenient when one was thoroughly exhausted. “Today’s sightseeing in Iga Ueno—I shall write at a later time” was fully sufficient. Particularly when using picture postcards, since there was little blank space, there remained absolutely no sign that any effort had been spared. While most promises came with the responsibility of fulfillment, I’d never heard of a case where later correspondence alone led to demands and lawsuits. Later correspondence, oh later correspondence! To Mother, to Mr.Miwa’s household, and inventively even to the Onigawara at Nihonbashi, I sent my regards via later correspondence. Just as I was thinking later correspondence was the best method, Mr.Matsumoto launched into a discussion about urination.

“I must apologize profusely for broaching such an indelicate matter, but nowhere in all the land do people urinate as frequently as in this Iga Province. In fact, today I suffered an unexpected mishap due to that very issue. I had come all the way to Kameyama to meet you, and since there was time, I stopped briefly at a relative’s house. I got so engrossed in conversation that while rushing to the station, Iga’s famous local specialty—nature calling—arose, and I had to make a mad dash into an acquaintance’s house. As a result, I ended up seeing off from the shadows the very train carrying the teachers I was supposed to meet, making it all so utterly absurd it defies description.”

“What could be causing this situation, I wonder? There’s a condition called dribbling urination where the flow is obstructed, but I’ve never heard of such excessive discharge. Still, it must be some sort of regional ailment, don’t you think?”

Mr. Miwa asked. Neurasthenia—he strove to explain everything through illness. “No, it’s not an illness. In this region, eating gruel at least once daily has been an unwritten custom since ancient times, which naturally leads to excessive urination.” “Ah! So they eat rice gruel?” Mr. Muraoka urged them to continue. “Whether morning, evening, or both—rich or poor—they must eat gruel to save rice. This apparently maintains an official decree from past famines. Hence the saying about households eating tea gruel so thin you could see your face reflected—do you understand?”

“Hmm, so it’s the same situation as Tokyo boarding house miso soup, I wonder?”

Mr. Dan, drawing from his student days’ experience, uncharacteristically hit the nail on the head. “That’s correct. They say that signifies their households’ poverty.” “They say Bashō’s verse ‘Sleeping by my horse, lingering dreams—the moon distant, smoke of tea’ refers to that very smoke from cooking rice gruel with tea. But really, what in blazes is that stuff?” Mr. Muraoka began listing six varieties. “It’s nothing special. It’s simply rice gruel made by boiling with tea added. When you mix barley into that, it’s called barley tea gruel. If you add azuki beans, it’s azuki bean tea gruel; if you add potatoes, it’s potato tea gruel.”

“Barley tea gruel, azuki tea gruel, potato tea gruel... Quite a variety we’ve got here.” “There’s also mochi tea gruel.” “Mainly eaten in winter to endure the cold.” “Mochi tea gruel... That makes five varieties now.” “Wait—hold on! If mochi gruel’s for enduring cold...” “Does winter actually get cold here?”

“When they say it’s cold—well, there’s a reason the old song goes ‘Iga’s Ueno sits high and cold.’ The chill here seeps right into your bones. On top of that, everyone’s bellies are filled with gruel so watery you could see the ceiling’s reflection. One simply can’t help but urinate. They say it’s Kanto’s group urination, but in truth, it’s Iga’s group urination. Even middle school students make it a kind of social courtesy to suggest ‘Hey, shall we take a piss?’ on their way to school.” Mr. Matsumoto returned from gruel back to the main topic, but

“Ah, I must apologize—what began as an excuse for my tardiness has veered into such an indelicate topic. From now on, I shall speak of more refined matters. When visitors arrive from Ise, they all remark first on how fair-skinned the people here are—though in truth, Iga is actually renowned for its beauties. This town too has its fair share of beautiful women.”

“Is that so? I was so careless that I didn’t even notice,” said Mr.Dan. “So even Mr.Negami was captivated, huh? But you don’t exactly seem to fit the beauty type yourself. First off, your complexion is dark—are you the exceptional pair that proves the principle?” Mr.Miwa spoke exactly what he thought. “Mine is due to Tokyo’s influence. Even so, mine is fairer than people from Ise. My brother-in-law came from Ise—it took him five years to reach my complexion. People over there are exposed to sea winds, so they’re truly dark.”

“So it’s the urinary type and the beauty type, eh?” Mr. Muraoka noted in his notebook. “That beauty type also centers around this Ueno area.” “I seem to keep telling you such peculiar stories, but this area is famously known as a mistress quarter.” “In Iga, it’s established that those who don’t maintain a mistress residence in Ueno cannot be called gentlemen.” “Ah, so even in Tokyo it all comes down to that in the end.” “So you still lack the qualifications to be a gentleman, I see?” Mr. Dan asked with a laugh.

“The road ahead is long indeed. I’m just gnawing on my father’s shins to keep working at the bank—there’s simply no way.” “I’m just gnawing on my father’s shins to keep working at the bank—there’s simply no way.” Mr. Matsumoto said in a timid voice. Ms. Taguriko was still writing a letter when,

“Ken, you’re really crafty settling for picture postcards again today.” “I’m still stuck writing about Keya Crossroads over here—wasn’t that place called ‘Hidari Nara Road’?” she asked me. “That’s Hidari Nara Road.” Mr.Matsumoto answered. Then, “That spot is Ueno’s most notable site.” “Even those ignorant of Hakuho Castle know Keya Crossroads.” “The Iga Vendetta ranks among Japan’s Three Great Vendettas alongside Chūshingura and the Soga Tales.” “Moreover, since Araki Mataemon—that mastermind—was also from Iga, Keya Crossroads stands as a purely domestic historic site we take pride in.”

and began narrating the events from three hundred years prior as if he'd witnessed them himself in childhood. For example: "While lying in wait for Matagorō's party, Mataemon fortified himself at a crossroads eatery alongside Kazuma and two others. Though men of Iga, they deliberately avoided tea gruel that day—likely fearing bathroom emergencies might complicate their duel. What did they eat? Soba and sardines, it's said. The soba symbolized 'flanking' while sardines resembled our local term for 'finishing things.' Soba with sardines—they celebrated this as an omen to dispatch their foes on the spot. I must admit their bladder management showed more foresight than mine, though it still reeks of superstition. That very eatery stood here until just a few years back, you know."

In such a manner, this added no small amount of interest. From handling the aftermath of the sardine-fated group, Mr.Matsumoto moved on to introducing Hakuho Castle, “If it had been completed, it would certainly have become Japan’s foremost castle.” he lamented. Regarding even the grand festival of the Tenjin deity,

“All these festival floats are from the Tokugawa period. People come swarming like clouds from nearby villages—if you exclude Kyoto’s Gion Festival, it’s probably the liveliest event in all Japan,” he said. Following this logic, Ueno in Iga would undeniably become Japan’s greatest city if you simply excluded all larger towns. When shifting to local specialties, he ranked rice first. Then: “As for Iga’s ‘champion product’—why, Tokyo sushi chefs claim they can’t greet dawn or dusk without it! Truly unmatched in all the land.”

This time, it was unconditionally so even alongside Mataemon. “Miss, could I have a cup of tea?” “I talked so much my throat went dry.” “The hot one, please.”

After a short while, Mr. Matsumoto said: “Itadakko is rather unusual, isn’t it? Is that the local dialect?” Father asked. “That’s correct,” he replied. “It’s also abbreviated as ‘daako.’ They’d say something like, ‘Pass me that tobacco, daako.’ Ise’s ‘okāsan’ and Iga’s ‘itadakko’ are famously known as such.”

Mr. Matsumoto even managed to make the local dialect famous.

In the morning, they woke to the cries of swans kept in the pond. Whether at Mr. Matsumoto’s prompting or not, the maid smirked as she served the tea gruel.

Before long, Mr. Matsumoto also appeared, and we clattered aboard the train. Then, when parting ways at the main line, “If I hadn’t taken yesterday off, I would have managed to arrange things to accompany you all the way to Nara today.” The bank employee seemed truly reluctant to part ways.

“Well, well—until you earn your credentials as a gentleman, you’ll just have to endure and keep studying,” Mr. Miwa delivered in his teacherly manner. “Thank you very much for everything,” Father said with genuine gratitude that suggested he might actually write about it someday. “Thanks to you, Ueno has become quite rich in material.” “When I eat sushi in Tokyo, I’ll always think of you,” Mr. Dan added his thanks. “Do stay in good health.” Joining in, Ms. Taguriko and I bowed repeatedly.

The Kasagi area along the gentle stream felt somehow peacefully serene, deepening the sensation of being on a spring journey. Here and there, perhaps because mammoth-like boulders lay sprawled about, the river boats and people floating between them looked absurdly small. Everyone seemed to be sightseers, and among them were some so drunk they even cheered at our train. "This looks like a good spot to catch ayu."

Father said.

The conversation about ayu had been started some time ago by a pair of fellow passengers. "The ayu around here make their way up to Kyoto like the blind monks of old did, but being delicate due to their fine quality, keeping them alive during transport takes considerable effort." "That's exactly why they command such high prices." said Passenger A.

“Heh, I’ve only ever seen dried ones, but are those things even alive to begin with?”

Passenger B responded with a jocular retort. Such moments often lent conversations their liveliest momentum. “Last summer I went to Ise on business,” said Passenger A, “and on my return trip, a man carrying buckets boarded at Akogi. He stood rigid at the carriage entrance, shaking his carrying pole like a madman—when I asked what he was doing, he said it was for transporting ayu.” “Must’ve given you a fright!” Passenger B interjected. “You lose all reason when ayu are involved.” “They were taking Kumozu River ayu to Kyoto. Those fish are as fussy as highborn maidens—they’ll only tolerate water churned like rapids. And they’d leap whether half-dead or not! So he shook those buckets nonstop until handing them off at Kasagi. From there, fresh porters would jostle them all the way to Kyoto—what they’d have called a ‘fast palanquin’ in olden days. They come from Akogi too, but Kasagi’s the main hub, he said.”

“If they go through all that trouble to get them to Kyoto, they’d end up costing a fortune, wouldn’t they?” “A twenty-sen ayu apparently becomes one yen and fifty sen by the time it reaches Kyoto.” “They’d have to charge that much just to break even.”

“If you eat that stuff, your mouth’ll go all crooked!”

“They said one bucket holds twenty-five fish—so each load’s fifty fish, and they can haul five loads a day,” said Passenger A, counting on his fingers. “Five loads means five times fifty—two hundred fifty fish. That’s real money. But you need two men working together, plenty must die along the way, plus five round-trip train fares…” He tilted his head skeptically. Passenger B snorted. “However much they profit—it’s just running errands for nouveau riche gluttons. Not what I’d call honest work.”

Passenger B was not particularly impressed. "I felt exactly that way at the time," "Standing for two or three hours straight shaking that heavy bucket is no ordinary job." "If this were about delivering medicine to a sick person, that would be one thing—but realizing it’s all just to satisfy some rich man’s gluttony made me feel thoroughly disgusted." "It’s precisely because there are so many businesses exhausting themselves on such futile labor that society makes so little progress."

When Passenger A lamented this, Passenger B—

“You’re exactly right. At least one-third of Japanese people are breaking their backs over futile labor.”

[Passenger B] stood up and approached us. I thought he was probably coming to prompt Father to reflect, but he had actually come to discard his cigarette butts. “However, the ayu here are actually quite good.” “When it comes to this area, it’s all about the Kizu River and Yoshino River.” “In the Yoshino River, you can catch ones measuring from one shaku.” Passenger A returned once more to the topic of ayu.

“Do such large ones even exist?” “They certainly do.” “Last year I caught forty to fifty ayu measuring from one shaku.” “You often talk about your big catches, but you’ve never once shown me the actual fish.” “I’m terribly sorry.” “Next time, I’ll definitely show you.” “No, I was just joking.” Passenger B said in a restraining tone, “What on earth is the bait?” “If you’re asking about the ayu’s bait, that’s rather disheartening.” “Ayu are caught using what’s called a mosquito hook.” “Inside this mosquito-shaped lure crafted from hair, there’s a hook concealed.”

“Ah, so it’s a double deception, eh?”

“That’s right.” “However, with ordinary deception, the other party wouldn’t approve, so there’s no helping it.” “Ayu are so finicky that there are as many as three hundred varieties of mosquito hooks.”

“Three hundred varieties? Do they each have different shapes?” “Their shapes are mostly similar with minor differences, but each one has a distinct hair coloration. Whether you can select the right hook from these three hundred varieties—considering weather patterns and water flow to suit the ayu’s mood—is what separates experts from amateurs. If the hook matches, they’ll bite instantly. Then a prickling vibration travels from the line through the rod up to the very top of your head. That sensation is marvelous—better than electric therapy. It’d cure rheumatism on the spot. With other fish, you’d never get such a bone-deep response.”

“That’s a joyous thing when a fish is caught. I once hooked a scarlet carp at a fishing pond when I was a child, and my heart was pounding the whole time.” “Being compared to fishing ponds takes all the sport out of it. When the hook’s right, they bite like clockwork—but when it’s wrong, there’s nothing more miserable. While the person next to you keeps hauling them in, it’s like we’re just lowering our lines into a washtub. In those cases, I ask, ‘What kind of hook are you using, sir?’ But ayu anglers are all rivals—spiteful lot. They’ll say, ‘I’m using this red-looking one,’ but the proof they’re lying is that even if you switch to red, you still catch nothing. So I pretend it’s an accident and deliberately snag their line. Then I say, ‘Pardon me,’ quickly reel it in, and check the hook’s color.”

“You’re quite the troublemaker, aren’t you?” “No, when we’re catching fish, they’re surely doing the same—it’s mutual. There’s nothing as exclusionist as ayu fishing. However much others catch, they never praise them. They’ll say things like ‘That person’s hook is oddly effective’ or ‘They’ve got a good spot,’ blaming the tools or location instead. They’re all so full of themselves. They sweep their bad days under the rug and only boast about those rare times in Yoshino River—forty caught, fifty caught—when they managed to land one-shaku fish.”

“I’ve just heard all about the Yoshino River.” “Ah, this was a grave miscalculation on my part.” “Ha ha ha ha!” “Ha ha ha...”

The spring light shone without shadow upon both long faces and short faces alike.

Before long, they arrived in Nara. Ms. Kiyose, a friend of Ms. Taguriko, was waiting on the platform to greet them. Ms. Taguriko and I decided to entrust ourselves to Ms. Kiyose’s guidance until we were to meet up with everyone at the hotel that evening. The adults had no objection to temporarily escaping the children’s pressure and acting freely, and we were glad to return at last to the world of fellow young people. Ms. Kiyose had transferred from Tokyo to this local girls’ school due to her father’s job relocation and, like Ms. Taguriko, had apparently just graduated the previous month. Both being thorough examples of modern young women, they wore remarkably robust expressions and were nearly embracing each other,

“I was quite surprised,” said Ms. Kiyose. “You’ve truly grown so tall, my dear!” “You’re one to talk!” Ms. Taguriko retorted. “You’ve changed so much I hardly recognized you! But it’s been nearly three years now—no wonder! Since we were the same age back then, we must still be the same age now, right?” “Oh, you’re such a tease, Ms. Kiyose!” laughed Ms. Taguriko. “The way you talk hasn’t changed a bit! Though when we said goodbye all those years ago, I never imagined we’d meet again here.”

“So this must truly lead to longevity, mustn’t it?” “I’ve never felt such genuine happiness in my life!” “Nor have I.” “My heart’s so full I don’t know where to begin.”

So, I found myself thinking that it might have been better if I’d gone with Father and the others instead, since I probably wouldn’t have been in the way.

However, immediately afterward,

“Mr. Ken, shall we have you show us around slowly?” And so, I too, finally acknowledged by Ms. Taguriko, began walking along the main street in front of the station.

“These are all sightseers,” “If the weather’s fine, it’s like this every day.” “The countryside isn’t half bad after all, eh?” Ms.Kiyose pointed at the group ahead of us. From both sides of the street, inn touts bellowed and beckoned insistently to passersby. Just then, an old man shouldering a bat-wing umbrella and an old woman clutching a cloth satchel halted directly in the thoroughfare’s center. When competing tugs from left and right proved perfectly balanced, their advance was inevitably arrested. The touts pounced on this opportunity—hunching slightly at the waist while—

“Excuse me… excuse me…”

As if to say just that, they beckoned them over from both sides without a moment's pause. How earnest they were— “What in the world is happening?” to the point where Ms.Taguriko wondered what was going on. “It’s a competition between the inn touts.” “I wonder which side will win?” Ms.Kiyose too grew interested. “Excuse me... excuse me...”

Meanwhile, the competitors, their faces contorted with urgency, crept steadily closer toward their quarry. It seemed that unless they advanced from both sides with the precise coordination used when herding chickens into a coop, their prized targets would take flight at the crucial moment. The elderly couple exchanged glances and wavered briefly; at the instant when the tout on the right paused to catch his breath and the one on the left redoubled his cries, they abruptly surrendered their luggage to the left. The contest appeared resolvable by the merest show of resolve. Still, I couldn't help admiring how the defeated party withdrew with such businesslike detachment after all their strenuous efforts.

“This is the Imperial Tomb of Emperor Kaika. He reigns as the ninth human emperor.” Soon after saying this, Ms. Kiyose pointed to the left with her hand. And then,

“The guided tour of Nara starts from here, you know. Since it’s a tourist destination, visitors come nearly every month. As I’m always assigned to guide people each time, I’ve memorized everything down to the last detail.”

When they arrived at Sarusawa Pond as well, beneath the Clothes-Hanging Willow, “Umenomiya hung her kimono on this willow and threw herself into the water. It was out of spite, wasn’t it?” “Who’s Umenomiya?”

When Ms. Taguriko asked, "A beauty from olden times. They say when the emperor's favor faded, she resolutely ended her life." "Oh, how pitiful! A casualty of romantic troubles, wasn't she?" "That's right. And being both high-born and a celebrated beauty, she'd make splendid newspaper copy today. She must've been a vain, willful woman who flaunted her looks. As proof - after they enshrined her in that shrine later on, she supposedly declared she loathed seeing the pond and petulantly turned her back completely!"

Ms. Kiyose explained. Indeed, at Umenomiya Shrine, only the torii gate faces the pond while the principal deity haughtily turns away toward the outside.

I came to Nara hearing there were deer, but there were truly a great many. At first, it was novel and I treated them to deer crackers, but now that I kept bumping into them everywhere, I had no time to attend to them all. “Do you know the history behind the deer and maple leaves?” Ms. Kiyose asked at the Flower Pine.

“No.” Ms. Taguriko answered even on my behalf. “Then let us go see the stoning site ruins.”

Ms. Kiyose then guided us to Jūsankane. “Long ago, a thirteen-year-old acolyte from Kōfuku-ji killed one of Lord Kasuga’s deer, and they say he was stoned to death here along with the deer’s carcass.” “What exactly do they do when they stone someone?” I asked. “They put them into a hole and pack it with stones." “But this is a lie.” “As proof, this hall is called Jūsankane, isn’t it?” “The child was thirteen years old, right?” "And then there's the depth of the stoning hole being one jō three shaku." “There’s no reason for the number thirteen to line up like that in every detail.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to view this as a legend that uses the alignment of the unlucky number thirteen to express the spirit of animal welfare?” Ms. Taguriko offered her own take. “It also reflects a spirit of human cruelty, doesn’t it?”

I objected in protest.

“That’s precisely correct. In any case, they say the origin of deer being associated with maple leaves comes from that acolyte’s mother planting these trees here as an offering—which makes it all the more unsettling, doesn’t it?” In how they refused to accept legends at face value, Ms. Kiyose resembled Mr. Dan more than Ms. Taguriko did. The path from the first torii gate to the second at Kasuga Shrine stretched quite a distance. As we kept encountering deer everywhere along the way, Ms. Taguriko—claiming it was for commemoration, though surely not some reversal of the recent bamboo-spatula incident—impartially captured Ms. Kiyose, me, and several deer together in her camera. Just then, a rickshaw carrying sightseers stopped nearby,

“There are a total of three thousand deer. “At five in the evening, they blow a trumpet around here to gather them and give them what’s called ‘the regular feeding’—tofu lees, vegetable scraps, bean paste residue, and such.”

the rickshaw driver began explaining. "Every year from a Saturday to Sunday in mid-October, we hold the Deer Antler-Cutting Festival. "This makes for quite a rare spectacle that draws huge crowds. "The cut antlers go through a week-long Antler Festival before being sold to Lord Kasuga’s authorized merchants, becoming souvenir antler crafts that serve everyone’s needs. "As you likely know, deer have extremely easy births - when labor starts, they just lie down by the roadside here to deliver their young. "And before even an hour passes, both parent and fawn go trotting off together. "They don’t need midwives or anything of the sort. "Moreover, since they stay in their mother’s womb for ten months just like humans, deer antlers are treasured as talismans for safe childbirth. "That’s why in this region we often name girls ‘Oshika,’ and there’s a custom of switching all hair ornaments to antler crafts during the final month of pregnancy."

Whether the rickshaw driver’s theories on safe childbirth had truly resonated with me or not, the Yoriki Shrine within Lord Kasuga’s precincts particularly caught my attention. An oak, wisteria, camellia, nandina, elderberry, cherry, and maple—seven species in all—grew together as a single trunk in an unsteady manner. It was said that even Sekifu Sekirō would be granted children if they tied a paper string to this tree’s branch and prayed. However, since divine blessings required tying it single-handedly, this qualified as something of an ordeal. Moreover, after patiently performing this ritual challenge, numerous meticulous petitioners had attached address-bearing namecards to ensure error-free delivery of their pleas. Such individuals undoubtedly hurried so much they’d even purchase deer antler crafts on the spot. In any case, I thought Nara operated with remarkable efficiency. The way every need could be satisfied in one location reminded me of a department store.

Here and there grew large cedar trees not inferior to those of Ise’s Inner Grand Shrine. They were called Kasuga cedars, and those from this mountain were said to be especially prized timber. In fact, a group of people who had been moving ahead of and behind us since earlier were discussing how a merchant from Osaka had bid 46,512 yen for one that fell a few years prior. While their value as lumber was one matter, as standing trees they were truly sublime. Mr.Miwa, being an ardent tree worshipper, had been so delighted in Ise that he even interpreted the phrase “tears spill forth from unworthiness” as a hypnotic suggestion emanating from those millennia-old sacred cedars. While recalling this, we arrived at Tamuke-yama Hachiman Shrine to find a crowd gathered there for some reason.

“A fight!” The people ahead of us broke into a run. True enough, this was no ordinary scuffle—against the vermilion-lacquered shrine hall backdrop, one samurai dueled with two women while two more backup fighters stood by with drawn blades. “It’s a live-action film shoot,” Ms. Kiyose reassured us. The samurai had been holding his own admirably, but when the reinforcements joined the fray, he shifted to defense. Soon felled by a single stroke from the younger sister, he lay vulnerable as the older sister rushed in to finish him off. She likely uttered something like “Taste vengeance for our parent!”, but only her moving lips betrayed the words—inaudible to us. Dialogue needed no voicing since it wouldn’t register on film. The visuals alone sufficed for this medium. It struck me that moving pictures thrived precisely by aligning with modern sensibilities—where color could render shirts superfluous—and thus were welcomed so universally.

Part Nine

Somewhat tired, we arrived at Ms. Kiyose’s house around three o’clock. “You both must be quite hungry after being hauled around without any regard for the time like this.” The mother who had been waiting impatiently gave Ms. Kiyose a scolding and promptly guided us to the tearoom where lunch had been prepared. Considering the distance, we hadn’t eaten a single bite since the rice gruel with tea in Iga Ueno all the way to Yamato’s Nara, so we were genuinely hungry; but thanks to that, we had managed to see most of the notable spots like Nigatsudo Hall, Sangatsudo Hall, and the Great Buddha afterward, leaving us fully prepared to hear local stories.

Shortly after finishing the meal, Ms. Kiyose’s father returned home from the government office. “How was it? Did you have a chance to visit the park as well?” he inquired respectfully. “We were hardly in any state to visit parks! From eleven until just now, Tsuneko has been continuously showing you around,” her mother answered with a laugh. “Well, well... You must be exhausted. Tsuneko is impatient, you see. Most guests find it rather overwhelming, you know,” her father laughed.

And the father also started laughing.

Ms.Tsuneko was an only daughter. She likely thought it wonderful to monopolize everything and have her whims indulged, but they said she couldn't stand being lonely without someone to quarrel with. Having heard that both Ms.Taguriko and I had many younger siblings, “Truly splendid, isn’t it? It’s only your older sisters and brothers who are somehow so proper.” Her mother said enviously. “Even I can behave properly for an hour or two when visiting another household.”

Ms.Kiyose wasn't about to stay silent. "As you can see," he jested. "An only daughter has no regard for her parents' judgment." The father jested. "In our family there's only been one child per generation for ages now," said Mother. "Do you think it's hereditary?" "People everywhere try blaming their problems on heredity," replied Father. "Even our neighbors Yoshida-san use heredity as their excuse."

“But the neighbors don’t have even one child,” Ms.Tsuneko retorted. “If having none were hereditary, they themselves couldn’t have been born in the first place.” When she pointed out this flaw in logic, Mr.Matsumoto chuckled. “Exactly! That’s what makes it absurd.” The only daughter seemed different from us—a numbered mass lumped together indiscriminately. Even if I made such observations aloud, Father would likely laugh them off. Perhaps being an only child meant her existence was doubly acknowledged within the family hierarchy; she appeared to enjoy full rights and respect as a member, making me—against all reason—secretly envious.

The conversation naturally shifted in its proper course from our personal circumstances to matters concerning Nara. Ms. Kiyose’s father was a government official who frequently traveled on business within the prefecture, so he was quite knowledgeable about this region. Since he had said he was from Komaba, just as we had assumed he must be an engineer in the industrial sector, “Local areas are generally like that, but this place seems particularly conservative.” “They won’t accept anything unless it’s done exactly as it was in the past.” “That’s why when we go to the countryside, the farmers call us leafhoppers dressed in Western suits and shoes and treat us as nothing but nuisances.”

He would lapse into grumbling whenever the opportunity arose. “What does ‘leafhopper’ mean?”

So I tried asking, thinking I should remember anything that might serve as even the slightest reference for Father. "I see—coming from Tokyo, you’d need an explanation starting from leafhoppers, wouldn’t you?" "Leafhoppers are pests that infest rice plants." "Since we make various troublesome demands about their farming methods, the farmers find it irritating and speak ill of us." "So does that mean all agricultural scholars are leafhoppers?"

“So, does that mean all agricultural scholars are leafhoppers?” said Ms. Taguriko. “Well, that’s right—if you ask the farmers, that is. Our ill-conceived scholarship ends up backfiring, sometimes achieving results just like those pests. Farmers—they’re by no means foolish. Take this recent push to conserve domestic rice consumption we’ve been promoting so vigorously. The farmers here have been practicing that since time immemorial. Far from being stuck in their ways, I’d say they’re rather ahead of the curve in this regard.”

“In this area, everyone eats porridge.”

Ms. Tsuneko explained. “It’s tea gruel, isn’t it?” Ms. Taguriko expounded the knowledge she had just crammed the previous night.

“That’s right. Tea gruel too…” “Might it be bean tea gruel?” “You’re quite knowledgeable, aren’t you?” The bespectacled leafhopper was slightly surprised,

“The farmers here sip that watery bean tea gruel four or even five times a day.” “Though as they say, ‘Too much is as bad as too little.’ After generations of rigidly economizing on domestic rice, Nara’s young men have become known for their poor physiques.” “The people here are absurdly self-restrained—it’s exasperating.” “They grew this rice with their own sweat! They ought to eat their fill for nourishment without penny-pinching.” “In a land that prizes rice sacks over people, we ‘leafhoppers’ must flip our strategy—start preaching reckless rice consumption instead!”

Amidst this, Ms. Tsuneko suddenly shifted the topic back over a thousand years into the past,

“Ms. Taguriko, it’s a grave error to imagine present-day Nara City as the capital of those days,” “I shall deliver you a proper lecture.” “Ancient Nara stretched from beyond what’s now the railway station to encompass part of Kōriyama—a magnificent capital that once rivaled Kyoto in grandeur.”

and spread out a map to begin her explanation. “Tsuneko talks as if she’s always seen it all herself, doesn’t she?” Father grinned. “I certainly did see it all. In those days, this entire area was nothing but continuous rice paddies, and when early spring arrived, people from the capital would come out to the suburbs in small groups—partly to pick herbs on Wakakusa Hill as I mentioned earlier, and partly for pilgrimages to Kōfuku-ji and Tōdai-ji. Even after the capital moved to Kyoto and its former sites turned into fields, the temples in this area alone remained just as they were. So from Sunday to Saturday—oh, wait—from Saturday to Sunday, officials and company employees would come from Kyoto for respite, while girls’ school excursions arrived from Osaka and Kobe—that’s how it was.”

“Ms. Tsuneko, you mustn’t commit anachronisms.”

Ms.Taguriko objected. The young bride's protégé occasionally spoke in this vexing manner. However, Ms.Kiyose paid no heed and continued, "Thus when villagers lost their livelihoods after the capital's relocation—though unemployment issues didn't arise in those days—they settled around Kōfuku-ji and Tōdai-ji temples to cater to sightseers, which gradually developed into present-day Nara City." "Having sustained themselves for generations through spillover from tourists' offerings like this, Nara's people became thoroughly passive." "Those with any entrepreneurial spirit all followed the capital to Kyoto during the relocation." "Even now, proactive individuals eventually leave for Kyoto-Osaka—belatedly but inevitably—so naturally only lame souls remain here carving Nara dolls on Kasuga-sama's ridgebeams, as they say." "And this is considered good?" "This is just teachers recycling their tired lectures!"

She even went as far as revealing the secrets behind magic tricks.

“What a terrible thing for a teacher to teach! You’re not from around here, are you?” Mother exclaimed in surprise.

“She did mention something about Miyazaki Prefecture.” “If you’re coming from somewhere like Miyazaki, prices here are high. The charcoal-burning teacher from Hyūga probably holds a grudge against the land.”

Father sympathized. In all classes who live chasing water plants - government officials and teachers among them - there existed a vengeful tendency to judge regions' moral worth based solely on price fluctuations. "Ms.Taguriko, are you taking tea ceremony lessons?" Mrs.Muraoka asked during a brief lull in the conversation.

“Yes… At school… Just a tiny bit.” Ms. Taguriko answered while stammering and adding bits piecemeal, clearly fearing she might be asked to demonstrate her tea-making skills right then. I’d heard that beginners in tea ceremony get forced to brew tea for anyone they meet indiscriminately, so I’d been hoping I wouldn’t get roped into that sort of thing when— “Perhaps because Nara—as Ms.Tsuneko so kindly pointed out—is all timid reserve and no get-up-and-go, this became the birthplace of tea ceremony.” “Rikyū’s teacher was Jōō, Jōō’s teacher was Jukō, and that very Jukō founded the Way of Tea here.” “He was a local monk before being summoned by Lord Yoshimasa to Kyoto.” “There at Ginkaku-ji Temple, they say he developed those famous tea rituals everyone makes such a fuss about.”

When she reached this point, even though he didn't understand, he felt relieved.

“That thing you’re talking about—I don’t know a thing.” “If you’ve got a mouth to drink with, why’d those monks invent something that doesn’t even need a medicine bag?” Father agreed with me too. “Exactly! Someone like you could never grasp the art of tea ceremony.” “You think tea’s just something to guzzle down like beer.” “Ms.Taguriko and Ken’ichi will laugh at you.” “Since ancient times they say Buddhism, poetry, and tea ceremony are three paths with one essence—three flavors in a single path...”

“The doctrine of the Trinity? I surrender! I surrender!” “I surrender! I surrender!” “Ms. Taguriko, can’t we extend our stay by one more day?” "There are still so many places for you to see—Sakurai, Unebi, Yoshino, and more." “You’ve come all this way—it would be such a waste to only see this much!”

And Ms.Tsuneko began her persuasion. “If you venture further all the way to Totsukawa, you’ll find yourself in a realm of endless mountains—it truly feels like another world.” “After all, it’s a place where doctors make house calls wearing straw sandals.” “There are excellent mountain forests there, I tell you.” “When it comes to Tamakiyama’s cedars, they surpass even Kasuga cedars.” “If you don’t see the mountain forests of Yamato and Kishū, you won’t understand their true customs and human feelings.” “Since mountain forests are wealth itself, people here aren’t called ‘wealthy’—they’re called ‘mountain-rich.’” “And as proof that they regard mountains as nothing more than paper money or silver coins, they count them one by two sheets.” “They say things like, ‘A woman married from a family without a single sheet [of mountain wealth] into one with seventy sheets of forested mountains they could log—all because of her good looks.’” “Timber refers to standing trees that can be logged.”

The leafhoppers all too readily steer the conversation back to their own fields. “Once we reach Nara, let’s hoist Minami-kun up!” This was something Mr.Muraoka and Mr.Miwa had already discussed beforehand. Since they hadn’t met at all in seventeen or eighteen years, they had been racking their brains over how startled he would surely be if caught off guard—but just before departing Kyoto that morning, they finally resolved to put this devious scheme into action. Mr.Dan, perhaps due to being unacquainted with Dr.Minami, “Since I’m not descended from rascally porters or palanquin bearers, I’ll have to decline assisting in hoisting anyone up.” “Let’s go see the museum or something and meet up at the station.”

Mr. Dan maintained an uncharacteristically gentlemanly demeanor. Ms. Taguriko, due to the prior arrangement from last night, was already met by Ms. Kiyose who had come to pick her up, “I will certainly have you delivered to the station by eleven o’clock.” and whisked her away as if snatching her. Given these circumstances, the three of us left the hotel and immediately parted ways with Mr. Dan.

The direction differed from yesterday's. Just as they were thinking they could now see both sides of Nara, the rickshaw entered an outskirt town with crumbling earthen walls here and there.

“This earthen wall looks quite old, but is it one that’s survived from ancient times?”

Father asked. "Yes. "They are ancient earthen walls." "They've stood for a thousand years like this." the rickshaw driver informed us. And then, "You mentioned Dr.Minami earlier?"

“Yes.” “A doctor named Minami.” “Since there’s a place called Takabatake, it should be around here, right?” “If you mean Dr.Minami, his clinic’s at the outskirts here.”

And my rickshaw driver knew. Before long, "Ah, indeed—there's Minami Clinic. Here we are. It’s bigger than I expected." When Father said this, Mr.Miwa stared at the signboard, "Internal Medicine, Gynecology, and Pediatrics? They do everything, huh?" "They do everything, huh?" "They’ve written down all the prominent departments. Must be trying to catch people’s attention." "It's because they want something to catch your eye."

We promptly entered the front entrance. Not a single patient had come.

“I would like to request a consultation,” Mr.Miwa told the medical student who had come out. “Please wait a moment.” After saying this, the young man withdrew. “The doctor doesn’t seem very popular, does he?” Father said in a low voice. “But with this many pairs of footwear here, he must be seeing patients.”

Mr.Miwa stretched up and surveyed the earthen-floored entranceway. "As for footwear—the geta are the kind students wear these days, and those shoes are all ours," Father said, peering into the entranceway to point out his companion's mistake. "I see, you're right," conceded Mr.Miwa. "Or perhaps it's still too early."

Mr. Miwa took out his watch and looked at it. He had forgotten to wind it, so as was usual, it had stopped. “You should have your wife buy you one that only needs winding once a week” was the admonishment Mr. Miwa had received from Mr. Dan the other day. In any case, it was rather presumptuous for this absent-minded person—who already regarded the shoes he’d just taken off as someone else’s—to now be plunging deep into enemy territory to capture their general. Mr. Muraoka and Mr. Miwa began peering into the examination room through a gap in the glass shoji. “He’s not here.” “Is he still asleep, I wonder?”

"Not a soul in sight indeed." "You could leave a bomb here and it wouldn’t be dangerous." Considering there were no patients, they were making us wait like fools. It was all for nothing. Around the time I was growing exasperated, thinking that Mr. Miwa and Father had come all the way from Tokyo to some backwater corner of Nara’s Takabatake just to sit uselessly in this doctor’s entranceway, the medical student from earlier reappeared. “Please come this way.” Following this guidance, Mr. Miwa entered the examination room. For precisely those people who always leave the shoji slightly open, this was an opportune moment to peek through. A man who appeared to be the acting physician, holding a pen, began asking in routine fashion about his name, address, and symptoms.

Just then, the chief physician appeared with leisurely composure. Despite being of the same generation as Mr. Miwa and Father, he was an elderly man with a perfectly smooth, bald head. Perhaps taken aback himself, Mr. Miwa forgot his plan to announce himself and make them gasp in surprise, instead obediently letting them take his pulse. “This won’t do. “It’s the old man. “Ken’ichi, were there two nameplates on the gate?”

Father whispered to me. "No, I believe there was only one." "I'll just go take a look." I, too, found my curiosity piqued enough to feel the need to confirm this, and so I sneaked off to the gate. When I peered into the examination room again, Mr.Miwa had taken off his white shirt and was there like a trussed-up turtle. Having already entered, he couldn't very well claim it was a case of mistaken identity now; steeling his resolve as one committed to a course of action, he seemed to have decided to go ahead and have a full examination done while he was at it. The elderly doctor placed his stethoscope against the patient's chest and back for a short while, and then—

“There are no abnormalities anywhere. You’re perfectly sound,” he declared. “But I’ve had neurasthenia since I was young...” Mr.Miwa protested. “Nonsense—you’re in splendid health. If I must name it, call it malingering. This chronic ailment from your student days has no hope of recovery now.”

the eminent physician declared decisively, “Hee-hee-hee, how about that? Mr.Miwa!” “Ah, so it’s Minami after all?” Just as Mr.Miwa was about to make them gasp “Ah!”, he found himself completely outwitted, left so disoriented he couldn’t even figure out which way to put his shirt back on. “Meeting again after seventeen years, and you’re still making careless greetings in the nude. Hey, hey, Mr.Muraoka! Quit peeking around there and come on in already!”

Having been seen through so accurately，Father too， “Ah，we’ve been completely outmaneuvered. But it’s been a while，hasn’t it?” With deliberate steps，he entered. We were promoted from ordinary patients to distinguished guests and ushered into the parlor. The protagonist，

“At any rate, I’m glad you came by.” Despite the capricious formality of their visit, he was utterly delighted.

“You’ve aged quite a bit.” Father tapped Dr.Minami’s head with a series of light knocks. “I’ve gotten quite old.”

And the doctor stroked his head. “Your face is yours,but with that head of yours,I thought Father had come out,sothere was nothing I could do about it.When I look at just your face like this,youdon’t seem like such an old man after all.”

And this time, Father gazed intently at his face. “Don’t talk nonsense. We’re neck and neck, you and I. You’ve all aged your fair share too.” “You’ve really changed, you know. When we parted as young men and meet again after all these years, your hair’s gone clean away.” And so Mr.Miwa too made use of the protagonist’s bald crown to expound upon their long separation.

“There’s nothing strange about it,” said Dr.Minami, rising above the matter of hair. “Among our classmates alone, quite a few have died these past seventeen years. It’s only natural to lose some hair.” “Still,” he added triumphantly, “managing to trick you into stripping down when you sneaked in here was rather skillful, don’t you think?” “I truly thought you must be my father,” Mr.Miwa retorted, “so I couldn’t very well refuse the examination now. I was marveling at how much parent and child could resemble each other—but of course they would! It’s the same person after all!”

“Coming all the way to my house and still failing to recognize me—that’s so characteristically you, Mr.Miwa.” “If we met on the street instead, I’d have known it was you right away.” “Since you’d be wearing a hat.” “Well, today proved thoroughly entertaining regardless.”

“But labeling this robust health as a misdiagnosis!”

“No, neurasthenia is a feigned illness, you know.”

"But seeing as they even knew where I was hiding, there must indeed be a powerful informant involved here." And Father began to voice his suspicions. "The truth is, we received a tip from certain quarters that you were plotting a surprise attack. So we were just lying in wait, ready to pounce." "Who could it be?" "That’s a heavenly secret I’m afraid."

“Could it be Mr.Dan?” “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” After that, our conversation shifted to matters since our last parting and grew endlessly spirited, but as our departure time drew near, we had to take our leave. Dr.Minami expressed great regret, “You’ll never grow up, will you? If you’d just told me beforehand instead of writing this foolish charade, I could’ve shown you around properly.” he lamented. “Actually, I called from the hotel yesterday afternoon intending to come, but since you were out on a house call to Kyoto and returned home late, we ended up leaving at the last minute.”

And Father explained. “We went to Kyoto to see the Miyako Odori dance performance, you see.” “Of course, no matter what business takes him to Kyoto or Osaka, he tells patients it’s a house call.” “A prosperity strategy, I tell you.” “Is it thriving?”

“It’s not thriving.” “Not a soul in sight.” “You could leave a bomb there and it wouldn’t be dangerous.”

“Oh, were you listening?” “I certainly was. Behind the sliding door.”

“We’ve completely bungled it, haven’t we? It’s that thing where the mummy becomes the mummy-catcher.”

When Mr.Miwa said this, Dr.Minami— “The mummy-catcher becomes the mummy.” “As usual, you’ve got it all backwards.” “Do take care on the road so you don’t get run over by a car or something.” chided him, “By the way, I’d like to give young master a souvenir—what do you think of something like this?”

and he pointed to the roof tile placed in the alcove.

“Is this from Daigokuden Hall?”

When Father asked,

“That’s right—a genuine archaeological treasure.”

Dr.Minami brought out a great many from the cupboard and, “Young master, these are just fragments, but if you take them back to Tokyo and show them to people in that field, they’ll drool with envy.” “Don’t you think ‘roof tiles as souvenirs’ has a nice ring to it?" "It’s The Tongue-Cut Sparrow." “It’s heavy, you know.”

Just then came word from the cart company that there was little time left. Two or three patients appeared to have gathered as well. "These must be such a dreadful nuisance for you," While Mrs. Ogawa wrapped the tile fragments in newspaper, Dr. Minami— "I'd gladly guide you all the way to Kyoto myself, but there happens to be a critical patient requiring attention tonight." —said with palpable insincerity.

“We’ll meet again. When you come to Tokyo for a check-up, do stop by.” Father fired back this verbal arrow, but it failed to pierce Dr.Minami’s scarlet-bound armor.

According to the itinerary, we were supposed to visit Uji, but during our two secretaries’ absence—somehow the situation had changed—we resolutely decided to head straight for Kyoto instead.

“If we see the Miyako Odori, then the Ise Ondo doesn’t matter at all—that’s what Dr.Minami said, right?” When Father said this with strange enthusiasm,

"But I wonder if we'll make it in time after visiting so many places?" "If we're late and end up arriving at a full house, that'll be it!" And Mr.Miwa's spirit was already soaring toward Gion's skies.

“It’s fine. Aren’t we sacrificing Uji for that very reason? But it’s not worth going to such lengths to see, I tell you.”

Mr. Dan didn’t hold high expectations.

When they came to the Uji River, Father—

“It’s smaller than I expected. People back then actually crossed something like this and bragged about being first across the Uji River, huh?”

he remarked disparagingly. Then Mr.Miwa chimed in, “Byodoin Temple, wasn’t it?” “What about Sen no Shiba?” “That poem about ‘passing days gathering acorns’—even Yorimasa angling for a first-rank promotion while still alive shows he was just another philistine.” he scoffed spitefully. When forced by circumstance to bypass sights they actually wished to see, they likely couldn’t rest without finding some flaw to belittle them. Even Takatsuna and Gen Sanmi received the Miyako Odori’s spray.

Upon arriving in Kyoto, a car was waiting—they rode straight to Hiiragiya—ate the prepared lunch, and immediately set out sightseeing. The fact that everything proceeded so swiftly without a moment’s waste was entirely due to Mr.Shiba’s orchestration. Being a major metropolis, it seemed they still had mutual friends here beyond just Mr.Shiba. The Kamogawa River—which they had always imagined as beautiful—proved surprisingly underwhelming. Moreover, its volume was remarkably meager. “But at least it’s nothing like the Sumida River.”

Ms. Taguriko straightened up nostalgically. “But it can’t possibly compare to Fuji’s White Snow, can it?” When I said this, “But this one here isn’t famous for being beautiful.” “It’s the quality that’s good.” Soon they arrived at Chion-in Temple. The main hall was so large one had to crane their neck to see the top. A group of what seemed to be devout Buddhists from the countryside stood with their mouths agape, looking up. “Because it’s early spring, there are so many country pilgrims.” said Mr. Shiba. “Madmen?”

Upon hearing “early spring,” Mr.Miwa jumped to a conclusion. The most leader-like among them wore a military uniform from the First Sino-Japanese War era with two or three medals dangling. “They’re people who come from the countryside to sightsee. In Tokyo they’d mock them as country bumpkins, but Kyoto folks—being practical—value them. Country pilgrims mean big money, you see. Even looking like this, I hear some go make five- or ten-yen offerings at Hongan-ji Temple.” Mr.Shiba explained.

“What are they looking at, I wonder?” “They’re still standing there with their mouths hanging open!” “It’s Hidari Jingorō’s umbrella,” “See? It says right here—‘The umbrella rests above.’” “When they finished building this hall, Hidari Jingorō left his umbrella behind up there.” “But why would he leave it?” Once Mr.Miwa started questioning, he fired them off relentlessly. “I don’t know the details,” “The legend says it was made too flawlessly—he intentionally added a defect to ward off evil spirits.”

Mr. Dan knew this due to the nature of his business. And then, “Master craftsmen truly have something remarkable about them as people,” “They must have thought surpassing divine craftsmanship would not do.” “They know their place as humans.” “They themselves have realized that gods are strong and humans are weak.” “Regardless of whether the umbrella’s origin story is true, all master craftsmen are genuine humans.” he said with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Speaking of which, I don’t see any Japanese umbrellas placed in recent architecture.” “Mr. Dan, those modern buildings warp so much during construction that there’s no need to intentionally add flaws, right?”

Father displayed his characteristic quirk. When we stepped inside and were handed over to a guide wearing hakama trousers, we truly felt like country pilgrims. “The entire corridor is nightingale flooring!”

The old man had an exceedingly loud voice. Sure enough, each time someone stepped on the corridor’s floorboards, they let out a “ho-ho-ke-kyo, ke-kyo-kyo-kyo”—a trill that mimicked both a nightingale’s song and the Lotus Sutra’s cadence. As the head temple of the Jōdo sect, it may have seemed somewhat incongruous, but no matter how unaccustomed the ear, it was unmistakably the nightingale’s song. “This is Kitsu no Matahira’s work—the diagram of the Nara Imperial Palace!” *Ke-kyo-kyo-kyo* “The Plum Room! Kano Sadanobu’s brushwork!” *Ke-kyo-kyo-kyo* “The Pine Room! Kano Naonobu’s brushwork!” *Ke-kyo-kyo-kyo* “The Crane Room! Kano Naonobu’s brushwork!”

*Ke-kyo-kyo-kyo* Guides were all the same wherever you went—intent on hurrying through things, they never gave you time for careful inspection. When they reached a spot where the garden came into view, he raised his voice another notch, “This mountain is Kachōzan!” “A garden favored by Kobori Enshū! A pine hand-planted by the third shogun!” “A princess pine!” *Ke-kyo-kyo-kyo* And no matter where we went, there were nightingale floors. And then, soon after, “This temple’s total area spans 73,142 tsubo; 106 buildings; 5,800 tatami mats; 300 ken of nightingale-floored corridors; ke-kyo-kyo-kyo!”

With that, we were all dismissed. “They say modern people can’t recreate nightingale floors no matter how hard they try—what’s your take as an architect?” “So has the technique been lost to time, like Egyptian mummies?”

Mr. Shiba asked as he walked through the long corridor.

“That’s not the case. Japan unfortunately hadn’t advanced enough for techniques to go extinct—if you botch constructing an engawa floorway，it makes exactly that noise．If someone wants to hear nightingales in creaky planks，that’s their own business．”

Mr. Dan replied. “But the parts they fixed recently don’t make a sound.” Mr. Shiba stepped on the new boards to demonstrate. Indeed, they didn’t make a sound. “That is the merchant priests’ skillful ploy—nothing ordinary.” “They’ve intentionally left some spots silent for contrast—to make country pilgrims marvel at them.” Father offered a cynical interpretation. After emerging into Maruyama Park to view the famous weeping cherry trees beginning to bloom and receiving a brief ride in a car, we began climbing Kiyomizu’s long, gradual slope. Kyoto’s famous sights feel like old friends even on first encounter. When we wondered why this Kiyomizu Kannon had so strangely permeated our minds,

“Ken, this is where Issun-bōshi from the song visited the shrine with the princess, right?”

When Ms. Taguriko said that, everything fell into place.

“Ah! A parasol climbing Kiyomizu’s slope—how Shiki knew just where to look! He truly had an eye for these things,” Father mused delightedly at his own poetic association. Shops lining the street sold Kiyomizu-yaki pottery. Pieces resembling what might become my sisters’ tableware particularly drew attention. “Mr.Miwa! Won’t you buy that gold-crested teacup?”

Mr. Shiba said with a laugh.

“I’ll buy it. “I wonder if they have one with my family crest?” Mr.Miwa, ever the shopping enthusiast, needed no urging as he browsed the items on both sides. “However, when I first took up my post here, I made quite a blunder with those teacups.” “Why?” “Because it had my family crest, I bought it and was using it when one day a friend came over and said, ‘Hey, this is Buddha's teacup.’” “That’s the one? “If you hadn’t told me that, I would’ve bought it.” “Mr.Dan, what do you think of that tiger?” “Taguchi-kun would love that!”

“No, no! Something that big and heavy would be—” And Mr. Dan, as was his wont, worried about the luggage.

When they reached the top and arrived at the main hall, “This is what they call the Kiyomizu Stage,” Mr. Shiba announced. “You can see most of the town from here.” “It’s certainly high,” Father remarked. “I don’t think I could muster the resolve to jump down.” “Next we’ll visit Momoyama’s Blood Ceiling, the Great Buddha, and Sanjusangendo Hall,” Mr. Shiba continued. “Young master and young lady, you’ve heard of the Great Buddha’s bell—this is the very one that provoked Ieyasu with its ‘Kokka Ankō’ inscription. When you guide visitors through Kyoto constantly like I do, you end up memorizing every step of the route.” He clapped his hands briskly. “Now then, country pilgrims—let’s set off one by one.”

Mr. Shiba urged. At Sanjusangendo Hall, they were astonished by the number of Thousand-Armed Kannon statues standing in rows, resplendent in gold amidst the dim light. “There are quite a lot.” “But claiming a thousand head must be an exaggeration.”

Mr.Miwa muttered. “It’s a thousand statues. They’re not horses.” Mr.Shiba corrected him. “Even though it’s called Thousand-Armed Kannon, they don’t actually have that many arms.”

When Ms. Taguriko counted them just to be sure, there were forty-two arms. “Only forty-two? That’s still way more than any living being has!” Mr. Dan said. “The ‘thousand statues’ is just a stylistic expression. The characters for ‘hundred’ and ‘thousand’ are used to mean ‘many’ in every country, you see,” Mr. Shiba explained in his characteristically teacher-like manner. “Stop spouting such nonsense! Even if you call it the Forty-Two-Armed Kannon, its nonexistent divine favors remain unchanged,” Pastor Hoshino retorted. “I detest how religion and literature fudge numbers.”

“You never change,” said Mr. Shiba. “Anyway, there’s this legend that pilgrims will inevitably find among these thousand Kannon statues one that resembles a deceased parent or sibling.” He tilted his head slightly. “Rather than superstition, it’s more like a poetic fantasy pulsing with anguished human suffering.”

“I absolutely detest that poetic fantasy drivel.” “You’re utterly incorrigible.” “Then I’ll hurry and take you to the Miyako Odori you’ll approve of.” “Personally, I find living bodhisattvas far more worthy of gratitude.” “Well then—let us pray for Mr.Dan’s improved temper.”

Father had entrusted the matter to someone else, but Mr.Miwa—

“Come on, come on! It’s the Miyako Odori, right?” he declared boldly. Since it was exactly the appointed time, this time they rushed straight to the inn without stopping anywhere. At home they might let bathwater sit for a day or two, but since embarking on this trip, they hadn’t skipped a single night of bathing. Despite being lazy and sometimes skipping baths altogether, Father— “Ken’ichi, go take a bath.” he would command me in that tone. Since it was a daily occurrence, I came to judge the rank of inns by the elaborateness of their bathhouses. Hiiragiya’s was a splendid affair made entirely of marble and colored glass.

“How’s Kyoto treating you? In terms of livability?” “In terms of livability?”

Father asked while eating his meal. "It does seem calm and pleasant." Mr. Shiba answered. "You talk about it seeming nice as if it's someone else's business." "How about you?" "Since I was born and raised in Tokyo, life outside of it feels like an imitation of life and doesn't resonate with me at all." "That's an extreme thing to say." "If you're talking about Korea or Manchuria, then anywhere in the mainland would be the same, wouldn't it?" "The same thing—if it's outside Tokyo."

"If you feel that strongly about it, you should come back to Tokyo soon." “I’ll be returning soon—and washing my hands of teaching.” “What’s this? Some grievance?” Mr. Dan set down his cup and leaned forward. “Discontent has certainly played its part. But it’s not personal discontent—it’s class-based.” “I sympathize. I quit my post too over those damned disparities between administrative and technical officials’ treatment. Was waiting to secure my pension when I had that huge blowup with the director. ‘If I’d studied law,’ he says all high-and-mighty, ‘I’d have been director ages ago!’ Can you believe the nerve?”

“I absolutely can’t wait until my pension comes through.” “What on earth happened to you?” “Don’t they say high school teachers have good working conditions?”

“Well, let’s discuss that later at length.” Mr. Shiba apparently thought complaints would be inappropriate during mealtime. “The shopfronts don’t differ from Tokyo’s, but the houses are strange,” Father continued. “The entrances are absurdly narrow. Does your home also have those cricket cage-like slender lattices?” Father remained preoccupied with Kyoto’s habitability. “Everyone here does it that way,” Mr. Shiba replied. “They say if door gaps or lattice openings are too wide, money escapes—so they mindlessly make everything smaller.”

When Mr. Shiba said this, “Oh, that’s not true at all! If the lattices are too big, sunlight pours in and wears out the tatami mats much faster,” explained the waitress. “Either way, it’s a negative approach—and isn’t that unhygienic?”

“Tatami matters more than hygiene. As they say—where sunlight doesn’t reach, doctors will follow. That’s why Kyoto has so much tuberculosis.”

After the meal, Mr. Dan, “Now then, let’s hear Mr. Shiba’s grievances.” and made grievances the main topic of conversation. In essence, Mr. Shiba’s argument was that the entire education system was entangled in government fraud. “You—engineers have people receiving first-class salaries, don’t they?”

Mr. Shiba asked. “Of course—most of my peers have already reached first-class,” Mr. Dan answered. “Yet across all high schools—from First High and Eighth High to these recent imitations—not a single person receives a first-class salary. They’re listed in the pay scale tables, but in reality, they’re utterly nonexistent.” “Outrageous! That’s sheep’s head but dog meat through and through!” “Since Emperor Jimmu’s reign, only one person ever got promoted to first-class posthumously. In practice, third-class counts as a special exception, and fourth-class is where you hit bedrock.”

“A first-class salary is Senior First Rank,” said Mr. Miwa. “You can’t receive it while alive.” “They only show it but never give it out,” Father remarked. “Is this some lottery cabinet?” “They do hand out lottery cabinets, I tell you,” Mr. Shiba retorted. “At the end of last year, the maid at my place actually won one. So it seems high school teachers are treated with less respect than some maid from Tanba-Sasayama!”

Mr. Shiba exclaimed indignantly.

“What rank are you at now?”

Mr. Dan asked. “I’d only just reached fifth rank the other day, and look—white hairs are already sprouting here and there!”

Mr.Shiba pointed to his head and, "I checked vocational schools just to be thorough, but first-class salaries are utterly nonexistent there too." "Naturally, principals everywhere—acting as mere extensions of the Fraud Ministry—idly pocket first-class salaries while contributing nothing." "You're being rather harsh," "Then I seized every chance to meet middle and elementary school teachers and probe their actual conditions—but this bunch is oddly accepting." "They've convinced themselves first-class salaries are pure fantasy, completely divorced from real-world possibilities." "It's pitiful—they're being swindled yet remain utterly oblivious."

“You’re getting even harsher now.” “It’s pure fraud, I tell you. A massive national fraud! I’ll return to Tokyo and join a newspaper company. And I intend to expose this fraud far and wide across the entire nation. Until I see active first-class salaries being created one after another, I will go around telling promising young men never to become teachers. There are quite a number of people nowadays who, precisely because they became educators, are hindering their own children’s education.” “You should go all out. It’s for society’s sake.” “I wonder if I’m caught up in this fraud too?”

Similarly, Mr. Miwa fell into deep thought.

“That’s right. Private schools only adopt public institutions as their standard when convenient—this must still be indirect fraud.” Mr. Shiba declared definitively,

“It’s still early, but why don’t we head out for a stroll while taking in Shinkyogoku?”

Fuyacho and Shinkyogoku were practically within spitting distance of each other. If you let your guard down even for a moment in these crowds where you could easily get your feet stepped on—apparently, it’s like this here every night. In front of the moving picture theater, Mr. Shiba encountered a white-bearded old gentleman leading his grandchild by the hand and exchanged greetings. “He’s a colleague, huh?” Mr. Dan asked. “That’s right. He continued working until the pigment in his hair was gone and only recently reached third rank. Even so, he’s become the object of envy as an exceptional promotion!”

Mr. Shiba was still denouncing the Ministry of Education's fraud. As I looked back watching the old gentleman recede into the distance, I resolved never to become a teacher.

They emerged onto Shijo Street—reminiscent of Nihonbashi-dori—crossed Ohashi Bridge, turned toward Gion, and entered the Kaburenjo Theater. While they waited, a maiko named O-deko, her face thickly coated with white powder, brought light tea and sweets. “This pattern of skewered dumplings represents Gion,” Mr. Shiba explained, pointing to the earthenware confectionery plate. “You may take these home.” Indeed, dumplings were painted on its surface. “I’ll take this with me,” said Ms. Taguriko as she wrapped both the sweets and the plain dish in paper.

Before long, the dance began. Over thirty young women were dancing in their finery, so it was undoubtedly beautiful, but since it was just the same things over and over, I soon grew bored. The backgrounds alone had no equal elsewhere. No matter which scenery it was depicted, they all vividly evoked the sensation of encountering the real thing. I had heard this was Japan’s premier marketplace for beauties, but no matter how many times the musicians flanking both sides and the dancers at center stage rotated shifts, not a single one resembling a living Bodhisattva could be found. “It’s more boring than I expected.”

Father also seemed bored. "It's fine. Isn't it beautiful?" And Mr. Miwa was delighted. "They need to have bigger ones dancing nude, or it's no good."

And Mr. Dan yawned.

Part 10

Partly because they had gotten up late that morning, but also from waiting for the rain to stop while engrossed in conversation, it had already drawn close to noon. Last night, when a downpour suddenly began just as they were on their way back from the Miyako Odori dance,

"That was a close call. The world’s a sham unless everything goes like this." Even Mr. Dan, who had been so smug, found that the wholesalers weren’t cutting him any slack today, so he flipped back through the weather forecast that read “Rain” and— “It’s ultimately a matter of degree. Even if it clears up, there’s no such thing as completely escaping humidity. Especially when a low-pressure system is lingering—even if it’s not falling from above—you’re surrounded by a sort of rain on all sides.” he said, though without much enthusiasm. Bringing up the matter of degree usually signals an unfavorable turn.

“I don’t care if it rains. We’re not made of papier-mâché.” Father remained stubborn in his defiance. Though thoroughly vexed, he refused to voice any concern. Only Mr.Miwa alone, “This is terrible,” he sighed openly. “Someone’s stolen my umbrella.” “You’re hopeless,” said Mr.Dan. “No matter how many times I tell you—who’d bother stealing that ratty umbrella? You left it behind in Nara Station’s waiting room.”

“You knew exactly where it was all along and kept quiet?” Mr. Miwa retorted. “You’re just making excuses,” said Mr. Dan. “It’s not like I knew and kept quiet on purpose, but truth be told, I’ve been pretty fed up with your umbrella ever since Tokyo Station. Because you have this habit of carrying it over your shoulder like some country bumpkin. And then at the ticket gate, you always push past me to go first—it’s downright dangerous, practically poking my eye out. I thought it was strange how smoothly things had been going since Nara, but turns out our belongings had just been disappearing.”

“You were satisfied with just the result without investigating the cause, weren’t you? You’re being careless.” “Touché. There’s no competing with a teacher like you.” Mr. Dan stopped engaging altogether. “The umbrella was stolen. The fountain pen was stolen. Even the dozen handkerchiefs I brought are down to this single one. Traveling truly demands constant vigilance.”

And Mr. Miwa attributed every last thing he had forgotten or dropped to pickpockets.

“Now then, what should we do? Should we brave the rain and head to Arashiyama? It’s not going to stop anyway if we just wait.” Today’s guide Pastor Hoshino yawned. “Quite so,” Father remarked. “This rain truly pours down.” He remained noncommittal.

“It’s fine if you adults want to spout nonsense all day long, but the kids are getting bored.” “If you like, how about telling us a story of Moses?” “Since there’s no sign of it clearing up anytime soon, why don’t we change our plans and go see a play instead? Pastor Hoshino, even a clergyman can enjoy a play now and then without issue, right?” said Mr.Miwa. “I’ll go to plays or movies. Due to my profession, I actually strive not to distance myself from worldly matters. Ganjiro is currently performing at the Minami-za.”

This pastor turned out to be surprisingly talkative. “Plays don’t impress me. Everything they do is rigged from start to finish, so it just gets boring.” Mr. Dan promptly raised an objection. “Mr. Dan is hopeless when it comes to plays. I once dragged him along, but I imagine he actually found that quite boring. It’s because he’s in the mindset of watching sumo that he doesn’t understand a thing, you see. And he’s constantly fussing over the placement of stage props. However, he was greatly impressed by the palace scene in *Sendaihagi* or whatever it was. ‘Those young women lined up in such numbers—they’re men playing female roles, of course—but what exactly are they supposed to be?’ he asked. ‘Palace maids,’ I replied. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘All maids?’ ‘Indeed, there was no shortage of maids in the feudal era, huh?’ ‘I’m impressed,’ he said, watching with bated breath. He’s really putting his effort into all the wrong places. Seeing as he must have been deeply impressed, even after the curtain fell and we began eating our boxed meals, he kept going on and on about the palace maids. My reputation was on the line, and I kept thinking over and over, ‘I’ll never come to the theater with this man again.’”

Father proceeded to explain.

“Right when I was struggling because my maids had run away, it really hit home,” said Mr.Dan in a defensive tone. When he offered this excuse, Ms.Taguriko chimed in, “You seemed quite impressed back then. Mother said since such educational plays are suitable for children, it would be good for you to go see one too,” recalling that occasion.

“That’s quite impressive, I must say.” “Even if you plead with Keian, they won’t send a single person over, yet there were eighteen of them lined up in a row—each one a proper beauty through and through.” “Not a single one seemed to have trachoma or body odor.” “Such a sight must truly be balm for the eyes of modern folk suffering from servant shortages.” “At least while watching that play, you can forget the maid problem—isn’t that something to be grateful for?” “When you think of it this way, plays might not be such useless extravagances after all, you know.”

“Your esteemed lecture leaves me in awe. But if they heard that what moved you most was the number of palace maids, the author of *Sendaihagi* would surely weep. Pastor Hoshino, with teachers like this in the world, you must struggle mightily with your sermons, eh?” “No, Mr. Dan’s failure to understand theater is precisely his virtue. Darwin said that from middle age onward, he completely lost all comprehension of music. As for practical men—well, those who inhabit the realm of ideas must become somewhat lopsided to a certain extent.”

Mr. Hoshino argued on Mr. Dan’s behalf.

"I wholeheartedly agree. If one travels for ten days without losing a single item, they’re far too practical and lack the human touch." Mr. Miwa was still lamenting the loss of his bat umbrella.

“Today brings forth brilliant arguments from all quarters. “But you’re all getting rather full of yourselves, I must say. “You’ve been smoking Mr.Dan’s tobacco since earlier, I must say.”

Father pointed out. “With Shikishima, it’s all the same no matter whose it is. I don’t draw much distinction between myself and others.”

Mr.Miwa said nonchalantly. “As expected, there’s a lingering resonance.” Mr.Dan laughed.

Amidst all this carefree talk, “Young master, that’s Kyoto’s Don.” Mr. Hoshino informed him. Sure enough, a steam whistle let out a shrill peee-oooh that rose in pitch as it blared across the area. “That’s it? “The pause before the *Don* sure is dragging on, huh?” Mr.Dan scoffed. “Hmm.” “It’s still ringing.” “Ah, even listening to it this long doesn’t make my stomach growl one bit.”

Father also said. “How wretched that people assume ‘Don’ must only mean cannons.” “You never think—that’s the problem.” “Even if they denounce militarism with their mouths, if the whole nation sets their clocks by army artillery, foreigners won’t take them seriously.” “But surely Heian-kyoto’s Don is different?” “It’s purely a sound of peace.” “When you frame it like that, there’s no rebuttal.” “As expected, the Pastor’s perspective differs entirely.” Mr.Miwa remarked admiringly.

“Among Japan’s great cities, the only place not under military control of time is our Kyoto.” “For this reason alone, Rakuyo has every right to take pride.”

Pastor Hoshino, true to his claim of having naturalized to Kyoto, showed marked partiality toward the Western Capital.

“I can’t stand how religious people always twist interpretations to suit themselves.” “Does that Don really carry any international humanitarian significance?” “Imagine if they fired cannons daily around Higashiyama!” “All those carefully preserved buildings would rattle themselves to pieces.” “That’s why this desperate antique-worshipping measure lets out such an absurd shriek.” “The drawn-out pause—practical yet superficially deliberate—perfectly exposes how Saikyo folk maintain composed facades while scheming underneath.”

Mr. Dan remarked bluntly. “As expected of someone in your line of work—you immediately recognize it’s about protecting buildings, don’t you.” “Actually, that’s exactly right.” “Though it’s a matter of convenience, in effect, it means that in Kyoto, the authority of art is what restrains military force.”

Pastor Hoshino insisted.

Soon, a maid brought in the meal trays. “Even a Don like that still gets served lunch, huh?” Ms. Taguriko whispered confidentially to me. This is exactly why proper upbringing matters. Children imitate their parents in everything.

“So Kyoto’s specialty seems to be pike eel, huh? They make you eat nothing but pike eel.” Mr. Dan, unconcerned by such circumstances, took up his chopsticks while sitting cross-legged. Not a single one of them was sitting properly. Even Pastor Hoshino was sitting with one knee up and fidgeting his toes. Etiquette is an unfair thing. Only women and children are required to sit properly in seiza. “Since fish are unreliable, they keep pike eel stocked as a precaution against poor catches.” “This creature may be all bones, but they say that’s why it’s so long-lived.”

Pastor Hoshino answered. "Since they say 'Offer hamo to Mount Hiei,' Kyoto people must have been using pike eel since ancient times." When Father said this, Mr.Dan interjected: "Do monks actually eat pike eel?" "No, it's just an example phrase used to illustrate poor kanji retention," Father explained. "'Dedicate hamo to Mount Hiei'—very few can write that properly on the spot." "I see," Mr.Dan conceded. "Even I can only write 'mountain' with confidence. For an idle man, you know some peculiar things." "Hamo prepared this way is actually quite delicious," Father continued defensively. "But what exactly counts as Kyoto's famous specialty?"

Mr. Miwa asked. “Well, there aren’t many famous specialties here, huh. As they say, ‘Kyoto ruins you with clothes, Osaka with food,’ so when you come here, you’ve got to give up on the eating part, huh. Yatsuhashi cinnamon sweets, five-colored beans, thousand-layer pickled turnips, suguki pickles—that’s about all they’ve got.” Pastor Hoshino, who dealt in spiritual nourishment, seemed to have no interest in physical sustenance. The station vendors’ calls were relayed exactly as they were.

The weather we had given up on began recovering from noon—the greatest blessing imaginable. There is nothing that lays bare human caprice like shifting skies. When you venture out without an umbrella and clouds gather, you feel you've committed an irreparable blunder; yet when sunlight breaks through, you fancy yourself prescient all along. Even we who had resigned ourselves to a wholly wasted day until moments before felt avarice swell monstrously at those few feet of blue between parting clouds. Determined to reclaim even our pre-noon losses, Mr.Dan pressed our car to greater speed! As we drew near Kitano Tenmangu Shrine,

“If we had to pay respects to every single thing like this in Kyoto, even a month wouldn’t be enough.”

With that refusal, we passed by without stopping.

Soon we arrived at Kinkaku-ji Temple. Mr. Miwa, who loved large trees, remained gazing skyward at what was called a yew tree even as we climbed up. The guide immediately began chanting the names of garden stones and antique implements, but as usual—since our aim was to pass through rather than observe—only the Boat-shaped Pine and what was said to be a phoenix statue that once stood atop the pagoda remained in our minds.

We slowly surveyed only the garden view that had become entirely a pond from the pavilion’s second floor. The young leaves after the rain glittered so brightly it was almost blinding. “Nice spot, huh? Oh, there’s a big carp!” By the time Ms. Taguriko spoke, Mr. Miwa had already bought fu crackers and was throwing them. Scarlet koi and black carp jostled each other, snapping up the food. “There used to be even bigger ones, but four or five years back, some carp thieves got in and made off with them all.”

The caretaker also joined our group and leaned on the railing. No matter how splendid the Golden Pavilion might be, sitting here from morning onward would surely grow tedious. “Are ‘carp takers’ supposed to be thieves?”

Father asked. I understood that "mono-tori" meant thieves, "kyuuyo-tori" referred to the proletariat, and "chiritori" was a household tool, but I still had some doubts about what kind of "tori" this one belonged to.

“’Cause they’re takin’ what ain’t theirs—plain thieves.” “So they really are carp thieves, huh.” “This is amusing.” “There’s nothin’ amusing about it at all.” “Even so, it was careless of them to let all the creatures in the pond get taken like that.” “Negligence? You think we ever imagined there’d be folks stealing carp?” “And unlike things kept inside a house, since they’re left out in the open, there’s no difficulty taking them if someone wants to.” “This side over here has a road right away.” “They came in from over there at night and spread poison.” “And then they hauled up the weakened carp and made off with them.” “Fish can’t talk, right?” “They don’t call out ‘thief’ or anything.” “Easy work, right?”

“So did they catch those carp thieves then?” “They caught them.” “Three men working together nabbed two carts full of ’em, they did.” “They were all at least three shaku long, they were.” “What a fine racket that was, wasn’t it?” “Since they were live ones and couldn’t keep ’em long, they had to sell ’em off quick—that’s how they got caught…”

The caretaker was still talking to the pond even after we had started walking.

On the way to Arashiyama, they stopped at a place called Taiza-ji Temple. “Even a gate like this is a protected structure, you see.” Pastor Hoshino said, pointing at the old temple gate. “Is this the Silkworm Shrine?”

Ms.Taguriko asked. Having just heard that visiting the Silkworm Shrine would ensure no shortage of silk goods, she seemed intent on making an offering. Even if a woman fancied new things like reading mistranslations of continental literature, when it came to beauty-related matters, she crumbled completely. Like a fox made to smell tempura fried mice, she instantly lost all reason. “No, this is Koryu-ji Temple in Taiza—it’s connected to naturalized immigrants from China.” “Long ago, various craftsmen supposedly came over from China in great numbers and settled around here.” “The name ‘Taiza’ doesn’t sound very Japanese somehow, does it?”

"That does seem to be the case." "It's not entirely un-Japanese either." Mr. Dan interjected, "But this character 'Hata,' huh? A man named Hata once told me his surname came from China. Since he's an engineer after all, maybe that fellow's a descendant of those Chinese craftsmen?" "That might be true," "But what if I told you there were Israelites mixed among those Chinese? Wouldn't that surprise you?" "I'd be shocked." "So what're you getting at?"

“I’m not going to do anything about it, but the well dug by those Israelites remains here,” said Pastor Hoshino. “Since we’re here, let’s take a look.” He guided us to a nearby farmhouse and showed us a large well where good water was welling up. “I see,” said Mr. Muraoka. “This well does seem to have quite a history.” On the square stone well curb was deeply carved “Isaraī-i.” “As ‘Isaraī-i,’ the name doesn’t make sense as a proper noun,” Pastor Hoshino explained. “People back then didn’t know terms like Israel, so they desperately used these phonetic substitute characters.”

Pastor Hoshino endeavored to establish the connection with the Israelites.

“That’s fascinating! A real discovery!”

Mr. Miwa agreed in sympathy, but Mr. Dan interjected: “Is ‘Isaraī’ supposed to mean Israel? There’s a place called Isarako in Tokyo too. Given how you’re always preaching sermons, I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so good at making far-fetched connections!” He made a show of being surprised, just as he’d said he would. It wasn’t long from Taiza to Arashiyama. Along the way,

“Even around Kyoto, this area feels quite rural and overgrown. Isn’t it all just bamboo thickets?”

Mr. Miwa said, looking outside. “You see, this area is already countryside.” “There should be many bamboo thickets—after all, Kyoto produces more round fans and folding fans than anywhere else in Japan.” “Since bamboo groves are a major financial resource, they’ve stationed industrial engineers specializing in bamboo to prevent them from withering.” Pastor Hoshino explained. “Now this is what they call quack doctors!” “A descendant of the Bamboo Cutter’s younger brother named Takeuchi Naotaro, I suppose?” Mr. Muraoka retorted.

“No, it’s actually true. They’re apparently world-class scholars in bamboo studies.” When Pastor Hoshino insisted earnestly,

“They’re not world-class.” “They’re distinctly Oriental.” “Bamboo doesn’t exist in the West, you know.”

Mr. Dan corrected him. When dealing with such people who spoke without the slightest hesitation, even the guide found it no easy task.

Despite the rain having just let up, there was already quite a crowd at Arashiyama.

As they approached Togetsu Bridge, Pastor Hoshino— “This won’t do. The water is muddy. Normally it’s a clear stream where you can see the bottom well, though.” he said, as if intending to preempt any complaints. Even after reaching the opposite bank, “The cherry blossoms here bloom late, you see. They’ve only just begun to bloom. It’s truly spectacular when they’re in full bloom!” With that caveat, they followed the riverside, strolling leisurely upward while— “You really need to go up a bit by boat from here to appreciate Arashikyo’s true worth, but unfortunately, the water’s up today, so that’s out of the question.” he lamented.

he lamented. “We’re stuck at every turn, aren’t we?”

Father began to hum softly.

“While they say the cherry blossoms in full bloom are splendid, autumn foliage season is something special too. The snowscapes are supposedly unmatched, and even rain brings its own particular charm. A cure-all that only fails to work on one's own ailments—but still, this isn’t a bad view at all, is it?”

Mr. Dan offered his praise in a peculiar way. “It’s a nice spot—there’s nowhere in all of Tokyo proper that compares to this. However, it’s awfully cold, isn’t it? They say Kyoto’s cold seeps into your bones, and it’s absolutely genuine,” Mr. Miwa said. They went as far as Tondase Waterfall and turned back, then stopped at a place called Kogo’s Mound per Ms. Taguriko’s request. To those who rely entirely on their appearance, death must appear as the absolute end of all things. Pitifully, there were only three or four stone blocks piled beneath lush trees.

They say Arashiyama is ideal for both moon-viewing and flower-viewing, but it seems they're determined to draw crowds with blossoms—after all, they were selling salt-pickled cherry blossoms there. When Mr.Miwa bought a considerable quantity of them, Pastor Hoshino— "What on earth are you going to do with so much?" "I'm taking them to Osaka as souvenirs." "That's pure impulse."

And Father bought some too. “With these salted blossoms, I once made a mistake. When I first arrived here, a young man from the church gave me some, but not knowing they were meant to be drunk with water, I gobbled them all up.” After getting into the car, Pastor Hoshino started to chuckle quietly. And then, “I could have just left it at that, but in the course of thanking them, I had to honestly remark, ‘Though those were surprisingly salty,’ which is why the anecdote lives on to this day.”

“It’s fine. If you don’t have that much guts, you couldn’t do Christian missionary work under the very noses of Nishi and Higashi Honganji Temples,” Father said. Because yesterday’s rain had wasted half the day in vain, today was quite busy as they tried to make up for lost time. Having checked out of the inn early that morning and trying to make the most of their time before departing for Osaka in the afternoon, their guides were now a two-person team consisting of Pastor Hoshino and Mr. Shiba. First handling nearby tasks, they passed through the Imperial Palace from Sakaimachi Gate to another gate.

While waiting for the tram at the stop,

“Doshisha, famous for school disputes and financial difficulties, is right over there next to Shokoku-ji Temple.”

Professor Shiba specifically took the time to explain this to me. “This guide never says anything proper.” As Pastor Hoshino laughed, a young couple approached and bowed politely before moving on. As Pastor Hoshino watched their retreating figures while repeatedly tilting his head slightly,

“What do you want to do?”

Father asked.

“I’m surprised. Those two were making an awful fuss just two or three days ago about breaking up after their fight, but now they’ve patched things up and look ready to go cherry blossom viewing together.”

“Isn’t that splendid?” “Of course it’s splendid.” “However, it’s inconvenient that they haven’t come to say anything to me.”

“Are they members of your church? Is there a rule that couples must report every marital squabble to you, Pastor?” “Not exactly, but you’d be hard-pressed to find another pair that quarrels as much as those two do. For half the year, they’re locked in some competition or other. And whenever it blows up, they inevitably drag it to me—what a nuisance. Once, the husband absolutely insisted on divorce. I got so fed up that I told him, ‘Fine! Divorce her then! I can’t stand such a vain woman myself. I’ll negotiate with the matchmaker for you,’ and took a firm stance.” “Then that very evening they came back—‘Pastor, we’ve decided against the divorce after all’—with him grinning like a fool. ‘I knew it would come to this,’ I snapped, but he just kept beaming: ‘But Pastor, isn’t a young wife’s repentance truly beautiful?’ “‘You spineless oaf—that’s why you’re hopeless!’ I shoved him down, but there he stayed, still grinning like an idiot. The man’s a complete fool!”

“What a rough pastor there is. But taking on not just sermons but even family problems like that must be quite exhausting.” “It wears you out. And there’s nothing as dangerous as mediating marital squabbles. If you say something careless, responsibility lingers afterward. Take even this current couple—if they reconcile, the husband will say something like to his wife, ‘The Pastor said he can’t stand you because you’re so vain.’” When the wife asks, “You said that too, didn’t you?” he retorts, “No, I didn’t say anything. Would any man go around badmouthing his wife to others?” “Is there actually a rule that lets pastors gossip about church members?” “There’s no such rule.” Their argument ended up concluding with something like, “That pastor’s a bit indiscreet.” “Putting in all that effort only to be resented—it’s truly idiotic to the core.”

“Do even believers have marital squabbles? But Kyoto’s trams sure are taking their time.” Mr.Dan exclaimed impatiently. Almost simultaneously, Mr.Miwa called out: “Here it comes! It’s crowded.” “Just like Tokyo,” said Mr.Shiba. “They don’t pay their workers proper wages.” He seemed determined to revisit the first-class salary issue today.

Contrary to how unexpectedly extensive the Imperial Palace grounds had been, Okazaki Park—which we’d thought would be much farther—was reached shortly after boarding the tram. We did have a map, but neither Ms.Taguriko nor I felt inclined to spread it out amid the crowd and advertise ourselves as wide-eyed tourists from the sticks, which proved inconvenient. We immediately entered the product exhibition hall, though Mr.Dan—having been burned by the Toba pearls incident—walked briskly through the sections displaying Nishijin brocade and Yuzen-dyed fabrics, “I hear Kyoto has its own Miwa-types too—people who read *Anzen Chitai* as ‘Obi Land Completely Cheap.’ But if Ms.Taguriko starts using that sort of wordplay here...”

"[...]," someone whispered confidentially to Father. Instead, they scrutinized items like Buddhist altar goods—things that couldn’t be haggled over—with particular care,

“This Buddhist altar for 950 yen is cheap,” said Mr.Dan. “Manufactured by Buddhist Shop Zenemon, corner of Manshu-ji Street and Buddhist Implement Shop Town,” read the label. “Whether it’s Zenemon or Akuemon, they’re cheap either way.”

He praised it with complete confidence. “Zenemon the Buddhist Shopkeeper is rather clever, isn’t it? It harmonizes so well with that incense-heavy trade. And having an entire Buddhist Implements Town here is truly fortuitous.” Father, marveling at such trifles, wrote it down in his notebook. “How about visiting the zoo? This one has better facilities than Tokyo’s—they even have a lion that’s given birth to cubs.”

Pastor Hoshino had recommended it, but thinking there probably wouldn’t even be monkeys worth seeing at that point, we declined. When we arrived at the Incline along the canal, “This is where ‘the boat climbs the mountain without the boatman lifting an oar,’ you see.”

said Mr. Shiba.

“Look here—the boats climb up the slope using these steel cables, see? Some descend as well. This is how they’re transferred to the river beyond the slope. When you imagine vessels crossing mountains to travel between Yamashiro and Ōmi, isn’t it fascinating?”

Pastor Hoshino took the trouble to provide a concrete explanation.

After taking a brief look at Nanzen-ji Temple, they walked to Kurodani. Due to the legend that Ishikawa Goemon had once hidden in that temple gate, their conversation along the way became monopolized by tales of him. "After all, they say he had thirty men's strength—just his physique alone must've been extraordinary." "When you mention Ishikawa Goemon, even though we know he was a bandit, somehow he doesn't give off a bad impression." "He's Japan's Robin Hood, isn't he?" Mr. Shiba spoke fondly. "The likes of righteous thieves, knights-errant, and rebels must subtly appeal to that rubbernecking streak of yours, Mr. Shiba." "You're the type who finds fires entertaining as long as your own house isn't burning down, aren't you?"

As expected, Pastor Hoshino did not resonate with Goemon. He refused to acknowledge the worth of any figure not mentioned in the Bible.

In Kurodani, the “Kumagae Yorikake no Matsu” pine tree had withered. The strangely strong one resounded with a clash. Though no one knew how many men’s strength Naozane had possessed in life, even after taking Buddhist vows as “Kumagae Hōriki-bō Nyūdō Renshō Hōshi,” he still looked like he could swing an iron staff.

“He looks like a strong monk. In that case, even the story about him being so captivated by the sound of warhorses’ hooves that he absentmindedly smashed a wooden fish seems plausible.”

Father looked up at the stone pagoda. Across the road, facing each other, There stood one inscribed "Daibu Atsumori Kūgan Rinshō Daikoji."

Soon Pastor Hoshino suggested, “Shall we climb Yoshidayama now and make this our stopping point?”

As Pastor Hoshino muttered this almost to himself, Mr.Dan— “Who cares about the Daimonji?” “This lot’s already nosy enough even if you leave ’em be,and with zero sense of time or space—best not to bother with half-baked ideas.” “We’re not ants on some Kannon pilgrimage—if we keep stopping at every single spot,we’ll never get anywhere.” he cautioned. Upon hearing “mountain,” they seemed to react with their usual trepidation. “What’s the Daimonji?”

When Ms. Taguriko asked me, “That’s not what we were discussing just now.” Pastor Hoshino also seemed to dislike mountain climbing, “It’s about the farewell fires lit in the shape of the character ‘大’ on Mount Nyoi during Obon—they say if we climb Yoshidayama, we might see traces of it.” he downplayed it. The blazing 'dai' character appeared vividly floating in midair, creating quite a spectacular sight—and yet earlier they had been so insistent about carrying lanterns. “By the way, since my model home is just up ahead, please do me the favor of stopping by for a moment.”

Mr.Shiba invited them out of the blue. This area appeared to be a residential district, with rows of identical black gates lining the streets. We trooped into that house. Given that there were so many of us, “Miss and young master, please do make use of these model futons. Model futons.” With such remarks, Mr.Shiba endeavored to facilitate things and introduced his wife. “Only your wife isn’t a model wife. She’s your beloved wife!” Pastor Hoshino interjected. “I’m constantly laughed at by Mr.Hoshino, but this really is a model life. Since I keep thinking of returning to Tokyo, I don’t feel like buying anything permanent even when it comes to household items.”

Mr. Shiba said while stroking a large Seto brazier that imitated Chinese style.

“That certainly must be the case. Friends who’ve gone to Korea and Taiwan keep saying the same kind of thing all the time.” Father sympathized. No matter how much one favored Tokyo, it was harsh to lump Kyoto together with colonies. “If you complain twice as much as everyone else while keeping up that temporary mindset, wouldn’t it cause problems for the school?”

Mr. Dan sympathized with the school. “It seems those with a clinging mindset cause more trouble than those with a temporary one.” “But it’s strange, isn’t it?” “Even in this model home living this model life, we’ve already had four children, I tell you.” “This much at least isn’t a model.” “As proof it’s genuine, the youngest one’s been sick since the day before yesterday—we’ve had to get a makeshift nurse coming in.”

“Jokes aside—is the situation genuinely improving?”

Pastor Hoshino asked.

“Thank you. There seems to be no danger—we overreacted a bit, didn’t we?”

“Having four children is enviable. Since even zoo lions are said to have cubs, I wonder if my household should move to Kyoto too.”

After a short while, Mr.Miwa said in a pleased manner. “Kyoto really does produce children well.” “With Pastor Hoshino here, there may be years when he can’t gain believers, but it seems there’s never a year when he can’t have children.” When Mr.Shiba bluntly exposed this, Pastor Hoshino— “You’re being quite harsh.” “I can’t argue with that.” “Actually, the eighth one’s due to arrive any day now.”

he proceeded to confess. “Congratulations. “Then doesn’t that mean you’ve made at least eight believers?” “That’s certainly not a bad record.” Mr.Miwa became serious and offered consolation, which even made Mrs.Shiba burst into laughter. Feeling it would be inconsiderate given there was a patient, we left Mr.Shiba at his model home and soon took our leave. Having just discovered that fresh yatsuhashi was indeed the best, we bought a large quantity of those freshly made treats and headed to the Kumano Shrine tram stop, where a crowd had gathered.

“It’s a fight between the conductor and a student. This is interesting!” Pastor Hoshino said as if he’d found buried treasure. Even while maintaining his composed demeanor as a pastor, he occasionally revealed his wild side. What proved even more surprising was how Mr. Dan—the one least expected to show curiosity—instantly shoved through the crowd and forced his way into the heart of the argument. Just at that moment, a gentleman—

“This person here definitely reached over my shoulder and handed it over without getting off,” the gentleman stepped in to mediate. “Nope, I didn’t receive it,” the conductor ignored the third party,

“Do you have any evidence you’ve handed it over?”

The conductor persistently pursued the party involved and grabbed him by the arm. If this were Tokyo, not only the person involved but even the bystanders wouldn’t stay silent. Yet despite showing a hostile expression, the university student resolved the issue peacefully by paying twice for the ticket. Just as I thought Kyoto was indeed laid-back, I was shocked when the conductor was knocked down with a ground-shaking impact right there. “Why did you hit someone?” The conductor staggered and fell, but the university student—

“Do you have any proof that you were hit?” he retorted nonchalantly and walked away. “That was exhilarating,” Mr. Dan sighed. “Kyoto students are rather rough, aren’t they?” Mr. Miwa said disapprovingly. “They’re rough,” Pastor Hoshino responded. “It’s not just students—even conductors are like that. When it comes to speech meetings too, there’s no place with more rubberneckers than Kyoto.”

Pastor Hoshino said. “Anyway, that conductor just now got a bit carried away, didn’t he?” This was Father. “There’s nothing as troublesome as conductors.” The one who was still fuming was Mr. Dan. They got off the tram at Shinkyogoku and went into a beef restaurant. The fact that having lunch here had been planned since yesterday showed that “sukiyaki” was apparently a Kyoto specialty. When one considers how these numerous elaborate storefronts exist solely for eating beef, one can’t help but feel sorry for the cows who remain blissfully unaware.

“What should we do with this egg?” When Father—uncharacteristically tending to the pot—asked, “Like this—break it onto a dish, catch the meat with it, and eat.” Pastor Hoshino demonstrated practically by picking up a piece that still seemed undercooked.

“In Kansai, everyone does it this way. If only they’d copy just this much in Tokyo too.” Mr. Dan, who was managing the adjacent sukiyaki pot, said.

“By the way, you really put your all into that earlier fight, didn’t you? I was worried you might get involved.” When Pastor Hoshino said this, “I didn’t lay a hand on anyone, but I was frustrated because I couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on and couldn’t speak up. There’s nothing as troublesome as train conductors.” Mr. Dan seemed to have an intense dislike for train conductors.

“You have an unusual grudge against conductors, don’t you?” “Actually, my assistant was beaten by a conductor the other day. Of course, I had them take revenge right away—but here’s the odd thing: ever since then, whenever it’s a conductor involved, even in someone else’s business, I just can’t sit back and stay quiet.” “Hmm, you’ve been quite thorough, haven’t you? What’s gotten into you? What on earth...?” “My assistant ended up hitting them over exactly the same kind of situation as before, you see. Since he threw the first punch, he was undoubtedly in the wrong, but because it was in front of the terminal depot, he got surrounded by fellow conductors. Poor thing—apparently he got ganged up on. I was indignant, you know.”

“Given who you are, I take it you didn’t stay quiet?” “I gave him a thorough warning for the future. ‘Didn’t you receive an education at Japan’s highest institution of learning and even compete as a rowing athlete? Don’t you find it humiliating to get knocked down by some country bumpkin conductors?’ I said.” “That was one hell of a lecture you gave.” “Then my assistant said, ‘I was outnumbered and caught off guard,’ so I imparted a strategy to him. Pastor Hoshino, do you know the secret to taking on a crowd alone?”

“What does a pastor know about secret brawling techniques?” Father interjected from the side.

“Because you’re a pastor, you especially need to have studied up on this a bit,” said Mr. Dan. “Since you’re constantly interacting with crowds at church.” He seemed to regard the church as being on par with parliament as he continued: “We cannot occupy two spaces simultaneously. When you think about it, this principle forms a far more fundamental basis for social life than notions like freedom or equality. Should this ever collapse, this boiling beef hotpot might somersault over our heads at any moment.” “From this principle of spatial exclusivity,” he pressed on, “it follows that in close-contact brawls, it becomes utterly impossible for three or more people to effectively overpower a single individual at once. That’s precisely why there’s no need to fear being outnumbered. Fight each opponent with single combat mentality—even ten men are momentarily one. Dispatch them sequentially from the nearest.” “Being overwhelmed isn’t about their numbers—it’s about your physical endurance,” he declared, then shifted tone: “This might sound like theater-bashing, but that Marubashi Chūya fight scene we saw flagrantly violates these principles. With dozens of pursuers cramming into the same space, they just create noise without progress. Chūya’s side panicked too—failing to recognize momentary singularity—exhausting themselves through futile efforts until immobilized.”

“That does make some sense. You should write theater reviews, you know.”

Father interjected again. “By the way, my assistant took my advice to heart and achieved great success.” “Did he do it again?” Pastor Hoshino was delighted.

“He sure did! The next day at nearly the same time at the terminal, he smacked that lazy conductor on the head, got off the train, then chased after him and tripped him over. The other conductors immediately tried to surround him again thinking he was yesterday’s troublemaker, but since he hadn’t come to get beaten up this time, he positioned himself with his back against a wall to minimize contact area as much as possible. ‘No matter how many opponents there are,’ I told him, ‘if you treat each as a one-on-one fight—and with arms toughened by rowing—’ Well, he quickly knocked down six men, but then got caught by a policeman. What an idiot. In short—since he can’t even handle a single fight properly, I can’t feel at ease entrusting work to him.”

Having finished speaking, Mr. Dan began eating voraciously.

“With a boss like you, the assistant’s work must be rather poor, huh?”

After a short while, Pastor Hoshino said.

“He’s a surprisingly simple and decent guy,” said Mr.Miwa. “He’s utterly convinced that the proper path for a man is to make money in construction, lose it in stocks, and go by the name Dan Senkichi. If you just understand the right amount of moderation in this regard, it’s actually easier to keep him in a good mood.” “To put it simply, he’s like a construction gang boss,” Father added. “So devoted to his underlings that a single fight makes every conductor despise him. Well, he does have at least some good points.”

“Hey now—don’t go spouting your nitpicking where children can hear.” “That’s why Taguriko ends up not listening to her parents.”

Mr.Dan was laughing.

Having arrived at the station a full hour early, they turned back and visited Higashi Honganji Temple. For people who had come all the way from distant provinces specifically for pilgrimage to then enter a temple merely because they happened to have spare time—what a perfectly assembled bunch of ill-intentioned folks. “Are you all affiliated with the West or the East?” Pastor Hoshino launched into a sectarian interrogation, perhaps intending to gather sermon material. Mr.Miwa had never understood West or East to begin with. “When Obon comes around, monks show up with chopsticks for New Year’s visits, so we must at least be Buddhist.”

he said as if it were someone else’s business. "I lean toward your side, but I did say our family’s sect is Monto." "So the Monto sect—is that Higashi Honganji or Nishi Honganji?" Father’s explanation remained equally vague. As for Mr.Dan, "My household is non-religious—we don’t let Jesus or monks anywhere near us. If they carelessly show up, we’ll knock ’em flat." He had made his stance crystal clear. In any case, come next Sunday, Pastor Hoshino would undoubtedly— “The Religious Sentiments of the Japanese” —deliver a sermon by that title, lamenting these three’s indifference while extolling Christianity’s tenacity.

After viewing the main hall and stepping out into the corridor, “Miss, take a look at this.”

Pastor Hoshino caught Ms. Taguriko’s attention.

“Oh my! It’s made of hair!”

Ms. Taguriko made a terrified expression. Indeed, a thick rope made of hair was coiled in a spiral. “Donated by devotees of Niigata, Echigo Province: Length—22 jo 8 shaku (approximately 69 meters), Circumference—1 shaku 1 sun (approximately 33 centimeters), with fifty-two additional strands,” read the placard. “How about that? Isn’t the power of religion something grand?” Pastor Hoshino was smooth and tactful. He never forgot to wrestle using someone else’s loincloth. “Did so many people in Niigata become nuns?”

Ms. Taguriko asked worriedly. “No, this hair was donated by women devotees to be used as ropes for hauling timber when this place was built.” “They say a woman’s hair can tether even an elephant—ropes twisted from hair are apparently remarkably sturdy.”

“Religion’s a matter of degree—when it comes to this sort of thing, it requires police oversight.” Mr. Dan said disapprovingly.

“There are those among the devout men and women from the countryside who’d skip paying their lodging fees yet insist on giving extra offerings.” “If you tell them their donations fund the monks’ indulgences, they’ll just open their purses wider—‘If it’s for the Living Buddha’s pleasures,’ they’ll say, ‘all the more reason to give!’” “They’re impossible to handle.” “But there must be something to it if generations of Japanese have thrown themselves into this.” “Even we laymen feel something nostalgic about it.”

“What’s there to it? It’s just lazy thinking—trying to bend natural laws to your convenience with a few measly offerings.”

Part Eleven

Crowded trains blared their shrill whistles as they passed by frequently. Mr. Ogawa had emphatically stated that suburban living developed earlier in Osaka than in Tokyo, and it was indeed thriving. As for the Hanshin area, where houses had already lined up nearly completely, it went without saying; even on this side alone, there were three or four railway lines connecting the countryside and the city in this manner. This bustling, teeming crowd too was a microcosm of Osaka’s development. They all made their nests in the suburbs wherever there was money to be had—Sumiyoshi included—and at the break of dawn, jostling and clamoring, they swarmed into the city in search of lucrative deals.

“How about it? Haven’t you come across any good deals?” “Ain’t been nothin’ decent lately. If there’s any lucrative deals goin’ down, how ’bout lettin’ me in on ’em?” “By the way, what lovely weather we’re havin’, sir! You’re up bright and early, aren’t ya?” “Oh, you’re really up early, aren’t ya? The sun’s blazin’ down proper, so this must be true Japanese sunshine, eh? By the way, how’s everyone doin’?”

“Oh, thanks to you, everyone at my place is doin’ just fine.” “And how ‘bout your folks? Everyone doin’ alright?” “And if you come ‘cross any good deals yourself, do let me know.” “I’m countin’ on ya now, hear?”

“Oh, sure thing.” “There ain’t been nothin’ decent lately, but if somethin’ comes up, I’ll give you a call.” In this manner, Osaka-style conversations invariably began with lucrative deals and ended with lucrative deals. Consequently, those who had absolutely no desire for money could not remain in Osaka. However, given that such philanthropists were currently rare, this metropolis—so fixated on lucrative deals—attracted countless masses in numbers too great for the city to contain. Mr. Ogawa too was one of those countless souls.

Now, when the group arrived at Umeda yesterday evening, they dispersed as planned. Mr.Dan had an esteemed younger brother in Doshomachi and took Ms.Taguriko there with him. Mr.Miwa’s uncle—a practicing lawyer—had his house as their lodging. “It’s close—looking at the map, it’s not even a stone’s throw away.” “It’s fine.”

As if to say "Goodbye," he left without even uttering the words. He couldn't feel settled unless he had forgotten something. Then Father and I—who had few connections in Kansai—were jostled along by steam train under Mr.Ogawa's guidance, transferred to a streetcar, and wound up imposing ourselves at this East Tennōjiya residence.

After finishing breakfast, we sat on the second-floor veranda gauging the prosperity of suburban life by counting the number of teeming trains passing by when— “Young Master,” Mrs.Ogawa relayed, “there’s a phone call for you—it’s Ms.Taguriko.” I immediately went downstairs and,

“Hello? Ms. Taguriko?” As soon as I did, “Ah. “Ken?” “Good morning!” Ms. Taguriko laughed. There was no particular reason for the call. It was merely fulfilling our promise to call and say good morning the next day since we wouldn’t be meeting, but still— “A household with children?” “No. “There are animals instead of children.” “Do you get what it is?” “Is it a cat?” “It’s a Chin! A Chin!” “Right. “It’s been quite something here.”

“What’s there?” “It’s the children. “It’s as if someone’s overturned a toy box!” “I’ve gotten used to it by this morning, but yesterday it gave me such a headache!”

“Do they act up that much?” “Not exactly. Because wherever I go, there’s this medicinal smell, you see. Our house is a herbal medicine shop too, but all three houses across the street and both next-door neighbors are herbal medicine shops. It’s even more concentrated than Kanda’s used bookstores. They’re literally every single house. Don’t you think Doshomachi is such a peculiar place?”

“Even if you get a headache, you can feel reassured living in a herbal medicine shop.” “But that’s not how it works,” “Father said—the medicine here isn’t meant to be drunk; it’s for selling.” “If something’s wrong, you should have a doctor examine you properly.” “That’s when I finally understood what ‘selling medicine’ truly means.”

Such was the exchange that took place.

When I returned to the second floor and looked, Father was busily exerting his awkward social graces with Mr. Ogawa.

“Is that so? If there are absolutely no days off except Sundays, you can’t keep up. You’re rather greedy, aren’t you? Do you find it fun working so hard?” “It’s not fun, but there’s no helping it. It’s business, you see.” “Seeing how you address wealthy folks like Mr.Sumitomo and Mr.Konoike with such reverence and speak so gratefully of them, I take it your business must be doing quite well by now?” “No, just when it starts taking shape, we have to plow everything under and start sowing anew.” “Hasn’t business been profitable lately?” “There are profitable ventures and unprofitable ones. It’s the age of chaos once again.”

“Did you profit during the war?” “That’s just it. We made money, but ended up disgorging nearly all of it—back to being paupers again.” “These days it’s truly a slump, isn’t it?” The exchange unfolded like an interrogation. “By the way—what do you make of my wife’s eyes? They’re rather protuberant, aren’t they?” “Quite protuberant, wouldn’t you say?” After a moment, Mr.Ogawa pivoted to posing questions himself. “Huh?”

Father was at a loss to comprehend. “It’s about my wife’s eyes.” “Your wife’s eyes?” “That’s right. The truth is, she’s come down with this troublesome condition called Basedow’s disease—didn’t you notice? Don’t they look like goldfish eyes?” “Now that you mention it, I did think they were a bit too protruding, but is it a disease?” “It’s this thing called a goiter—the thyroid swells up and makes the eyes bulge right out. Seeing how it’s almost exclusively women who get it, must be a disease for chronic worriers, don’t you think? And my wife’s hysteria is contributing to it a great deal. She’s so difficult—it’s really a problem.”

“That’s not good at all, is it? Isn’t it because you’re putting too much burden on her?” “Thinking there might be some truth to that, I’ve been conducting myself with utmost strictness lately. So I’m keeping everything centered around Her Ladyship and humoring her whims. My wife has grown utterly arrogant and become exactly like a queen. With those big eyes and her old woman-like features, she looks just like the Queen of Hearts.” Mr. Ogawa endeavored to belittle his wife. He had wondered why her face looked familiar—it was from a playing card. Now that you mention it, she did bear a slight resemblance.

“It seems she resents it terribly when pressured, doesn’t she?” Father also smiled at the Queen of Hearts. “I get pressured.” “With those eyes...” “If they protruded any more than that, I couldn’t stand it, so I’m worshipping her without question, you see.”

Just then, his wife approached, “I must apologize for my rudeness.” and greeted modestly, quite unlike a queen. “Didn’t you feel a sneeze coming on? We were just talking about you.”

Even if Mr. Ogawa said this, “Gossiping about others is all well and good, but how about you finish your own business quickly so we can be on our way?” “Yes, yes, I’ll go right away. But what could it be about? What on earth—” “It’s not going to be anything good anyway, with the police involved.” “Are you going to the police?” Father was surprised. “We’ve been getting frequent summonses from the police since the other day. We’ve been too busy to deal with it properly, but yesterday a patrolman came again and insisted over and over that we must report to them after nine o’clock this morning. What could it possibly be about?”

Even Mrs. Ogawa looked worried.

“Even this one treats me like a criminal, asking if I have any guilty secrets—but I haven’t done anything that’d get dragged to the police yet. Since I’ve been excessively upright, they might even commend me on the grounds of being a model husband.”

“What could it be?” “Actually...” “Could stolen goods have turned up?”

Father pondered. "No recent break-ins at my place, certainly haven't broken into anywhere myself, haven't picked up anything lost, haven't dropped anything either... As a perfectly law-abiding citizen, I've absolutely no idea what this could be about." And Mr. Ogawa himself was at a loss. "Rather than sitting here saying such things forever, it would be quicker for you to go out right now and find out what you've done."

Mrs. Ogawa urged him again.

“Are you going to the police to inquire about your conduct score?” The boy was laughing. Things were getting strange. “This is slightly Tennōji-bound, huh?” “What’s this about Tennōji?” “There’s an insane asylum in Tennōji, you know.” “Hmm, in Tokyo it’d be Matsuzawa-bound.” “Right, right—Kyoto would be Iwakura-bound.” “So Osaka is Tennōji-bound?” “This is interesting.”

Father promptly took out his notebook and wrote it down. He seemed to have a considerable interest in lunatics.

“What’s so interesting about that? When you occasionally visit, it’s troublesome if you use things like me being summoned to the police as material.” Mr. Ogawa soon left to attend to his errand. Afterwards, Mrs. Ogawa, “Thank you very much.” “Through electrotherapy and such treatments, I’ve nearly returned to full health these days.” responded to Father’s inquiries about her condition, “It’s rather peculiar. “Initially my husband insisted I was glaring at him.” “Yet I haven’t been glaring or doing anything of the sort.”

she began recounting from the very onset of her illness. “I see, so the general did have something of a dark side to him after all.” Father laughed and nodded in agreement. “That is indeed the case,” she said. “On the following night too, he claimed I glared at him. ‘Last night was my fault,’ he’d say, ‘but since I came home late tonight from social engagements, don’t give me such a terrifying look.’ Yet in truth, I neither glared nor was displeased.”

“It’s amusing, isn’t it?” “When I think back now, my eyes had already become quite bulging by that time.” "But since neither I noticed nor my husband realized I was simply staring, he would say, ‘You’ve been in a foul mood since morning lately." “‘If there’s something you can’t quite accept, tell me plainly,’ he’d insist." “Eventually he started coming straight home after closing the shop.” “Thanks to that, though I never made a single complaint, my husband’s behavior mended itself.”

“It was a great success, wasn’t it?” “But at the same time, I became so short of breath that I couldn’t even climb up to the second floor. When I had had the doctor examine me because it was too painful, he said it was exactly this illness and that it had already progressed considerably.” “Well, well—but Mr.Ogawa’s hasty reformation turned out to be quite an unexpected byproduct, didn’t it?” “It’s what you might call a fortunate mistake. But since it’s quite a dangerous illness, if it weren’t for something like that, there’d be no making up for it. Though Mr.Ogawa seems to find that frustrating—lately whenever he says anything, he acts as if his uprightness is a favor he’s bestowing.”

“In any case, it was good that it was settled quickly.” “Even so, a complete cure still seems difficult, and whenever there’s even the slightest worry, my countenance changes immediately—even to myself, it looks like a frightening face.” “With such an accurate barometer established now, Ogawa can’t go causing me nothing but trouble in that way anymore.” Having said that, Mrs. Ogawa laughed. A virtuous wife, it seems, does not mind a minor illness as long as her husband’s conduct remains proper.

“Tennōji seems to be right near here, doesn’t it?”

After a short while, Father asked.

“It’s very close.” “The park over there, Shinsekai, the castle, and Sennichimae would be most suitable for taking the young master out.” Mrs. Ogawa began talking about Tennōji’s Seven Wonders—such as the “upside-down bamboo” and the “sparrow that doesn’t fly”—and the round stones lying at the bottom of the castle’s moat. “……That large round stone houses the spirit of Lady Yodo, and even now it occasionally drags people in.” “Given that she was a lady of great beauty, when she calls out, even a man of considerable spiritual resolve finds himself unable to resist—it’s said that she does so with such a sweetly gentle voice.”

“Someone like Mr. Ogawa these days would probably be safe, though.”

Father humored her. “Oh, not at all. “Someone like Mr. Ogawa would be the type to plunge headlong into it at the first call. However, that executive had already known about this story beforehand. Therefore, when returning home late, he had made a habit of taking a detour around that place—yet my husband was prone to such things as well. That so-called socializing was indeed the cause of his ruin. One evening, due to that so-called socializing, he stayed out late and, under the influence of alcohol, ended up at that very place.”

“So he jumped right in at the first call, then?”

“No, he immediately ran away.” “However, Lady Yodo’s voice had seeped deep into his brain, and from the next morning onward, he developed a fever.” “The doctor only said he seemed to have been frightened by something—no treatment plan could be established.” “At last, as he was on the verge of breathing his last, they realized he’d been called from the moat’s edge.” “Furthermore, following his final wishes from that time—which instructed relocation to somewhere unconnected to the Ōhori moat—the bereaved family moved to Shimanochi afterward, I hear.”

That aside, Mr. Ogawa had been kept waiting for quite some time. Just as Mrs. Ogawa was beginning to feel somewhat anxious for her eyes’ sake—wondering whether he might have been detained as he was—he came back energetically and, “Ah, my apologies, my apologies! What a ridiculous affair.” “What happened?” Mrs. Ogawa promptly inquired. “But it’s good you made it back safely.”

Father made a joke. “After all, you shouldn’t go ordering literary books that don’t suit your style.” “I’ve been thoroughly taken for a ride.” “Is that fellow even a police sergeant?” “He’s acting all high and mighty.” “『Hey, you!』—it’s like they’re treating me like a criminal.”

Mr. Ogawa was indignant.

“That’s quite strange, isn’t it? Could it be wrong for a businessman to order literary books?” Mrs. Ogawa pressed. “No, you see—I meant to order Tokugawa-period literature, but the books turned out surprisingly poor. It’s practically like being scammed.” As Mr. Ogawa desperately tried to explain away, “What exactly from the Tokugawa period—the items?” Father remained utterly clueless. “Last year’s matter—I’ve already forgotten the name.”

“You put that nicely.” “You ordered it for obscenity, right? I’d always thought your solemn act was unreliable.” “Now don’t go saying that.”

“But you’re utterly witless,” said Mr.Muraoka. “You should’ve claimed academic research purposes and flipped the script on them.” “But it happened so suddenly—I went without thinking,” Mr.Ogawa replied bitterly, “and got an earful from them. It’s positively galling.” “You truly are imprudent,” Mrs.Ogawa cut in sharply. “This is what comes of you being your usual self.” She glared at him with practiced efficiency—indeed, her eyes had already begun narrowing. “Yes, yes,” Mr.Ogawa conceded hurriedly, “no arguments here.” Then shifting tone: “They arrested the publisher and got subscribers’ names—what a fine humiliation! That cop puffed himself up lecturing me endlessly, so I turned away—then he barks: ‘Hey! You there! At your balding age, buying this trash?’ Handed back my deposit too.” His voice rose indignantly: “I’ll grant they recovered money from swindlers—but criticizing my hairline? Damned impertinence!”

Mr. Ogawa became indignant again and carelessly pulled out two bills from his sleeve pouch. And then, “When I told them I unfortunately didn’t have my registered seal to receive this money, they said I should just put my thumbprint and be on my way.” “This is the first time I’ve ever had to put a thumbprint on something.” “They took your fingerprints for future reference—just discreetly, you know.” Father never said anything constructive. “Let this be a lesson and take better care from now on. “If you behave like that, it won’t set a proper example for the shop’s staff.” “And I will take custody of this ill-gotten money.”

Mrs. Ogawa swiftly tucked the two ten-yen bills in question into the fold of her obi and glared sharply at her husband. Mr.Basedow was quite harsh.

“As you can see, it’s really a problem.”

And soon, as Mr. Ogawa was guiding Father and me out of the house, he let slip. “You complain about trouble, but isn’t it your fault? I’ve heard all sorts of things from your wife.” Father did not sympathize. “She bribes the maid and manager to keep watch on me—there’s no winning. Today too, since you were here, it ended with just a fine. The other day caused a huge uproar.” “So even a paragon of solemnity shows his tail repeatedly, eh?” “No, this wasn’t like today’s unavoidable matter. Pure suspicion—they accused me of making a pilgrimage to Saint Shōten in Ikoma with a two-person outing.”

“When you say ‘two-person outing’…?” “A member of the opposite sex other than my wife—primarily geisha.” “Taking such company for a day of refined leisure is what we call a ‘two-person outing.’” “Whereas dragging my wife along—a sniffling companion—for a dutiful stroll is termed a ‘tinkered outing.’” “You’ve some curious expressions here.” “A tinkered outing’s also called ‘going about your mending.’” “The term comes from harmonious tinker couples—essentially a two-pole affair.” “Escorting one’s wife for posterity’s sake marks the pinnacle of uncultured boorishness.” “Yet two-person outings symbolize social standing—no exaggeration to call them the Osaka gentleman’s ideal.”

“You’re really putting too much muscle into foolishness.” “That’s exactly the problem.” “After all, without children, you can’t stay carefree forever at your age—already balding away,” “No matter what I say, it circles back to my head.” “Has it truly grown so sparse?”

And Mr. Ogawa lamented,

“By the way, where are we going?”

And he was a most unreliable guide.

“Anywhere’s fine.” “As long as we can soak up that authentic Osaka feel.” We too had no special requests.

They got off at Nishimon-mae and immediately turned into Tennoji. True to its reputation as Japan’s first certified Buddhist temple, even on ordinary days it bustled like a festival fair. A man from Kawakita, Nomi District, Ishikawa Prefecture, wearing a woven straw hat, “In our hometown, if you pay 1 yen 13 sen in prefectural tax, you can fish all you want—so I’ll give you a huge discount.” “Normally 48 sen per piece, now just 30 sen!” “It’s truly effective!” “Y’know.” “Shred them and put them in miso soup.” “The flesh melts away, leaving nothing but oil.”

If you thought they were selling eight-eyed lampreys as a cure for night blindness, across from them, “…Your next meal will go down smoothly.” “If it’s a cough, it’ll stop by the second day.” “For women’s ailments, a monkey’s head works wonders—but this does too.” “Elsewhere it’s 2 yen 50 sen, but here it’s 1 yen 50 sen…” The mamushi vendor twisted and turned in his pitch. In Osaka, if something was cheap and fast-acting, even dried snakes and eels would sell in such sacred grounds.

Upon arriving here—since climbing the five-story pagoda was customary—they clambered breathlessly through dust-covered lumber until finally surveying from the summit a metropolis that looked gloomy beneath hazy cherry-blossom skies and smog. “Ken’ichi, that’s dangerous!” The cantankerous father warned. “It’s fine. There’s a wire mesh—sometimes those who don’t cherish their lives jump from here to commit suicide, you see.” Mr. Ogawa explained.

After seeing sights like the Turtle Pond and the great bell, when they returned to the west gate,

“Is Gappo-tsuji around here?”

And the father asked. “It’s just over there. But you know some odd places, don’t you?”

“Straight along Nishimon-dōri… I remembered a line from Gidayū.” “Do you understand Gidayū?” “I can perform this!” Mr. Ogawa said cheerfully, “Unfortunately, since the Bunraku Theater isn’t open…” “Is it closed?” “Since it’s closed, I’ll perform it for you tonight.” “Gappō is my specialty!” “When did you start learning it?” “Since last year.” “In the Tsutayu style—it’s got that refined edge.” “I’ve been told to be especially cautious about unripe fruits and untreated water during our journey.”

“You’ve got some nerve saying that! But shall we see Gappō-tsuji? ※ (The character for ‘gate’ < made with ‘flame’ radical) The demon hall still remains, you know.” “Let’s just drop it—I’d hate to see what comes next.” And Father was simply terrified of Mr. Ogawa’s jōruri performance.

When they boarded the train again and headed toward the castle,

“There’s Takatsu Shrine along the way, but since we just saw the people’s hearths from the tower earlier, we can probably skip it now, right?” And Mr. Ogawa remarked offhandedly. “Sure thing. But man, this tram’s crowded too.” “It sure is.” “More packed than Tokyo’s.” “Might sound strange to call it livelier than Tokyo, but truth is this area’s more densely populated.” “Streets are so jammed that even trams can’t clear a path with just bells like in Tokyo—that’s why they blast these air horns going ‘Hoooonk-hooonk’.”

“After all, people must just be that insensitive.” Father began muttering under his breath, disparaging them. Their visit to Osaka Castle amounted to little more than looking at stones. Most of the notable structures had burned down—in some places even the stones were scorched—such was the state of things. Positioning themselves to enter the gate, “It’s big, isn’t it?”

When Mr. Ogawa introduced the stone wall’s rocks as if they were his own possessions, “It’s enormous, really. How on earth did they bring this here?—something so massive.” Father marveled. Soon they encountered another magnificent stone, “This is the Furisode Stone—shaped like a long-sleeved kimono. That one over there is the Octopus Stone. See? There’s an octopus-shaped mark in the lower corner.”

And Mr. Ogawa explained.

"I see—the Furisode Stone measures approximately two and a half ken in height and seven and a half ken in width, while the Octopus Stone stands four and a half ken tall and six ken wide," Father read from the signboard. "The old soldiers were surprisingly poetic, weren't they? 'Octopus Stone' feels rather unconventional. But 'Furisode Stone'—now that's an elegant name if I ever heard one." "Yodo-dono must've named it," said Mr. Ogawa, slipping into theatrical cadence. "Don't you agree, sir? This stone truly resembles a furisode! Ah, if only I could drink Korean ginseng and rejuvenate to my maiden years when I wore such robes! Campaigning in Chosun I must be... Yo sir! Yo-ho sir! That's how it went, see?"

“I’m no ‘sir.’”

“Then Your Excellency? “Oh my, Your Excellency, how utterly disagreeable you are! “Are these spots on the stone supposed to be a monk? “Oh, it’s an octopus! “Hey, just a moment—Your Excellency... don’t you think?” “I’m no ‘Your Excellency.’”

“Your Highness?” “Or Taikō?” “Hey, Your Highness—”

As he began to say—when suddenly, there came a thunderous boom. "Huh?! That startled me. It's the noon cannon, I tell you!" They walked from Osaka Castle to Tenjinbashi Bridge and descended to Nakanoshima Park from the midpoint of the bridge. This place wasn't made by using existing land but by reclaiming the midstream of the river, so even if it isn't spacious, one can't really complain, or so they say.

Furthermore, Mr. Ogawa, “Young man, this park has made considerable progress.” “They’ve kept the areas where boys play and where girls play separate, you see.” and showed them around both areas. “In ill-mannered areas, they probably need to enforce things this strictly from childhood, huh?” And Father said.

“And how exactly do you conclude it’s ill-mannered?” “Didn’t you say that going out in pairs or something was the ideal?” “That’s for gentlemen. There are educators in Osaka too, I’ll have you know.” And Mr. Ogawa thought educators were not gentlemen. “So we’ll leave social morals to the educators, while gentlemen single-mindedly focus on shabby things, eh?” “Well, that’s about right. This area practices strict specialization in everything. The Tanimachi we passed earlier has Western clothing stores, Matsuya-cho has candy shops, then company banks are over on Koraibashi Street that way, and kimono fabrics would be Honmachi Street—that’s how it works here.”

“Are the beauties in Sōemonchō and the wealthy in Senba and Shimanouchi?” “Exactly.” “But this place has surprisingly few beauties, huh? And I’ve heard there are many bucktoothed women here—seems genuine enough.” Father, appearing thoroughly exhausted, made no move to stand up.

“Who did you hear that from? Your wife, I suppose?” “Exactly. But I said it was a dentist’s theory, I tell you.”

“If I keep talking about my wife, you might think I’m scared of her, but actually, last month a certain someone moved into the house next door—one over from ours.” “Since she’s a genuine Osaka beauty through and through, whenever I praise her like that, my wife gets all worked up and nitpicks that while she’s a beauty, she’s bucktoothed.” “Women don’t have much sympathy for pretty neighbors, do they?” “Isn’t it contradictory to call someone a beauty but bucktoothed?”

“That isn’t a contradiction at all.” “Women are all convinced they’re beauties no matter what, you see.” “My wife seems to think she’s a beauty but just a bit bug-eyed and getting on in years.” “That’s why she feels no contradiction at all in being called a beauty yet bucktoothed.”

“That’s an amusing observation.” “They can find peace of mind precisely in believing themselves to be beauties despite being slightly plain-looking.” “That’s precisely why mirror shops can stay in business, I tell you.”

“The wife bringing a child over there also thinks she’s a beauty right?” “Exactly.” “Though she’s a beauty she’s probably convinced that her slightly flat nose is offset by her high forehead.” “Otherwise there’d be no reason for her to slather on powder like that.”

The way they appraised women passing through the park marked them as true middle-aged delinquents. At Nakanoshima, they viewed Osaka's pride—the Public Hall and City Hall—before alighting at Yotsuhashi Bridge. Though Osaka is called a city of rivers and bridges, this spot particularly displayed its distinctive character where waterways crossed in cruciform fashion with four bridges facing each other.

“What’s this?” “Coolness—crossing Yotsuhashi four times… huh?” “Was something like this even here?”

And Mr. Ogawa stared at Raizan’s haiku monument, “If you take ‘four bridges’ literally at Yotsuhashi, that makes sixteen crossings in total, huh? Every single one.” “Every single one.” “No, it simply means we ended up crossing all four bridges—nothing more.”

Father interpreted.

“In that case, it’s only natural—hardly worth considering as a haiku.” “I just don’t get haiku at all.”

“With whiskers on both ends—a cat’s love... You get it now, don’t you? It’s Raizan through and through!” “Ah, now I get it.” “Whiskers on both ends... huh?” “Ah, clever!” “Even female cats do have whiskers.” “Well, if that’s all it takes, you’re not a complete dimwit after all.”

“Much obliged.”

Before long, they arrived at Shinsaibashi and began walking along the bustling avenue. “It really is densely populated, isn’t it? This district is quintessentially Osaka. It’s a bit narrow since it’s remained unchanged from the old days, though.” Mr.Ogawa explained. “Indeed, the crowds here surpass even Ginza and Nihonbashi. This district, right? Where Mr.Sakakibara’s father bought a summer hat in his youth and suddenly converted to Christianity?” Mr.Muraoka said.

“What did Sakakibara’s old man do?” “Apparently, he must’ve had considerable time on his hands, for he went window-shopping from one end of Shinsaibashi-suji’s dry goods stores to the other just to buy a single summer hat.” He apparently asked at several shops, and while the prices varied only slightly, he thought the one at the first store was still the best, so he turned back and bought it there. “And in the meantime, he had already managed to neatly resolve his long-standing faith issue in his head—isn’t that amusing?”

“Does a hat have anything to do with religion?” “Oh, there was a great deal of it. When you get down to it, all religions are much of a muchness—he must’ve had a grand epiphany that though dry goods shops line the streets, their wholesalers are all the same. And since Christianity was something he’d had some prior familiarity with from the start, it ended up being the most straightforward option—so he volunteered for baptism.” “Hmm, quite the sophisticated old man. So then, Mr. Sakakibara going all the way to America to study theology was also influenced by that summer hat, huh?” “That’s precisely why I say it has a great deal to do with it. The fact that that man is actually out there preaching is all thanks to that straw hat.”

“If there’d been a discount store, the old man would’ve bought one there and might’ve declared that Japanese people really do prefer Buddhism after all. That was a close call.” “Exactly. Mr. Sakakibara must still be grateful that not a single dry goods store on Shinsaibashi offered discounts or tried to overcharge him.” “Religion and commerce are much of a muchness—it’s strange how random things can form such connections.” And so the two of them continued discussing trivial matters endlessly. Moreover, according to the story, this father was actually one of Sakai City’s foremost successes. And then, one day when one of his sons fell from a tree and injured his arm, he interpreted this as divine will that “this child should engage in mental work rather than manual labor,” and by persuading the boy himself, made him resolve to become a missionary as he remains today. As long as one has devoted oneself to missionary work, it cannot be said for certain that one will not bring at least some degree of enlightenment to society. When you consider it this way, even a single straw hat’s sphere of influence proves remarkably vast.

Even though we hadn’t walked much, we’d been standing around so much that when we took a break at Dōtonbori, it felt like a relief. “Ken’ichi, you must be hungry? When it comes to river cuisine, this Shibafuji can’t be beat.” Mr. Ogawa said, addressing me and Father in turn. “Half boat, half house—this tatami room,” Father observed. “What a shame about the murky water.”

Father showed his face. “Rather than elegance, practicality is the main idea here.” “In this area especially, since every inch of land is worth its weight in gold, you’ve got to make use of even the river.” “After all, across the street is Sōemonchō, and behind us lies Kurōemonchō and Namba Shinchi.” “You’ve got to appreciate the night views around here to understand true Osaka sophistication.” Mr. Ogawa asserted emphatically.

“And what counts as low-class?” “If you’re content with lowbrow entertainment, Dōtonbori here has theaters lined up, and right across in Sennichimae there’s Rakutenchi—a veritable department store of spectacles.” “Both lowbrow and highbrow, this area is the heart of Osaka sophistication.” “And which category are you in?” “Seems high-class, huh?” “I make it look low-class to my wife and even suggest taking her to plays myself.” “I act like I can’t stand hacks like Ganjiro, but then play along saying Kamiji from Daimonjiya’s troupe is the finest.” “But this is a strategy.” “When you're in business, if you make a profit, you get motivated; if you take a loss, you get reckless—it can't be helped.” “Naturally, I end up venturing into high-class circles as well.”

“So you really are being monitored after all, huh? You’ve always had a weakness for strong liquor since your youth.”

Father said this, but after a short while, as the strong drink was pressed upon him, he took small sips while...

“Indeed, there’s an abacus here.” “I hear folks here are so money-minded they calmly tally their bills while eating?” he asked as if suddenly recalling. “That’s slander!” “Around here, we handle business in spots like this or classier joints.” “A greenhorn like me can’t just speak his mind.” “That’s where strong drink’s blessing comes in handy.” “Deals are like brawls—best hashed out over booze.” “Hence why the abacus is our motto.” “The tragedy? My wife doesn’t grasp this—here I am clicking beads fair and square, yet she sprouts suspicion horns.” “Women and lackeys—tough to keep content!”

Mr. Ogawa explained the abacus while simultaneously justifying his position. “You seem rather daunted by your wife, don’t you?”

As Father laughed,

“No, I’m not intimidated at all.” Mr. Ogawa asserted emphatically, “It’s just that those eyes are scary, you see. I’m breaking my back trying to keep her condition from worsening. Even tonight, getting her to swallow a drink wouldn’t be hard. For instance—you’ll take Ken’ichi home now. Then say, ‘When Mr.Ogawa stopped by his shop earlier today after a client from Wakamatsu came by for business dealings tonight.’ Still feels a bit forced, doesn’t it? Let’s adjust. I’ll call my shop from here and have an errand boy escort you. Having the boy deliver the message would be safer.” Yet Mr.Ogawa himself—here on no business whatsoever—lingered while sipping his drink. “Then you, in front of the boy, suddenly say: ‘While the master’s away, why don’t I visit a friend or two?’ Add: ‘Wouldn’t want her resenting me later if she finds out I came.’ Formal visits don’t involve dragging kids along, see? My wife would never suspect you of lying—she’ll fret, ‘Will you manage alone?’ then say: ‘Perfect timing. Seikichi, show them properly.’ Clever, eh? So you leave Ken’ichi at home and return here with the boy. The rest is in the bag. I know all the choice spots—we’ll hole up there pronto. Whether raising hell or slipping undercover, everything’ll go smooth as silk.”

“You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you?” “I have to maneuver like this just to get a breather.” “It’s safe for me to stay out until twelve.” “If we hurry by car, we can get home in ten minutes.” “However, the real challenge begins once we get home.” “If we both go in together, she’ll catch on right away.” “You go in first, and I’ll wait outside.” “No, it’s better if I go first—that’s the proper procedure.” “It’s like we’re about to pull off a robbery.” “Since we’re telling lies, it’s undeniably a form of robbery.” “My wife is sure to glare and say, ‘Good evening, I suppose?’” “Because I’m scared, I’ll avoid looking and say, ‘What time is it?” “‘I was kept late, and oh, my shoulders are stiff,’ I’d say.” “‘It’s already half past twelve,’ she says.” “‘Then I suppose Mr.Muraoka has already gone to bed?’ she deflects.” “Since I’m waiting outside here, there’s no way he could be sleeping inside.” Continuing, “‘Is that so?” “‘Even so, it’s rather late.’” “‘I wonder if that philosopher took a wrong turn somewhere?’ she says with feigned concern.” “Thinking to avoid suspicion in such cases, I’ve introduced you to my wife as a philosopher who doesn’t know east from west in worldly matters.”

“Quite meticulous, isn’t it? Then you come in with a straight face, saying something like ‘Oh, I’m back.’ ‘What’s wrong? Getting back this late?’ I chided. ‘I forgot where to get off and ended up going all the way to Sumiyoshi.’ ‘Then I had to get off at every stop and search my way back, which is why it’s gotten so late.’ ‘It’s about nine o’clock already, don’t you think?’ ‘This is hilarious! It’s about nine o’clock already? Perfect timing.’ ‘What do you think, Miyoko? As expected, philosophers transcend time and space!’ I laughed boisterously. ‘You laugh too.’ ‘My wife won’t be able to help laughing either, you see.’ ‘I end up making her laugh whether she wants to or not.’ ‘Of course, this requires bribing Ken’ichi and the errand boy beforehand.’ ‘I’m spending quite a bit every month on bribing the errand boy.’”

“Seems you’ve got quite the unseen struggles there.”

When Mr. Muraoka laughed, “The more struggles there are, the more fun there is.” “Jokes aside, why don’t we put this plan into practice?” “Since we rarely come here, it should be fine, don’t you think?”

Mr. Ogawa seemed intent on applying his theory depending on the response.

“No thanks. I don’t understand high-class tastes.”

“Can’t talk about it then?”

By the time the meal was served, Mr. Ogawa had ordered sake multiple times and turned quite red. As he grew drunker, his fervor only intensified. His wife was no longer in his eyes.

“By the way, is it okay for you to drink that much?” Mr. Muraoka began to worry quietly to himself.

“It’s fine. When it comes to sake, I don’t face any restrictions.” “Well, you’re starting to slur your words a bit, you see.” “It’s fine, I tell you. I actually speak better when I’m a little drunk, so you can rest assured.”

Mr. Ogawa appeared intent on returning home and having them listen to gidayū.

Sennichimae, true to its reputation as a long-standing entertainment district, was even more bustling than Kyoto's Shinkyogoku, but since our guide was so high-class, we passed by everything without stopping. In front of Harishige-za, Mr.Muraoka came to a halt, "It's a shame to come to Osaka and not listen to gidayū, don't you think?"

Mr. Muraoka said. However, Mr. Ogawa, “The ones here are all female gidayū performers, you see,” he merely answered and dismissed the matter.

In front of Rakutenchi, this time I stopped. Mr. Ogawa was a gentle gentleman who would never ignore my presence. Earlier, even if only theoretically, he had gone so far as to present the results of his research on methods of dealing with me—that’s how much importance he placed on me. Thereupon, he promptly slipped closer to me,

“Ken’ichi, Shinsekai is more impressive than this place. There’s a wonderful tower called Tsutenkaku where you can see all of Osaka from the top. My wife said she’d show you around there tonight,” he pressed with added incentive.

“It’s fine. If we go to Takarazuka, we’ll get to see the girls’ opera anyway.” Mr. Muraoka also said.

On the way back, riding the train again, “Look, this is the place,” Mr. Ogawa pointed out from the window. “It says ‘Gappōga Tsuji※’ – written as 魔堂 with the ‘fire’ radical instead of ‘gate’.”

“Which do you prefer—Gappō or Terakoya?” “This is getting rather oppressive, isn’t it? “Which one’s shorter?” “Well, let’s just hear whichever you perform better.” Mr. Muraoka resigned himself.

“I’m good at both.” “Well, I’m impressed.” Shortly after arriving home, Mr.Muraoka said, “Ken’ichi, you go try calling Mr.Miwa for me,” he asked me. Perhaps he had grown suddenly anxious about listening to Mr.Ogawa’s gidayū. “How do I make the call?”

When I took on the role of Tarō Kaja, "There’s no particular reason, but someone was hit by a car at some place before noon." "You saw it from the train too, didn’t you?" "I can’t stop worrying—they looked just like Mr.Miwa." The secretary flipped through his notebook, stood by the telephone, dialed the number, and inquired, “Huh, is this Tokyo’s Mr.Miwa?” “That’s correct. Is everything all right?” “Huh? “Hello?”

“Is everything all right?” “Huh, ain’t nothin’ changed.” “You’re talkin’ ’bout Mr. Miwa from Tokyo, s’pose?”

“Wasn’t he hit by a car?” “Just who in the world are you s’pose to be?”

came a slightly angry voice.

Chapter Twelve

Upon hearing they would soon arrive at Shimonoseki, Mr.Miwa had quickly swapped his hunting cap for a straw hat—a prudent move—but it was immediately blown out the window. "What a shame! Such a fine Tasukan!" Mr.Muraoka sympathized. At the same time, he half-rose, seemingly worried Mr.Miwa might forget himself and jump out. However, the man himself, "Not at all—nothing to regret. Thanks to that, it's as if my lifespan's been extended another year."

replied with his customary composure. "You're still spouting nonsense as usual." Mr.Dan teased him to pass the time. "But I only wear one summer hat each year, you see." "If you had two heads that'd be different—but with just one, you can't wear two hats."

“No, I mean one per summer. You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?” “That’s true. Then you should’ve said that from the start.” “You’re such a literal man. Therefore, every time I buy a summer hat, I’m filled with immeasurable emotion.” “Each time you have it bought for you, you mean?” “You nitpick every little thing, don’t you? Even if my wife buys it, since I’m the one paying, it amounts to the same thing either way. If I set it as one per year, then the number of summer hats I’ll wear from now on becomes the same as the number of years I have left to live.”

“You’re supposed to have no sense of numbers, yet you’ve got quite the knack for them.” “There’s plenty of it. If we assume life expectancy is fifty as the common saying goes, then by proper calculation, I’d only be able to wear nine more summer hats. When you think about it, isn’t having only nine left rather unsettling? However, this year I bought a second one for this trip and have now lost it, so I can buy another. Therefore, at least when it comes to the matter of summer hats, it’s as if my lifespan has been extended by two years, don’t you think? Your theory that travel is the most effective rejuvenation method might have an unexpected point to it after all.”

“I stand corrected,” said Mr. Dan. “If you go around puffing yourself up after having your hat blown away, there’s no dealing with you.” “Fascinating,” replied Mr. Miwa. “Thy summer hats are countable.” “I have ten left.” “This is no joking matter!”

Mr. Muraoka heard this exchange and sighed. Though our itinerary seemed to leap abruptly from Osaka to Shimonoseki along with Mr.Miwa's hat, we were not the same "we" as before—we had started anew from Tokyo once more. Our spring trip had fallen apart in Osaka due to my blunder. It wasn't as if I'd been struck by Mr.Ogawa's gidayū performance or anything, but precisely from that evening onward, I came down with a fever and lay bedridden for days. Far from looking after Mr.Miwa, I ended up having him meet me at Tokyo Station. I caused Mr. and Mrs.Ogawa particular trouble. Thus it wasn't out of obligation that I joined this Kyushu trip; but with the source of my illness—those enlarged tonsils—now removed and recovery guaranteed, I once again accepted my role as Ms.Taguriko's partner and set out. We departed Tokyo on the morning limited express, passed through only familiar spring trip scenery while daylight lasted, then fell asleep around Kobe to awaken nearing Shimonoseki. The plan was to first circle Kyushu after rushing through Chūgoku's darkness, then leisurely sightsee on our return. Mr.Dan's itinerary proved characteristically efficient. This time it was quite the lengthy journey. Therefore—since each day taking us farther might give Mr.Miwa homesickness—the schedule incorporated charging straight to our destination first, so that after several nights, each passing day would bring us closer to home.

“Last time, maybe because you all had that touristy look on your faces, we got fleeced pretty hard by the rickshaw pullers and auto drivers. This time, at any rate, be careful not to look too much like country bumpkins.”

And Mr. Dan cautioned them in passing. “When we’ve come all the way to Chugoku and Kyushu, there’s no reason we’d be treated like country bumpkins here, is there?” But Father would not back down. “No, that’s not quite how it is.” “Wherever you settle becomes your capital.” “In both Chugoku and Kyushu, everyone considers their own place to be the center of the world.” “Even a farmer weeding the fields over there believes the sun rises in the east every morning just to shine on the back of their own house.” “And you believe it sets in the west to allow you your evening drinks, don’t you?”

Mr. Miwa countered with mirrored logic.

"That's right. There are those who believe only their own wives are women. Since everyone considers their immediate surroundings to be the center of the world, outsiders unaware of news from the capital are just country bumpkins. Try saying you don't know Osaka-ya in Shimonoseki—even if you aren't beaten, you won't be treated as civilized." "What's this Osaka-ya?" "The center of Shimonoseki's cultural life." "Mr.Miwa. Don't you go carelessly getting on now."

Mr. Muraoka cautioned. "In any case, if you think they're exploiting us under some respectful pretense just because we came from Tokyo, that's a huge miscalculation." "If we end up getting both exploited and looked down on, the math just won't balance out."

Mr. Miwa voiced his agreement. “But rest assured—this time I’ll make sure we ride by car or rickshaw at local rates to show them. I don’t mind spending money, but being exploited by country bumpkins sticks in my craw.”

Mr. Dan said this as if he had some clever scheme in mind.

When we finally arrived in Shimonoseki, Ms.Taguriko and I completed our customary communications home. Since we hadn't visited any sights yet, it proved exceedingly simple. Still, Ms.Taguriko's letter contained: "...After riding continuously for twenty-four hours, ladies and gentlemen display their animalistic natures without restraint. There are those who sleep through the entire journey and those who eat nonstop throughout. The whole train transforms into a zoo, each passenger car resembling a cage. Being cages, they inevitably fill with food debris whenever the porter comes to clean them. And since they're animals, some refuse to budge an inch to accommodate the cleaning process while others growl if you accidentally brush against their feet."

Such things were written.

After getting into a rickshaw at the station front and riding for a short while, Mr.Dan— “This area hasn’t changed at all, has it?” he addressed the rickshaw driver.

“No, it hasn’t.”

The rickshaw driver answered. “Is the mayor well-regarded?” “Oh? Do you mean Mr.Ri?” “That’s right. Mr.Ri.” “Whether it’s good or bad, we humble folks don’t really know about the Mayor’s reputation, I’m afraid.” “If we go without stopping by, she might get angry later, but as you can see, I have company with me, so it can’t be helped. And the police chief—the same fellow from before is still in charge, I suppose?” “Yes, he’s still serving.”

“That man’s gotten older too, hasn’t he?” “Yes, he has.”

It was an utterly harmless exchange. There’s no such thing as someone who doesn’t age. Moreover, when listening nearby, Mr.Dan came across as someone who had lived in this area before. In the midst of this, the rickshaw driver: “As you may know, this is Shunpanrō, where the Sino-Japanese Peace Treaty negotiations were held.”

and pointed to the left side of the narrow road. The gate's structure with its stone steps had a severity unbefitting an inn-restaurant.

“Ah, so this was the place. I often came here to eat pufferfish.”

Mr.Dan said nostalgically. “So this is Shunpanrō? Holding peace negotiations at a restaurant—what they call ‘barrel-table negotiations’—is such an Eastern way of doing things.” Mr.Muraoka explained this to Mr.Miwa in the rear rickshaw.

“When it comes to pufferfish, it’s got to be Shimonoseki, I tell you. Once that chili broth fills your bowl, there’s no resisting it.” Mr. Dan continued his display of local expertise.

“It truly is splendid. First off, the sake hits differently here.” The rickshaw driver responded. “Since I can’t forget my hometown roots, maybe I’ll grab a bite before leaving—it’s been ages.” “We can’t serve you at present.” “Closed down?” “No, we don’t prepare pufferfish in summer—they’re toxic this season.” “Is that so? Ah... Right—right. That’s how it was. Haven’t visited in so long that I...” “Exactly.” “That’s how it went, eh? “It’s just... been too many years...” Mr.Dan had nearly given himself away.

When they alighted at Akama Shrine, Ms.Taguriko,

“Ken, would you like me to show you something nice?” With that, she took out from her pocket a small crab that had been dried and hardened.

“Heike crab, right? What happened? Did you buy it?” When I looked like I wanted it,

“Go get yours too!” She gave me one. Since their procession had been as disorderly as randomly listed names, Ms.Taguriko—who’d been bringing up the rear—had apparently stopped her rickshaw unnoticed to make purchases. “They look just alike!” “Exactly alike!” “Two crabs.” “For whom?” “For my school supervisor.” “My! Giving two crabs to your teacher? Ken, you’ve got quite the wicked tongue.” “But they’re called Heike crabs! I’ll absolutely take this back for reference.”

“Yours is male.” “Is yours female? Even a female still has a scary face, huh?” “It’s not the face. It’s the shell.”

In the temple grounds lay the graves of the Heike clan who had sunk at Dan-no-ura. Beneath a great tree, the rows of small natural stones appeared exactly like the burial ground of fallen warriors, quietly evoking an ineffable sorrow.

“Even Tomomori, who plunged into the sea weighed down by an anchor, has his grave here.” “Corpse recovery efforts mysteriously only retrieved the bodies of high-ranking commanders—or so it appears.” Mr.Muraoka remarked while gazing up at the memorial stele. “The foot soldiers all stayed at the seabed and became crabs.” “One really shouldn’t join a losing battle as a common soldier.” Mr.Dan expressed sympathy for the Heike crabs. “Those without graves must be the foot soldiers’ fate.” “Ms.Taguriko—let me examine that crab again.”

said Mr.Miwa.

“When was the festival here held again? It used to be so lively—is it still thriving these days?” Mr. Dan, aiming to restore his reputation, posed an innocuous question. Every shrine has its festival. And festivals are generally known to be lively affairs. “It’s April 23rd. There’s something called the courtesans’ pilgrimage—people come to see it not just from around Fukuoka but even from Kyoto and Osaka.” replied the rickshaw driver. Mr. Dan’s rickshaw driver was the most talkative, while the others wore expressions that all but declared their legs to be their main occupation.

“Yes, yes—that truly has no equal elsewhere.” “It truly exists nowhere else but here.”

“Do all the people from Shimonoseki go on the pilgrimage?” Mr. Muraoka asked.

“No, only five people. The trendiest youths get chosen to parade all the way here. You see, the young men hold up parasols from behind like this. A beautiful apprentice geisha follows along. With each costume costing thousands of yen, it’s truly a spectacle!” “So it’s like an oiran procession?”

“No, it’s nothing of that sort. “It remains fundamentally the courtesans’ pilgrimage. “They say the surviving women of the Heike clan established what became Inari Town - that’s why this tradition persists from ancient times.”

Soon they passed through the town and arrived at Dan-no-ura. There was nothing but the sea.

“This place hasn’t changed one bit, has it?” Mr. Dan was able to say with relief.

“There’s nothing of note here, but this is Mimosusogawa.”

Mr. Dan’s rickshaw driver pointed at a stream that was little more than a ditch.

“I see.”

“Sir must know the legend of Heike’s One Cup of Water, I presume?” “Well, I might have heard about it, but after being overseas so long, I’ve forgotten everything about Japan—even how to hold chopsticks.” “There was a well at the boundary between this river and the sea, where each of the Heike lords drank their final cup of water, or so it’s said. From that time on, strange phenomena began occurring with the well’s water. Whoever drinks it finds only the first sip to be fresh water, but from the second sip onward, they say it turns into saltwater.”

“Ah, right—the Heike’s One Cup of Water. Now that you mention it, I do believe I’ve heard that before. After all, since everyone sank here, they can’t find peace. Back in the day, your grandfathers must’ve said things like will-o’-the-wisps used to appear around here on rainy nights, right?”

“As expected, you know all about it,” said Mr. Dan. The rickshaw driver was momentarily taken in by his smooth talk but asked, “Are you from Hiroshima, sir?”

“Well, around there.” “Are you returning to Korea now, sir?” “Another bullseye.”

They arrived in Moji at the scheduled time. Separated from the mainland by just a single narrow strait, there was not the slightest difference from home, but a man who looked like a lodging tout sidled up to them,

“Are you going to Dalian?” Being asked this, they truly felt they had come to a distant land. They took lunch on the station’s second floor. “How was it then? Was the rickshaw fare cheap?”

Mr. Muraoka asked as if remembering while eating.

"No, it wasn't cheap, but I suppose that's the local rate." Mr. Dan answered.

“It worked somewhat, didn’t it?” “After spewing that many lies, it barely meets the local rate – hardly worth the trouble.”

Mr. Miwa seemed to have intended to ride for free. “Whether it was expensive or cheap, at any rate, we weren’t treated like country bumpkins.”

Mr. Dan asserted. “Country bumpkin treatment. “Isn’t that the verdict—that we’re Hiroshima folks?” “Hey, Mr. Muraoka.”

“Certainly. And so we’ve come to Korea as migrant workers. What a blessed fate indeed. In this case, even if we ride for free and get a little extra change, it doesn’t feel all that great, does it?” “You’re all just spouting nonsense. Because our land is the center of the world, them deeming us a neighboring prefecture counts as an immense act of goodwill. You all don’t know how the world works, so you probably wouldn’t understand, but those who go to Korea and make their fortunes are mainly people from Yamaguchi Prefecture and Tsushima. Therefore, when they ask in Shimonoseki if you’re ‘returning to Korea,’ it means you’ve succeeded there—that’s the highest form of respect. If we receive this much preferential treatment in land rates, shouldn’t we be able to rest content with that?”

“I can’t deal with folks like you.” “Your own head’s the center of the universe.” “Break our backs getting treated like hicks, then call it ‘special treatment’—guess that makes everything hunky-dory.” Mr. Muraoka laughed.

In Moji, they saw nothing of note. In front of the station, five or six makeshift fruit stalls lined up in a slightly exotic style caught their attention. When they boarded the train, a gentleman who resembled a beer barrel stood up with a “Well!” “Well!”

Responding, Mr. Muraoka stepped forward. “This is quite unexpected. Where on earth are you headed?” “I can’t very well do anything improper. Since I thought I wouldn’t be able to drop by anyway, I was planning to slip through without permission...”

“That’s outrageous! Oh, do have a seat.” “Oh, well...”

And with that, the two proceeded to exchange greetings. This beer barrel was Mr. Muraoka's cousin's husband - a coal merchant from Wakamatsu named Mr. Kawashima. After Mr. Muraoka had properly introduced everyone,

“When coincidences reach this scale, they enter the realm of the mystical. In all of Kyushu, you’re our only relatives—and here I am bumping into you right at this threshold!” “I rarely come to Moji myself, but today was sheer coincidence.” “It must indeed be divine arrangement.” “If you don’t stop by now, you’ll incur heavenly punishment!” “Jokes aside—what do you say?”

And Mr.Kawashima immediately extended an invitation. However, Mr.Muraoka, bound by prior commitments, found himself unable to adjust his schedule and—after apologizing profusely from every angle—promised to make definite arrangements for their return journey. Mr.Kawashima accepted this explanation and, mentioning he fortunately had mountain business to attend to that day, calmly began speaking.

“What could that be?” “That’s…”

Ms. Taguriko pointed at an unfamiliar-shaped freight train.

“It’s a coal train.”

Mr. Dan turned around. “I see, it’s coal. There are things that look like wooden memorial tablets standing on each and every car, aren’t there?” “Those are called coal tickets and indicate the contents of the coal cars. The one just now was short, but day after day, coal trains of fifty or sixty cars in a row come to Wakamatsu.” Mr. Kawashima explained. “This region is known for its coal. Ms. Taguriko and Ken’ichi, you should both ask Uncle about the coal.” Mr. Muraoka said.

“When it comes to coal, that’s my specialty. Coal is Fukuoka Prefecture. Fukuoka Prefecture is industrial energy itself. Japan’s commercial center will shift to Moji within the next ten years. It’s mighty impressive! From Moji to Hakata, a stretch of fifty ri has almost become one continuous town.” Mr. Kawashima passionately championed Fukuoka Prefecture’s cause. “So it still comes down to that centrality theory, eh?”

Mr. Dan whispered,

“I see, the centrality theory does have an unexpected foundation to it.” Even as Mr.Miwa laughed, Mr.Kawashima misinterpreted it, “Since the foundation is coal, it naturally becomes the center.” “And thus, the center of commerce and industry becomes the center of the nation, and the center of the nation becomes the center of the world.” “The train and ferry that brought Ms.Taguriko and Ken’ichi here—those too only exist because of coal, don’t they?” “From telegraphs, telephones, streetcars, and electric lights to all manner of manufacturing industries—there is not a single one that does not owe its existence to coal.” “Coal is driving Japan.” “And thus, that coal—in short, it all comes down to Fukuoka Prefecture.”

"So that means coal merchants are the greatest after all, huh?" Mr. Muraoka joked. “Indeed! And this uncle here is that very coal merchant. Take a look—I’m this fat!” Mr. Kawashima knocked on his Hotei-like belly to demonstrate.

After passing Kokura, the right side became an unbroken forest of chimneys. The sky hung cloudy with coal smoke. “How remarkably prosperous!” Mr. Dan marveled. “This place holds the reputation of being the Orient’s foremost industrial district,” Mr. Kawashima explained. “Though in exchange, the coal smoke turns every house pitch black. In Yawata, they say even the sparrows are blackened. Cherry blossoms can’t bloom in proper colors either. As for women—while they’re applying their white powder, coal smoke settles on them, so by the time their careful makeup is finished, it’s said to turn gray.”

Mr. Kawashima’s explanations left a deep impression due to their lighthearted exaggerations. “He’s a big-hearted man. With that attitude of his, he remains unfazed whether he gains or loses. You can’t tell whether he’s succeeding or failing.” After Mr. Kawashima got off at Orio, Mr. Muraoka commented critically.

“He’s cheerful and good-natured, isn’t he? Complaints and grievances are for thin people to spout.”

Mr. Dan said. "You sure know how to take a dig at the strangest things." Mr. Miwa would not let it pass.

“There, it’s already begun.”

In Kyushu, the largest was Fukuoka; the town with the cleanest streets was Nagasaki; and the most bustling was Hakata—exactly as Mr.Miwa's nephew, the college student, had authoritatively explained to us during last night's stroll, Hakata proved truly vibrant. "Are Fukuoka and Hakata different places?"

And at that moment, Father asked. "Well, they’re pretty much the same." “To be precise, Fukuoka City consists of both Fukuoka and Hakata wards.” “Therefore, Hakata forms part of Fukuoka City.” “However, as you know, since the station lies in Hakata, from the railway perspective Hakata equates to Fukuoka City.” The medical student explained even trivial matters with needless complexity. Given his medical studies, he seemed already to be practicing pulse-taking techniques for his future career. That said, Hakata—particularly around our inn with its theaters—appeared distinctly urban. They ventured as far as Kofukumachi’s “country Ginza,” returning by streetcar under scholarly pretenses when in truth Mr. Dan grew wary of how Hakata-ori textiles and Hakata-shibori dye works kept halting Ms. Taguriko’s progress.

“It would be nice to buy Hakata dolls, but I wonder if they’ll get damaged.” Mr. Dan even tried bargaining tactics with the young woman. However, Ms. Taguriko, “I’ll have them sent directly from the store to your home, so there’s no problem.” Outmaneuvering him completely, she made him buy only the largest dolls. Once breakfast was finished, they immediately went sightseeing by rickshaw. Everything was managed by Mr. Hideo, who took charge of all arrangements. Following the tram line straight ahead while admiring lotus flowers in the moat to their left,

“Rickshaw driver—what regiment was stationed here? This place...” Mr.Dan began pressing him with methodical persistence. “The Twenty-Fourth Regiment.”

the rickshaw driver answered. "Is that colonel still serving as the regiment commander here?" “He is still serving. You are aware of that, Master?”

Soon they arrived at Nishi Park.

“Mr. Muraoka, this is such a high place that portly folks might start complaining!” Just as Mr. Miwa had gleefully noted, the park wasn’t built on level ground. “But that’s why the view’s so grand up here, I tell ya!”

With that, the rickshaw drivers also followed along. “This place is the only famous cherry blossom spot in this area. “When spring comes, there’s a lively festival here every single day.” Mr.Hideo explained.

There was a shrine dedicated to a feudal lord, but they weren’t the sort to care about such things. The view of the sea from the mountaintop was indeed splendid. A cute little island called something-or-other could also be seen. The group, being rather unconcerned with lingering over the scenery, came down immediately. “Rickshaw man, I hear you all gamble?” Mr. Dan came to a stop before Hirano Jirō’s statue. "You must be joking!" The rickshaw driver looked surprised.

“No, no—this comes from genuine concern for your welfare.” “But take heed.” “When I met the police chief last night, he said they’ll soon crack down on rickshaw drivers here since your gambling is becoming a problem.”

They turned back and headed toward Higashi Park. Given it was Kyushu's largest metropolis, traversing from end to end required quite a ride. "Oh my, the pine trees are withered, aren't they?" Mr. Miwa murmured this as they reached Chiyonosusukibara. "It appears some pathogen has been affecting them since last year. Though they've tried various treatments, this area is already completely devastated." "For humans, oral medication works effectively, but with plants, only topical applications are possible." "When the medication's application range is limited, recovery becomes proportionally more difficult to achieve."

replied the medical student. The group at the front had already descended and begun walking through the pine grove. The bronze statue of Nichiren Shōnin was magnificent.

“What a huge monk!”

And Ms. Taguriko marveled. “Both the statue and pedestal measure thirty-five shaku each, so I reckon you could rightly call ’em number one in Japan!” the rickshaw driver explained. “Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō… Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō…” Five or six elderly women were fervently chanting the invocation. They circled around to check behind the statue, but even here at this spot—pounding on the pedestal’s stones with their fists— “Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō… Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō…” they chanted with single-minded focus. The stones of the pedestal were blackened by hand grime. Hakozaki Hachimangu was just a stone’s throw away from Higashi Park. Upon entering, there was a large camphor tree on the right. Reading a sign that said “Cherish the Trees,”

“It would be appropriate to write ‘Worship the trees’ here. It’s truly enormous—probably Japan’s largest.”

Mr. Miwa, the tree enthusiast, continued gazing upward indefinitely. “Between Lord Hachiman and Emperor Kameyama, coming here somehow makes one recall the distant days of the Mongol invasions. It would be more interesting if one were more knowledgeable about history, though...”

Father also seemed somewhat moved with emotion.

“Indeed. This entire area is completely filled with historic sites from the Mongol invasions. Since Tatara Beach lies along this coastline, this area must also have been an ancient battlefield, perhaps.”

replied the medical student.

“How about it? Do the students here carouse like that Kyoto bunch?” Mr. Dan, however, showed interest only in the present day.

"They don’t pawn their notebooks like the Kyoto crowd and then put up those pawn tickets as collateral again, but they do enjoy themselves quite a bit." "The medical students are especially intense." "There are plenty who are groaning under five or six thousand yen in debt." “It’d be a problem if you associated with that crowd." “You take after your brother and still love your drink, don’t you?” Mr. Miwa showed his avuncular side. “I’m perfectly fine. Even if I were to borrow money to drink, there’d be no leniency for me, you see.”

“Haha, you call it ‘borrow coins’? “Here.” “People in Keihan and Chugoku say ‘borrow silver’. “In Tokyo, it’s absolutely ‘debt.’ The way ‘debt,’ ‘borrow silver,’ and ‘borrow coins’ diminish in prestige as you move outward from the center—why, it practically advertises each region’s cultural standing!” And Father declared this as though he had made some grand invention.

The coast presented a fine view with the pine grove stretching behind it. At the high lighthouse,

“Tatara Beach is in that general direction over there. Since they encountered the 210th-day typhoon at sea, even an army of over a hundred thousand cavalry couldn’t hold out. Even so, having only three survivors makes for a terrible mortality rate.”

the medical student provided a scientific explanation. On their way back, until they came out in front of the medical university, they saw people carrying what looked like natto bundles many times.

“What could that be?” Ms. Taguriko looked back at me from the rickshaw.

“This is sand from Hakozaki Beach,” “Since it’s newly gathered sand, they carefully carry it home with them, you see.”

My rickshaw driver informed me. They returned to the inn and ate lunch, and it was already time to prepare to leave. They were quite busy. “Uncle, do you know ‘Washi Country,’ also known as ‘Miyako Meisho’?” the medical student asked. “I don’t know. Is it a local specialty sweet here?”

And Mr. Miwa had to confess his ignorance.

“No, it’s a song,” he said. “This one here goes like this: ‘What I want to show you in Fukuoka/Hakata’s famous spots…’” The medical student, perhaps having gotten drunk on beer, began to sing softly. “‘...Kyushu University’s Chōyō Seishinkan Hall, Hakozaki Hachiman Shrine for Subduing Enemy Nations, Mongol Invasion Monument and Nichiren Bronze Statue, gazing out from Aratsuyama to the Genkai... gazing out to the Genkai...’ Ah, I’ve forgotten,” he continued. “‘What’s-its-name and such... nothing else compares! Chiyo no Matsubara, ain’t it grand?’ Ah, what a pain!”

“It’s the real deal, isn’t it.” “This one’s had quite a bit of capital poured into it.”

Mr.Dan praised, “It’s quite amusing. Please look into those lyrics properly later and have them ready.” Father asked, but— “Mr.Hideo, if a song’s that polished, I can’t really trust it.” And Mr.Miwa was somewhat in a bad mood.

“It’s all right. Anyway, I’ve now shown you all the famous spots from that song. By the way, it’s just about time, don’t you think?”

And Mr.Hideo looked at his wristwatch. They say summer rain splits at the horse’s back, and it was absolutely true. “We shall meet again in Kumamoto.”

When we said goodbye to Mr. Hideo at Hakata Station, the weather had seemed clear, but once we passed one station, a heavy rain came pouring down. Thus, since stopping at Dazaifu would likely prove futile, we decided to omit it from our itinerary and ended up arriving in Saga quite early, fully prepared to be drenched by the rain.

However, Saga was so sunny that dust swirled up. It felt as if they’d been tricked by a fox. That evening shower seemed like nothing but divine will to remove Sugawara's place of exile from our itinerary. “Since we’re such a gathering of people with particularly poor handwriting, Tenjin-sama must have taken offense and deliberately sent the rain down.” Ms.Taguriko laughed while making this unreserved remark. They had heard about horse-drawn railway carriages in their father and mother’s old stories and wondered what they were like—but here in Saga, the actual things were plodding along. Travel certainly broadens one’s knowledge.

“What a wild place!”

Father exclaimed in surprise.

“Don’t speak ill of it. This place has a strong spirit of national isolation and exclusionism – if you’re not careful, they’ll beat you up!” Mr. Miwa warned.

“Rickshaw driver, is the police chief still being run by that man?” And Mr. Dan began again.

“No!”

the rickshaw driver answered.

“Has that man gotten older too?” “No!”

“Since they built a high school, there must be more money flowing around here than before, I suppose!” “Noo!” “No!”

“This is astonishing! We can’t communicate at all!” Mr.Dan said. Before long, they arrived at a place called Matsumotoya in Shinmabashi which had been arranged from Hakata’s Mizuno Ryokan.

Ms.Taguriko and I entered the bath early and used the time before dinner to write letters home. The adults, having no responsibilities, were still engaging in idle chatter as usual. "They say she's a true Saga native through and through, but if they're all like that, then Saga women must be formidable!"

And Mr. Dan praised the maid Ms. Ofuku. "Since their astringent exteriors are wearing off, they go out of their way to flex their muscles." Father teased. "No, putting looks aside as a separate matter, I've yet to meet anyone who's that efficient." Just then, two maids brought in the meal trays.

“Ms. Ofuku and Ms. Omine also have an excellent reputation.” “Putting looks aside, they’re said to be quick-witted.”

Mr. Miwa said. “Oh, you’re too much!” Ms. Ofuku laughed.

“Putting jokes aside, we’ve come all the way from Tokyo to investigate Saga, so while you’re serving us, take your time and tell us all about it,” Mr.Dan requested. “Certainly.”

“In Saga dialect, you know.” “That’s just fine.”

“You must be busy every day, right?” After the meal began, Father said sympathetically. “We’ve been so busy with the war’s mess and all, I tell you.” “Everything’s ‘I tell you’ with you.” “There’s no one with stronger local pride than Saga people. You know Kitakoga, don’t you?”

And Mr. Miwa recalled something.

“I know. Ah right—so that guy was from here.” Father responded.

“That guy’s practically the quintessential Saga native, wouldn’t you say? He still walks around with his left shoulder all puffed up, just like in his student days. They say folks from Kagoshima hike up their right shoulders, while Saga people stick out their left ones. It’s like how a dog’s tail curls left or right – that distinction’s set in stone, huh?” “They ain’t no beasts, I tell you!”

“They ain't no beasts, I tell you!” Ms. Ofuku protested. “Now, now,” Mr. Muraoka placated, “let me properly praise the Nabeshima men instead. Will that satisfy you?” “Don’t go sayin’ such things!” she retorted. “Where Saga folk walk, not a weed dares sprout—ain’t that right?” “Even a dimwit from Saga’s still prime sea bream at heart!” Ms.Omine chimed in support. “A fool’s a fool,” Mr.Muraoka mused, “but they’ve more in common with the English than most.” “Saga must be full of beauties like you,” Mr.Dan interjected slyly.

When Mr. Dan stirred the pot, "Saga women have a taste like Maruboro (a local confection), I tell you!" "What's Maruboro (a local confection)?"

Ms. Ofuku pointed at the sweets container and said, "It was delicious, I tell you." "It's oppressive, isn't it?" "Saga women are like Maruboro, I tell you! Their affection runs deep, and you never tire of it." "Color me impressed."

Even Mr.Dan, a man of conviction, found himself impressed by this maid’s unwavering certainty. Having been the first to finish her meal, Ms. Taguriko sat down on the veranda’s rattan chair, “Oh, there’s a kite flying!” she said. “Flying summer kites is done solely in Saga.” Ms. Omine explained. It was truly one of a kind. “Shall I teach you Saga dialect?” “Nyagotokokukya, konchikushō, araiyaban, konata no sokushāka, zōdanshinsan na!”

And Ms. Ofuku said in rapid-fire succession. It didn’t sound like Japanese at all.

“What on earth was that just now? If you don’t speak more slowly for me, I can’t make heads or tails of it.” Father was exasperated. “What kinda nonsense you spoutin’, you brute! Oh how disgustin’! This here rudeness of yours—don’t be jokin’ around!” “I see, I get it. You use these when striking the *hiji-teppō* stance. ‘Don’t be jokin’ around’ sounds gentle and nice.” “You use these during *hiji-teppō*, right?” “‘Don’t be jokin’ around’ is gentle and nice.” “What does ‘your sokushāka’ mean, then?” When Mr. Dan inquired, “This shameless and obnoxious behavior of yours, I tell you.” “It’s you, Master! Oho~~~~~” “Oho~~~~~”

Ms. Ofuku began to clear the meal trays.

After dinner, there was still daylight left, so they felt restless. Thinking to get a head start on tomorrow by seeing whatever they could manage, they leisurely set out with the inn’s male staff as guides. The Matsubara Shrine enshrining a feudal lord stood right across. Many giant camphor trees grew there.

“This place has many camphor trees, doesn’t it?” Mr.Miwa said delightedly. “Ain’t there loads o’ camphor trees here,” the male staff began in dialect before switching to standard Japanese: “Because there are many camphor trees here, it’s said that konjac monsters appear.” “A konjac monster? What’s the origin of that?” Father inquired. “Well now, I don’t know particulars,” replied the staff, “but folks’ve said so since olden times. Why, just t’other day my mate claimed he saw one—rainy night it was.” He adopted a storyteller’s cadence: “‘Used to see konjac spooks on nights like this,’ he’s sayin’, walkin’ down yonder lane, when—‘NYAGOTOKOKUKYAA!’—this bellow comes from a camphor tree-top, an’ down plops a ten-foot konjac right ‘pon his brolly!” The man slapped his knee laughing: “Ha! Three strappin’ lads tossed their umbrellas, kicked off geta, an’ ran like hell itself chased ’em... Ha ha!”

And the male staff laughed heartily.

“Does that konjac monster have eyes and a nose or something?” Father wanted to ascertain the true nature of the monster, but the young man, “Nah, ’cause it’s konjac—ain’t got no eyes or nose. Just plop right onto yer head... plop right onto yer head, I tell ya... Ha ha ha!”

And they were still doubled over laughing, their words slurring incoherently. What could possibly be so funny? Being konjac by nature and coming as a monster, it was ultimately impossible to get a clear grasp of it. "The humor of barbarians is crude yet possesses a natural grandeur. The konjac monster is roughly hewn yet amusing." And saying that, Father alone was pleased. They went out to the park and saw statues. "This is Lord Kansō. This one here is Elder Furukawa Matsune, who performed junshi—ritual suicide following his lord." And the male staff solemnly performed their role as guides.

“Oh, junshi—ritual suicide!” Ms. Taguriko’s face darkened. Even the usually chatter-prone group fell completely silent and paid deep respect to this epitome of a Hagakure samurai. By the time they arrived at Mr. Eto’s monument, the day had gradually begun to darken. Those who committed junshi—ritual suicide—and those who were executed for rebellion; one eerily gloomy spot followed another.

“Will you gentlemen be going to Kawakami tomorrow?”

And the male staff inquired. “I’ve heard Kawakami is a lovely place, but the timing isn’t convenient for us.” Mr.Dan replied. “Please do come. “It’s one hour by railcar. “There will be no difficulties. “You simply must go to Saga and see Kawakami—it’s unthinkable otherwise!”

“Is there anything to see there?” “The water’s clean, the scenery’s lovely, and it’s famous for ayu sweetfish. The ones there have golden scales—plump, sweet ayu you won’t find anywhere else in Japan. Grill ’em, drizzle yuzu vinegar over ’em, and your cheeks’ll drop right off when you take a bite!”

They went as far as the castle gate, but since it was already dark, the bullet marks from past battles remaining on the walls could not be seen. Since it was now nighttime scenery, they headed back to the bustling town streets. “It really is an age-old metropolis, isn’t it? There are remarkably large shops lined up.” When Father said this,

"A wide storefront proves cheap land prices. But that Marubōro shop we just passed was rather tasteful, wasn't it?" Mr. Dan alternated between disparagement and praise. At the bookstore, having located the Nabeshima Analects,

“Mr.Miwa!” When Father turned around, we noticed Mr.Miwa was missing. Reflecting on it, he seemed to have been absent since earlier.

“What happened?” They peered into each and every shop along the street but couldn’t find him. “Since he is not a child, there’s no need to worry,” said the male staff. However, being concerned, they turned back to the inn as they were,

“So this place is called Matsumotoya, I hear.”

Mr.Miwa was lying down drinking tea. He had apparently gone out shopping. "What are you on about? We've been worried sick!" Mr.Dan confronted him. "Truth be told, I got anxious myself not knowing this inn's name," Mr.Miwa replied. "Had I not remembered Matsubara Shrine, I'd have been properly lost! One must always note the lodging's name when traveling." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Just asked the maid and finally breathed easy."

“Now that you’ve found the house, stop with the eerie talk and settle down. How about cooling your head with some ice?” “It’s just as well I felt relieved after hearing the house’s name. For a Japanese person to be such a virtuoso of Hibernian slips – that’s truly remarkable!”

Father laughed.

Part Thirteen

A beautiful mountain vista continued along the left side. Rocks and bamboo groves reminiscent of hanging scrolls in a home’s alcove could be seen here and there. “It’s a lovely view, isn’t it? Truly, it’s like a painting.” I said.

“No, it’s not that the scenery resembles a painting—it’s that paintings resemble the scenery.” Ms. Taguriko deflated me. Being Mr.Dan’s daughter, she occasionally comes out with such sophistical remarks.

When they noticed a guidepost at Kitsuki Station reading “Sayo-hime Residence Ruins – one ri southeast (about one hour on foot)”, “What’s this Sayo-hime business again?”

Mr. Dan asked.

“Longing for her husband’s return, she turned to stone at Matsuura Lagoon—the sorrow of Hirefuri Mountain also...” Father answered verbatim with a Jōruri line. “A mouth turned to stone? I was mistaken in thinking I had turned into a snake.”

said Mr. Miwa.

“The snake is Kiyohime of the Hidaka River.” Ms. Taguriko, as a lady versed in every method of transformation for emergencies, deflated me with her remark. When they arrived at Onizuka, the Matsuura River lay immediately to their right; next came Karatsu, where they were swiftly guided down to an establishment called Hakata-ya. “Hot! When it’s this sweltering,” Mr.Dan complained, “both desire and virtue evaporate.”

Having said that and settled onto the tatami mats, we urged Mr.Dan—who wanted to lie down right there—and after a brief rest, set out for sightseeing as usual with a procession of rickshaws. “Rickshaw man, is this place also a horse-drawn railway?” Mr.Dan asked when they came upon the tracks in the town. “Here in this town, it’s a coal-powered tram.”

the rickshaw driver answered. Just then, a pitch-black locomotive came belching black smoke from its funnel-shaped smokestack. Clanging away with its nineteenth-century clamor, it moved at an unhurried pace. “That’s what it is. As you can see, it spews soot like that—all the shops in town are deeply inconvenienced.” The rickshaw driver clearly held no goodwill toward this transportation system.

The castle ruins had been turned into a park. On a rather high hill, the view was unparalleled. “Karatsu is precisely a castle park-class city.” Mr. Dan said. According to Mr. Dan’s theory, the lowest rank consisted of towns as narrow as loincloths, followed by castle towns under 100,000 koku—these had appropriate widths, and their parks were invariably built on castle ruins.

“They say Nijinomatsubara and Nishinomatsubara are the two wings, Torishima over there is the beak, this spot here is the throat, and the castle town forms the torso,” Rickshaw Driver A explained about Maizuru Castle’s origins. “Ah, I see—it’s a grand crane indeed,” Mr.Miwa remarked with admiration. “The military planners must have had quite an imagination.” “That’s right,” added Rickshaw Driver B, pointing beyond Nijinomatsubara. “That’s Hirefuri Mountain.”

Rickshaw Driver B pointed at the mountains beyond Nijinomatsubara. As we ventured deeper into Kyushu, the pronunciation of the ra-line grew increasingly unstable.

“Hmm. So from such a high place, Ms. Sayo-hime waved her handkerchief and mourned their parting, eh?”

“So from such a high place, Ms.Sayo-hime waved her handkerchief and mourned their parting?” Father gazed intently.

“That’s Matsuura Bridge.” “It measures three hundred sixty ken—such a long bridge is said to be unmatched anywhere in Japan.” Rickshaw Driver C explained. The rickshaw drivers here took turns speaking like kabuki maidservants and samurai.

“Matsuura Bridge, Matsuura River, and Matsuura Lagoon? This place is admirably consistent,” Mr. Dan praised. “A little upstream from Matsuura Bridge lies Matsuura Stone,” Rickshaw Driver D informed them. “Oh! Does Princess Matsuura’s stone truly remain here?” Ms.Taguriko’s curiosity stirred. “No matter what they say,” declared Rickshaw Driver E, “Nijinomatsubara remains the foremost scenic spot.”

said Rickshaw Driver E. With that, “Well then, let’s be off.”

If they all spoke in unison, it would be utterly theatrical.

Matsuura Bridge was indeed long, but by now it had grown quite decrepit and was swaying unsteadily. After crossing it and turning right, they soon emerged into a pine grove. “This pine grove is shaped like a rainbow, so it’s called Nijinomatsubara.”

Mr.Miwa's rickshaw driver began to explain. "These are some fine pines lined up here. This one seems better than Chiyo no Matsubara." When Mr.Miwa praised it,

“Why, everyone says exactly that.” Just then, the trolley came chugging and wheezing along. “If they keep belching all that soot on them, the pine trees will wither away, don’t you think?” Mr.Miwa fretted. “They say it’s bad for the pines too.” The rickshaw driver glared at the trolley like a sworn foe. “Mr.Miwa is such a benevolent ruler, you see. He even troubles himself over every plant and tree.”

From the rickshaw in front, Father turned around.

“Such pines have many knots and don’t make for very good lumber.” From the very back of the group, Mr. Dan interjected. Utilitarians were unbeatable—they approached everything at scrap value. “Ken’ichi, this pine grove should be teeming with cicadas, but not a single one is singing, right?”

My rickshaw driver acknowledged me as an elementary school student. "I see, they aren't chirping."

I listened carefully. “There’s an interesting tale behind this.” “Long ago, when His Lordship Hideyoshi passed through here, the cicadas were chirping so loudly that he became furious, shouting ‘How noisy!’—or so the story goes.” “Ever since then, even in the height of summer, the cicadas never sing in Nijinomatsubara.”

“How interesting—I wonder if it’s because we’re near the sea that the cicadas don’t come?” Though Mr.Miwa said this, “That cannot be,” countered the rickshaw driver. “At Karatsu Park, they do chirp there.” The driver remained utterly convinced this silence stemmed solely from the Regent’s august authority. “Speaking of which,” interjected Mr.Dan, gradually growing bored, “isn’t this pine grove absurdly long?” “It is indeed lengthy,” replied the rickshaw driver who had earlier boasted about Matsuura Bridge’s dimensions. “From end to end, it measures one ri and eight gō.”

“One ri and eight gō? Chopping it into eight gō—that’s an amusing way to put it.” “In Kyushu, they use terms like one ri and eight gō or one ri and five gō everywhere. That’s how they write it on the milestones too.” And Mr. Miwa, being a Kumamoto native, was well-versed in the local ways.

“I understand it’s one ri and eight gō, but what’s the use of walking through all these pine trees anyway?”

“That over there is Nikenjaya already. Let’s go all the way to the amusement park and turn back,” said the rickshaw driver. “How about it? Shall we take a little rest?” At Father’s suggestion, we stopped by Nikenjaya. “Is this tea? This is—” Ms.Taguriko hesitated at first, but upon hearing it was medicinal herb tea, she recklessly drank it. I too devoured a heap of the local okoshi.

After traveling a short while further, “Ken’ichi, Lord Hideyoshi’s august authority is truly marvelous. The pine trees around here are all small, aren’t they?”

My rickshaw driver jerked his chin toward the left side and spoke up. "It's all young pines growing here, huh?" I thought Hideyoshi must have scolded them again too. "This area's called Lord Hideyoshi's Glaring Pines." "Long ago, His Lordship glared at Korea from here." "By his divine authority, these pines haven't grown an inch since those days." "The cicadas won't sing neither, and he's glaring at pines? Can't be right if it's true." The thick-tongued rickshaw driver assigned to Ms.Taguriko added his opinion.

They emerged from the amusement park onto the coast. Fishermen were hauling nets. When they looked back, Mount Hireburi was looking down from above the pine grove. “It really is a feminine mountain, isn’t it?” Ms. Taguriko spoke nostalgically.

On the return trip, they went a little upstream from Kito Bridge and paid their respects to Matsuura Rock. It was regrettable that they couldn't get close due to the tide's condition, but unexpectedly, it was as large as an artificial hill. Some parts were cracked, and from between them grew a single well-shaped pine tree. "That's a big rock." Ms. Taguriko also seemed surprised.

“It looks like your mother was a giant woman about this size,” said Mr. Dan. “Ugh, Father! Princess Sayo threw herself into the water around here.” “Was there ever such a thing?” Father took it seriously. “And since her corpse was washed out to sea and never recovered, the villagers must have convinced themselves she turned into stone,” Ms. Taguriko provided a new interpretation.

Yesterday they were rained on all day. From Karatsu to Nagasaki, they couldn't even properly enjoy the scenery outside the train windows. When things don't go smoothly, it's human nature to want to pin blame on others. When I'm late for school, I blame the maids or Mother. Yet however unfavorable the weather might be, having nowhere to direct complaints meant the weather forecast inevitably became an issue at such times. Normally they remain utterly indifferent, but when it rains they scour newspaper margins seeking an outlet for their displeasure—a most disagreeable habit.

“Look here. “It says ‘clear weather’ in this downpour, you see.” “Rural weather stations are completely unreliable!” First, Mr. Dan began his criticism. “Even the Tokyo Meteorological Observatory is wrong more often than not.” “And yet they boast that their accuracy rate isn’t inferior to anywhere in the world, so they’re quite complacent about it.” “Weather forecasting itself still hasn’t been properly established, has it?” Father chimed in. “I plan to adopt a child sooner or later, but I’ve made it a rule to refuse any child whose parent works at a weather station.”

Mr. Miwa also voiced his malice. "Why's that?" When Father inquired, "Because the parents themselves lie with impunity." "I doubt there's any proper home education or anything of the sort to begin with."

“Absolutely! If they say it’ll clear up on a day with such heavy rain, that’s undeniably a lie. They even tell those lies on the public dime. We may tell lies too, but since we do it with our own money, we don’t inconvenience others. The business of lying on public funds is limited to the meteorological agency, don’t you think? To put it bluntly, lies breed thieves—if they themselves as parents deceive people daily, they can’t possibly raise decent children.” When Mr. Dan said this, Father also chimed in: “Using public funds—and their position as pillars of society—to deceive the nation. What a massive scheme! I’m almost envious, really.”

“If parents act like that, they can hardly tell their children ‘You mustn’t tell lies.’ If some kid retorts ‘Then Father, what about today’s forecast?’ you’d be left completely speechless.”

Mr.Miwa also chimed in. “Marital love’s pretty dubious too, I tell ya." "When they swear devotion for seven lifetimes under their breath only for the weather to change on them, it puts wives in a precarious position, I tell ya." “Even if you’re suddenly kicked out with a ‘Get out now!’ like a bolt from the blue, if they claim the Ishigaki Island low-pressure system abruptly changed course, that’s all there is to it.” “Now that’s a useful piece of information!” “I too will soon be marrying off my daughter, but as a matter of principle, I must decline anyone connected to weather stations.” “Taguriko, you’re aware of that too, right?”

Mr. Dan laughed. “I’m not going anywhere, I assure you.”

Ms.Taguriko took it at face value. Girls generally say such things. Well, today brought perfect weather in contrast to yesterday, and everyone's mood was unparalleled. How fickle they were. During breakfast Mr.Dan was flipping through the Nagasaki Nichinichi Shimbun when "Clear," he said. "Admirably accurate today." he remarked. "Impressive! Given last night's conditions when we arrived, there was truly no prospect of clear weather—but indeed, mochi belongs to the mochi maker." Father expressed respect.

“As long as the weather clears up, who cares about the forecast?”

Mr. Miwa was innocent and unaffected. “What a terrible man. He only makes an issue of it when it’s wrong. Localized weather forecasts are rather trivial matters, but unfortunately, the Meteorological Agency interacts with the public solely through those, so their good points remain unseen—it’s quite pitiful.” Mr. Dan set his own matters aside.

Before long, Mr.Watanabe, who had been sent to the inn for us last night, came to visit. After giving a polite bow, “Having you guide us would be ideal, but you must be busy, right?”

Father said.

“Well, I am busy,” said Mr. Watanabe without preamble. “But today’s Sunday. Still transcending the seven-day week, I see?” Mr. Dan probed further: “The vice-chief says he’s busy, huh? How long until you become branch manager?”

“The road ahead is long,” said Mr.Watanabe. “By the time my turn comes around, my head will likely have gone completely white.” “Indeed, you’ve grown quite white,” countered Mr.Dan. “But your beard remains mysteriously jet black. They say beards make one look twenty years younger – you’re still among the ranks of bearded youths, eh?” Mr.Miwa offered his critique.

“Wait a minute. The last time we met was two years ago, wasn't it? You weren't like this back then. Right, didn't you boast about having not a single white hair?” Mr.Dan pressed suspiciously. “Because my father died.” “Right, we thought it was too late for condolences, so we skipped them...” Father gave a slight bow. “White hairs appear suddenly when you worry. In novels, you often see people turn completely white overnight.”

Mr. Miwa made no distinction between novels and reality. "I wasn't worried. I was at ease."

“Did your white hairs sprout from peace of mind? The world is full of strange things.” “You won’t find that in novels. While my father was alive, I dyed it because I thought if I turned too white, it’d make him feel rushed toward death. There may have been an element of deceiving you all, but the circumstances left no choice.”

Mr. Watanabe showed no sign of guilt whatsoever.

“A filial child truly stands apart,” Father said. “It must be rare since Saito Sanemori’s day to find someone dyeing their white hair with such noble motives.” “Don’t take digs at me,” Mr. Dan retorted.

Mr. Dan, who was secretly using something called "black-chic" to maintain his jet-black appearance, laughed.

“There are quite a few with bad motives. Among the pillars of the business community here, there are bald men wearing wigs. He’s a thorough man—he keeps a freshly shaved one, a ten-day growth, and a twenty-day growth. Because he cycles through these three wigs every ten days, the entire city of Nagasaki remains blissfully unaware. Only I, being in the know—it takes one to know one—am aware of the Osaka shop where the bigwig orders those wigs, which makes it unbearably amusing.”

Mr. Watanabe was so deeply informed about Nagasaki’s affairs that he even knew such minute personnel details. “That’s quite a clever scheme someone came up with.” “But with three different lengths, it’d be easy to get caught, wouldn’t it?” Mr. Dan remarked with admiration. “But apparently just wearing it isn’t enough to ease his conscience—he goes through all sorts of elaborate tricks, making it quite a hassle.” Even as he spoke like this, he would occasionally scratch his head as if suddenly remembering something. “What kind of dandruff tonic do you use?” he might abruptly ask. “The other day when I ran into him on the street, he said, ‘Lovely weather! I’m just off to the barber now,’ and I was utterly dumbfounded.”

“What kind of motive would that be?” When Mr.Miwa inquired, “In short, it’s about trying to appear youthful and gain favor with geisha or such.” “You won’t find a single fellow attempting rejuvenation methods for society’s benefit.”

Mr. Watanabe was being rather harsh. “Shall we begin our leisurely tour now?”

When Father said this, Mr. Watanabe responded, “Make haste and prepare yourselves; the automobile is waiting.” Since one couldn’t fully experience Nagasaki’s atmosphere as a trading port without seeing its foreign settlement, they first set their sights on Ōura. Upon reaching the tram line, they soon drove straight along the coast lined with Western-style buildings and immediately turned back upon reaching Nagasaki Hotel. “It’s cool here.” “When you come to a windless place like this, speeding by automobile is the only way to go.” Mr. Dan was delighted with this, but

“It was so fast I couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. We really have to get out and look properly after all.” Mr.Miwa was somewhat dissatisfied with this.

“In that case, shall we go around once more? My apologies—it was hard to gauge how much sightseeing we managed.” Mr. Watanabe expressed regret. “That’s quite alright.”

“There were still some decent things to see in the back areas. There, Ken’ichi and Ms. Taguriko, take a look. That building on the hill is called Kaisei School, a Westerners’ school similar to Gyosei in Tokyo. From that area all the way to the coast is the foreign settlement.” Mr. Watanabe provided supplemental explanations for us.

At Ōhato, they got out to look around as per Mr.Miwa’s request. “The ships depart from here. Thirty-six hours to Shanghai and ten to Busan.”

Mr. Dan mimicked Mr. Watanabe’s manner of speech. “What’s that round cannonball supposed to be—some kind of sacred charm?” Father asked after the automobile started moving. “That’s one of Nagasaki’s Seven Mysteries—‘Cannonballs exist, but cannons do not,’ you know.” Mr. Watanabe answered. “What exactly are these Seven Mysteries?” “Well, when you present your notebook so formally like that, my sense of responsibility rears its head and complicates things—but here’s the song about the local sights.” “That’s how it goes.” “Nagasaki’s Seven Mysteries: Daikoku-ji Temple where there’s no temple, Maruyama Hill in flatlands, Wakamiya Shrine that’s actually ancient, Nishiyama in the north, Sakura-baba without cherry trees, cannonballs existing without cannons, and Kudari-matsu—a pine standing tall and straight. There you have seven mysteries,” you know. “It’s a long one, isn’t it?”

“That Nagasaki loincloth affair, eh?” “Do recite it again properly.” “I got lost midway through.” “I’ll write it down for you.” “Not seven mysteries.” “Seven Contradictions.” “Nagasaki’s Seven Contradictions—Watanabe’s filial piety, peace of mind bleaching hair white…”

Mr. Dan retorted. “Shanghai being just a day and a half away is pretty close, huh? It’s not much different from going to Tokyo, is it?” Mr. Miwa said. “Though the travel time is exactly the same, once you board the ship and sleep, there’s nothing more to manage—so people here consider Tokyo more foreign than Shanghai. The number of migrant workers going to China and Korea is so great you could say there’s hardly a local without relatives over there.” Mr. Watanabe responded.

“This really is the westernmost point.” “The town looks rather exotic.” “I feel like I’ve come to a far-off place.” Father even voiced my own impressions.

“You’re more timid than I expected.” “These two get homesick at every little thing—it’s such a pain keeping their spirits up the whole way. “Since they insist on traveling closer to home each day, it’s impossible! So we’ll have to go full speed from here to Kagoshima.” Mr. Dan poured oil on the flames. “So we really are leaving tonight?” “I’d love to linger and soak up the exotic atmosphere, but they won’t listen to reason.”

“This is the station, huh? It’s quite splendid. Last night was pouring rain, so I couldn’t get a proper look at it…” Mr. Miwa kept craning his neck eagerly. “Rest assured, since we’re departing from here tonight.” Mr. Dan was being recklessly active today. “If you’re this homesick, expanding overseas would be completely out of the question. You should just brew some nail clippings from an Amakusa woman and drink it.” “The Family Development Party and the Great Snorting Deity—quite the combination.”

“Right, right—this place is near Amakusa, huh?” “Hearing ‘Amakusa’ takes me back to elementary school geography—it feels like a different era altogether.”

Father made another remark that seemed likely to stir up trouble.

“The opposite shore here is Inasa. Since Nagasaki is a port, less reputable areas have developed, but Inasa is particularly notorious in that regard.”

Mr. Watanabe dismissed the opposite shore.

After the conversation lapsed briefly, “Ken’ichi, do you take photographs?” Mr. Watanabe noticed the camera I was holding.

“No, Ms. Taguriko is the one who takes them.” I answered. “I’d indeed like to request one lesson from you. “I only started pursuing it as a hobby recently myself, but I just can’t seem to get it right. “It’s been nothing but blunders. “Just the other day, I made my wife faint.” “You’re a dangerous photographer, aren’t you? “What happened there?”

Mr.Dan promptly interjected. “I was so preoccupied with adjusting the focus that I made her stand too long in the blazing sun—she ended up getting heatstroke.” “But that Amakusa-born maid from earlier? Hardy as bedrock! Could photograph her all day without issue.” “Amusing though.” “When I developed the prints for her? ‘Can’t send this back home with only one ear showing!’ she says.” “Tried explaining how side profiles work—might as well talk to granite.”

“That’s funny—it’s not like she’s a rabbit.”

“She’s absolutely convinced there’s no way to capture two eyes with just one ear showing.” “She argues with such conviction that even a child’s drawing would never omit an ear.” “In short, she clearly doubts my skills—though I suppose Amakusa does have rather... primitive sensibilities.”

With that, Mr. Watanabe burst into laughter.

Amidst all this back-and-forth, they emerged into the rice fields and soon arrived at Urakami Cathedral. Just as the service had ended, the believers came streaming out. “Ms. Taguriko, look at those old women’s aprons.”

Mr. Watanabe drew Ms. Taguriko’s attention. “My, are those aprons?” “They look like hakama.” Ms. Taguriko chuckled. “That’s called sanpuku-maedare—it’s been unique to this region since ancient times.” “The sight of these old women coming out of the chapel holding hands is quite something.” “There are so many elderly men too.” “In Tokyo, churches seem meant for young people...” Father, who had neglected churchgoing since middle age, was struck by this observation.

“The ones here are different from those greenhouse-nurtured churchgoers around Tokyo,” Mr. Watanabe remarked. “They’re all descendants of people who kept their faith at the risk of their lives. They say Yamazato Village here is seventy percent believers.” “This seems like the kind of place that would make Pastor Hoshino envious,” Mr. Muraoka observed. “It’s an impressive structure in any case,” Mr. Watanabe continued, gazing upward. “And it still appears quite new, doesn’t it?” As they entered the hall and looked up at the oil painting depicting The Life of Christ, Mr. Dan commented, “That’s right. I hear everything from material donations to transportation and assembly was handled entirely by the believers themselves.”

“Well, well! It says ‘Marriage Announcement’ here!” When they came out to the bulletin board area, Mr.Miwa stopped. And then—

“The groom is Petoro Fukabori Jinzaburou, age twenty-one, with his father being Ludovico Zenpachi—now those are some amusing names, eh?” “The bride is Maria Fukabori Hatsuko, seventeen years old.” “Seventeen is a bit too young.” “This has a tendency toward early marriage, don’t you think?” “Oh, the groom shares the same surname.” “Looking at this, it might be a consanguineous marriage.” And Mr. Muraoka voiced unnecessary concerns. “Since they don’t marry outside their faith, such things naturally occur, I suppose.” said Mr. Watanabe.

“It says to submit any complaints if you have them.” Mr.Dan was reading this with uncharacteristic solemnity. “Now ‘Father Mikaeru Kurosuke’ – that’s splendid.” Father started scribbling this down in his notebook.

“These names are all so characteristically Christian.”

Ms. Taguriko also marveled.

As they turned back and headed toward Osuwa-san on their way, “Mr. Muraoka, you were a believer, weren’t you?” Mr. Watanabe, perhaps having made an association from Yamazato Village, suddenly asked. “Well, I suppose so.” “Well, saying ‘I suppose so’ lacks a clear stance, doesn’t it?”

Mr.Dan said. "So you've already graduated from that faith? In the old days they'd have called you a fallen Christian—a korobi kirishitan." "What's a korobi kirishitan?"

Father also seemed curious. “They say it dates back to when they executed Kirishitan at places like Shijō Riverbed in Kyoto long ago. They’d stuff believers into straw bags and declare: ‘Those who renounce their faith and return to being loyal subjects will be spared—so roll out here!’ The bags containing those with firm faith never budged an inch, but they say the weaker ones came tumbling out across the riverbed. That’s how terms like ‘fallen Kirishitan’ and ‘apostasy affidavits’ became commonplace. Things like Heretical Sect Household Apostasy Registers remain preserved at this prefectural library. Since there are plenty of documents from the Kirishitan prohibition era and fumie plaques, shall we stop by to investigate them if you’re interested?”

“That’s enough, enough. Even common sense understands apostasy.” “Isn’t there also a term like ‘reckless apostasy’?”

Mr. Dan interrupted.

After briefly peeking into the product exhibition hall, while climbing the stone steps of Suwa Shrine,

“I would like to show you both the festival here, Ms. Taguriko and Ken’ichi.” Mr. Watanabe kindly kept us company. Then, “It has become one of Nagasaki’s Three Follies.” “To the point where Westerners from places like Shanghai make special trips just to see it.” “What are the Three Follies?” Ms. Taguriko asked. “They spend ridiculous sums on Osuwa-san’s festival, Obon celebrations, and kite flying—that’s why we call them the Three Follies.”

“What? Three Follies, you say? Are you talking about us? You shouldn’t make children listen to their parents being badmouthed, you know.”

When it came to slopes, the spineless Mr.Dan caught up while panting. From the mountaintop, all of Nagasaki could be seen in a single glance. "There are quite a few ships in the harbor. It was visible from the third floor of the inn too, but the Mitsukoshi Shipyard is a big one, isn't it?"

“There’s no distinction between Mitsubishi and Mitsui,” Mr.Miwa remarked. “Whereabouts is Midoriya?” Father scanned the area intently. “That white building’s the prefectural office, so we should head that way first,” said Mr.Watanabe. “Narrow, isn’t it? With mountains hemming in this street, there’s simply no space left to develop.” Mr.Watanabe obligingly indicated points of interest around them.

“With flat land being scarce, they’ve turned all those hillsides into cemeteries.” “Obon here’s quite a lively affair, you know.” “Places everywhere light lanterns at gravesites, but here they do it on a whole different scale.” “When it comes to wealthy families, they’ll hang hundreds of them—turns the mountains into these great illuminations that light up the whole town.” “Under those lanterns, families—well, you see—they drink sake, feast on special dishes, set off firecrackers till about ten.” “Exactly like festival madness.” “After leaving the cemeteries, they do this lantern floating ceremony next.” “That’s another big production.” “People come streaming in from here and Inasa way too, carrying all sorts of shaped lanterns to that big pier we saw earlier, banging gongs the whole way.” “Looks beautiful watching from up here.”

“It’s quite different from ours, isn’t it? Could this be Chinese influence?”

Father said. “That’s right—gongs and firecrackers are certainly Chinese in origin, but—”

Next to the main hall stood a bronze horse. Because of this horse, it was said that this shrine had come to be known by the name Baji Temple in foreign tourist circles. It seemed Westerners frequented the place, as English-language fortune slips were sold at the shrine office.

“The dance is the main attraction of this festival, isn’t it?” Mr. Watanabe appeared determined to systematically explain all Three Follies from start to finish. "In every town, they dedicate dances requiring great ingenuity. Though geisha primarily perform them, since such disreputable types wouldn’t contribute to public causes, the townspeople themselves must shoulder all expenses for costumes and such." "This apparently costs an exorbitant sum." "That’s exactly why they’re called the Three Follies."

“You’re being quite harsh.” “Have you actually seen it?” Mr. Dan seemed somewhat dissatisfied. “Watching those disreputable dancers amounts to giving them indirect support, you know.” “But snake dances and such are harmless enough.” “Is the snake dance performed only by men?” “That’s right.” “They act out the dragon seizing the jewel, you see.” “The dragon itself measures over twenty ken long, with exquisitely crafted scales and facial features.” “Being one of the Three Follies, they spare no expense or effort for their festivals.” “A dozen young men in peculiar matching costumes carry this dragon through town on poles.” “Meanwhile, another man dances about with a golden ball fixed to a pole, waving it high and low.” “Then the dragon bearers raise and lower their poles in response.” “When their timing aligns perfectly, the dragon appears to leap through the air after the jewel—that’s when the crowd roars with approval.” “That particular spectacle is something I’d truly like you both to witness, Ken’ichi and Ms.Taguriko.”

By the time they returned to the car and headed to Karls, the Three Follies had been fully recounted. “Ken’ichi, this place is famous for kite flying. They don’t call them kites here—they’re called *hata*. When April’s flower season arrives, they’re held here and there. On certain dates, advertisements are posted inside trains saying things like ‘There will be *hata* flying at Konpirayama.’ It’s not just flying them—they’re kite-cutting battles, so spectators come flocking. They attach something called *bīdoro yoma*—like emery powder—slightly below the bridle point on the kite line. There, they entangle the opponent’s line and cut it away, you know.”

“Do people actually go to see such trivial things?”

said Mr. Dan.

“There certainly are.” “Restaurants set up stalls at Kassenba—it becomes a proper festival uproar.” “It’s not the kites themselves but the crowds cheering that appeals to this town’s love of spectacle.” “But competitions make them serious.” “They keep buying replacements when kites get cut down—to the point they call it ‘bankrupting yourself’ here.” “Are they ruining their livelihoods?” “Exactly.” “A downed kite becomes the retriever’s property absolutely.” “An unwritten rule since old times—amusing how calmly both sides accept it.” “Each loss costs five to ten yen with the string—get two or three cut daily while drinking through the season, and a modest fortune crumbles.” “All contests breed harmful inertia that neglects real work—in short, everyone goes bankrupt.”

And Mr. Watanabe said something like a moral education teacher would.

As soon as they arrived at Karls Hot Springs, they immediately soaked in the baths to wash away their sweat. It appeared Mr.Watanabe had arranged things in advance, for lunch was served without delay. The conversation soon turned to local specialties, starting with what they called pork belly stew and expanding into Nagasaki cuisine. Mr.Watanabe recommended Nagasaki Castella, even tracing its etymology back to Portuguese origins. Wherever you go, seeing dignified adults straining themselves to critique food remains a comical phenomenon. “Somehow it feels mawkish—we’re not much impressed.”

When Mr. Dan disparaged it, “That part’s actually good,” Mr.Watanabe countered. “People here say that gritty crunch when the coarse sugar hits your teeth is indescribable. The Tokyo versions just puff up and end up exactly like plain white bread.” That’s how their exchange went. “Is there any proper white bread around here?” Mr.Muraoka inquired.

Mr. Muraoka asked. “There certainly are! With the foreign settlement right here, the bread is unparalleled.”

“Then it’s a first-class nation, isn’t it? Among my friends there’s a man who insists white bread serves as a cultural yardstick for any region. According to his theory, towns under ten thousand people apparently have no white bread at all - meaning they lack culture. In towns of ten to twenty thousand, it’s sour; twenty to thirty thousand sees it barely take shape; forty to fifty thousand makes it edible, but you can’t get the genuine article until you hit a hundred thousand - he’s compiled exhaustive statistics on this. Being a teacher who’s wandered all over Japan gives him thorough data. He’s in Okayama now, where they claim a hundred thousand population but really have seventy to eighty thousand - the proof being they have to import proper white bread from Kobe.”

“That’s certainly one theory.” And Mr. Watanabe nodded.

When the meal was finished, Mr. Dan,

“Thanks to the automobile, we’ve had a great deal of time saved. Since next we’ll be walking around to properly inspect local conditions, why don’t we relax until it cools down a bit?”

As if to set an example, he laid his head on an armrest and stretched out. Then the maid brought a pillow over. "I think I'll go take another soak in the hot spring."

And Mr.Miwa—whether on a whim or not—grabbed a hand towel and went downstairs. After a short while, the sound of a shamisen came from one room over, followed by someone beginning to sing. "A sultry voice carries through, doesn't it?" "It's Ōryokkō-bushi." Mr.Muraoka and Mr.Dan pricked up their ears. "Since this is a restaurant, all sorts of unsavory characters come and go." "What do you think?" "Shall we head out now?"

And Mr.Watanabe looked toward me and Ms.Taguriko and said.

“No, this is perfect. A post-bath drink—delightfully drunk.”

And Mr. Dan did not even try to move. Amidst this, the inner guest quarters grew more and more lively.

"...Mitsubishi Dock for Osawa moon viewing, Karls cherry blossoms and chrysanthemum dolls for flowers, Maruyama at night, Daitoku-ji Temple even though there's no temple here..." With the partition between rooms left wide open, the song lyrics sounded as clear as if one could grasp them physically.

“A Nagasaki specialty, isn’t it? I wonder if they’ll sing it again.”

And Mr.Muraoka took out a notebook.

“This is handy. We can make do with geisha others have arranged.”

And Mr. Dan laughed.

“Mr.Miwa! Mr.Miwa! We’re leaving now!”

And Mr.Watanabe woke the sleeping Mr.Miwa.

On the way to the Uma-machi tram stop, “This area’s streets are all paved with stone, so walking is easy, isn’t it? With this, even if it rains, you probably won’t need rain clogs.”

And Ms.Taguriko walked hurriedly. It was truly a pleasant place. “The slopes are all paved with stone. “People visiting for the first time seem to notice this above all else.” And Mr.Watanabe said. They got off the train and approached Hama-no-machi. This was apparently the liveliest street. At the storefront selling the local specialty of ※（敝／縄のつくり）甲細工,

“What’s this? ‘The moon from Nagasaki’s mountains may be fine, but this month’s moon ain’t half bad either.’ Shokusanjin,” he read. Mr. Muraoka found himself drawn to what they called a tortoiseshell tray.

“Shokusan was an official here. “However, this song is slightly different. “I believe the original line was ‘rising from Hikosan’s peak,’ but since Hikosan’s peak is too regional and wouldn’t resonate widely, they apparently changed it to ‘Nagasaki’s mountain.’” Mr.Watanabe provided an annotation. Mr.Dan had already entered the shop and was examining the tortoiseshell combs. Since this was out of character, “Are you buying a souvenir for your wife?”

Mr. Miwa looked astonished. "That's right," replied Mr. Dan. "If I don't occasionally buy her something, I can't get a word in during our squabbles." "I suppose I should purchase some insurance against domestic disputes too," said Mr. Miwa. Mr. Muraoka began sifting through merchandise as well. "My household isn't perpetually tranquil either," Mr. Miwa added. Each man proceeded to shop with Ms. Taguriko serving as their personal consultant. "You'd better stock up on soap powder and needles too," Mr. Watanabe chuckled. "They're local specialties perfect for marital warfare provisions."

Soon they arrived at Maruyama. Skyscrapers lined both sides of the street. Since the merchandise here was said to be human, it was by no means comparable to beef shops or eel restaurants. “Are we just passing through this place too?”

When Mr. Dan said this,

“Getting held up in such an unsuitable place would be a real problem.”

Mr. Watanabe hurried them along. They took a break at Daitoku-ji. Being on slightly higher ground, the view was pleasant. “They’re really laying into that ‘battenden’ over there, aren’t they?” Mr. Muraoka eavesdropped on the group drinking iced beverages at the neighboring table. “Nagasaki’s ‘battenden’ versus Edo’s ‘berabō’?” Mr. Watanabe said. “They claim ‘battenden’ comes from mashing together the English ‘but and,’ but that’s just a convenient stretch, don’t you think?” “Fascinating,” said Mr. Miwa. “Given how strongly foreign influences shaped this place, there might actually be some truth to that.”

Mr. Miwa generally accepted most theories. “They even call banks ‘bango’ here.” “They say things like ‘Edo and Nagasaki as separate countries’ or ‘avenge Edo’s grievances in Nagasaki,’ so in any case, it’s been the edge of Japan since ancient times.” “We’ve really come to a faraway place, haven’t we?”

“In that case, you’d never last going abroad,” said Mr. Dan to Mr. Muraoka. “You’d want to turn back the moment you left Yokohama and reached Kobe.” “If it comes to overseas travel, I’ve got the determination,” Mr. Muraoka retorted. “Enough idle talk,” Mr. Dan pressed the group. “Let’s hurry back to the inn and rest.” “The Chinese temples still remain,” Mr. Watanabe interjected, taking the lead. “Just a bit further—let’s finish this.” When it came to Nankin and Shina rice—universally rated below Japan’s third-grade—one might expect temples to follow suit, yet Sōfuku-ji proved remarkably splendid. A large cracked cauldron remained, used during the Tenmei Famine to cook relief gruel.

“They must have imported Chinese rice back then too, right?” In my mind, the Chinese temple and Chinese rice still remained conflated. “Since the Chinese would take corpses back to their homeland packed in vermilion exactly as they were, they’re often stored here,” he explained. “They don’t appear to be visible today though.”

And Mr. Watanabe peered into the dark corner of the main hall. “Oh, how awful!”

Ms.Taguriko shrank her neck.

“As expected of a protected building.”

And Mr. Dan descended the stone steps while looking back at the temple gate,

“Has this taken us into the new year?” said Mr.Dan. “You’ve really dragged us all over.”

And he thanked Mr.Watanabe.

Part 14

They departed Nagasaki early in the morning and arrived in Ōmuta past one o'clock, appreciating the roadside scenery they had been unable to see two days prior due to the rain. They immediately went to the Miike Mining Office, but the person Mr.Dan had come to visit was away in Tokyo. However, the coal mine tour was kindly arranged by the superintendent. Moreover, they were deeply indebted that he had even assigned a clerk and arranged a car for them.

They arrived at Mandan Colliery and heard a variety of explanations from Superintendent Matsuda.

“I thought coal mines would be in mountains – this flat ground is quite unexpected,” said Mr.Muraoka as he shared his frank impression. “Given this sort of company, I beg your leniency,” added Mr.Dan.

And Mr.Dan added. Mr.Dan was of the same age as Mr.Matsuda and had graduated from an engineering school; since they also had mutual acquaintances beyond this mining office, they were already conversing openly.

“This is Mandan Colliery...” Mr. Matsuda spread a map across the table and, after methodically naming and pointing out each of Miike’s so-called seven pits,

“In places like landslide scars, several strata become clearly visible in the cross-sections, don’t they? If you imagine that entire layer as being entirely coal, then that’s precisely a coal seam. Such coal seams run underground from Ōura Colliery to Yotsuyama Colliery over several ri with a 1/10 gradient.”

“When you say a 1/10 gradient...?” Mr.Miwa became uncertain when it came to numbers. “For every ten shaku advanced, it descends one shaku.” “Now then, Ōura Colliery where the coal seam begins is a sloped shaft.” “They are excavated from the surface following the coal seam’s incline.” “Is the coal seam here particularly thick?” Mr.Dan asked.

“The thickness ranges from five to twenty-five shaku, but since the average is eight shaku, we call it the eight-shaku coal seam.” “With a 1/10 gradient, the depth increases as you move away from Ōura.” “From Miyaura onward, all are vertical shafts: Miyaura Colliery at 176 shaku deep, Nanaura at 237 shaku. Passing through Katsutatsu Miyahara brings us to this Mandan Colliery at 896 shaku, and Yotsuyama Colliery reaches 1,370 shaku—meaning they’re working beneath the sea.”

“1,370 shaku!” “Indeed, that’s quite deep, isn’t it?” “How many ri would that be?” “There’s no such measurement in ri.” “Approximately twenty-eight chō.” “Even twenty-eight chō is deep.” And Mr. Muraoka also did not yield to Mr. Miwa when it came to being bad with numbers. Following that, “The depth itself isn’t such a hardship, but drainage and ventilation are major tasks.” “Rather than coal extraction, we put more effort into this aspect.” “Here we have a drainage volume of 1,155 cubic shaku per minute and a ventilation volume of 300,000 cubic shaku—so you can imagine the scale here.”

When he reached this part of his explanation, "I see, that's quite something," Mr. Muraoka conceded defeat.

“One cubic shaku equals one to five shō, and one cubic shaku of water weighs sixty-six and a half fūdo, so approximately thirty-six cubic shaku of water make one ton.” Even when he provided this explanation, “It’s truly tremendous,” Mr. Muraoka persisted. After explaining everything in simple terms—from the longwall and pillar mining method to the waste fill method for post-excavation management—Mr. Matsuda spread out another diagram,

"The interior of this pit has developed into a fully interconnected urban network like this, roughly equivalent in size to all of Kyoto." "The thick lines represent what you might call the main arteries where coal-transporting trains run." "Isn't it remarkable to have such a metropolis nine hundred shaku underground?" "That's extraordinary." "Are they all this expansive everywhere?"

And Mr.Miwa stared intently at the diagram. “No, this one is currently the most prosperous, producing two thousand tons in a day and night. Since it accounts for over half of Miike’s coal production. When combined with the other pits, it becomes roughly the size of Osaka City.” “Thank you very much. Thanks to you, I’ve become something of a coal mine expert now!” Just as Mr.Dan expressed his gratitude, I too gained a great deal. “I’ll guide you around that area a bit, but would you like to go down into the pit?”

When Mr.Matsuda said this, “By all means!” Mr.Miwa bowed deeply. “Are you going in?”

Mr. Muraoka asked with some surprise.

“I’m going in. What about you?” “Well, as for me…” "Come on—you should come see it for me!" Thus only Mr.Miwa ended up entering the mine shaft. When he had put on the mine work clothes, donned the mining helmet, laced up the mine boots, and been handed a lamp—the preparations being so elaborate that he seemed to regret it a little—there was nothing to be done about it now. A man in identical gear stepped forward as guide. We too trailed behind, were shown various equipment, and soon reached the elevator.

"Coal takes forty-five seconds; people take a minute." While the guide was explaining this, coal came clattering up. This elevator was no comfortable thing with velvet seats or vanity mirrors attached. "I won’t be mistaken for coal, will I?" Even Mr.Miwa seemed concerned enough to voice such worries. “We’ll give the signal, so it’s safe.” “It’s dangerous if you don’t hold onto this bar.” Seeing how the guide had given this warning, it seemed they couldn’t afford to let their guard down even if they weren’t mistaken for coal.

“Alright, alright,” As he nodded, Mr.Miwa’s figure disappeared. “He won’t be coming out right away. Since he’s probably planning to stop by Gion for a soda or something, let’s go wait over there.”

“He won’t be coming out right away,” said Mr.Dan. “Since he’s probably planning to stop by Gion for a soda or something, let’s go wait over there.” I thought there was no chance of a mistake occurring, yet I found myself growing anxious. With others it might be different, but even above ground Mr.Miwa was someone who made frequent blunders. This was the same scatterbrain who would flip through books strangers were reading on trains—who knew what dangerous thing he might lay hands on after forgetting his surroundings? Just as I began regretting that someone should have stopped him—

“Hot, so hot… Unbearable.” And Mr.Miwa returned safe and sound. Muddy drops were dripping from the mine work clothes. “Unbearable, just unbearable! My collar’s gone all limp like this!”

After taking their leave, they were on their way back to Ōmuta,

“How was it—the bottom of hell?”

Mr. Dan asked.

“It was truly the very bottom of hell’s cauldron!”

Mr. Miwa, still wiping away sweat,

"I've never had such a sweltering experience. I only went in because they said it was like Kyoto, but when I saw that elevator, my heart sank. But I can’t very well say I hate it now, you see." “It certainly was evident!” "I felt like I was descending through a roaring downpour of droplets like a sudden shower, then ascending again—but we’d already reached the bottom. It was pitch-dark, the footing was treacherous, and I tell you, it was utterly unnerving! On top of that, the guide startled us by saying things like, ‘There’s electric current running through the wires in the ceiling, so you’d better walk crouched down as much as possible.’ I thought as long as I avoided the coal cars and wires, I’d be fine, when suddenly I came face-to-face with a horse and nearly got bitten! I’d realized at the bottom of the earth that this must be what my wife meant when she told me to take care of myself."

“Actually, since first-timers aren’t accustomed to the darkness, we provide a handler, but they get used to it after a little while.” “Visitors can’t endure it until then, you see.” The accompanying clerk laughed at Mr.Miwa’s exaggerated report. “With Miyazaki Prefecture being out of the question, Kumamoto Prefecture gives the impression of lagging behind in all matters.”

said Mr. Miwa's brother. “They’re bungling at everything they do—there’s no helping it." "As a result of recent urban planning efforts, they’ve ended up incorporating Mount Arao—situated at an elevation of 1,000 shaku [approximately 303 meters] above sea level—right into the city." “Everything’s like this, you see.” After laughing at their fellow countryman’s sweeping statements, "Since Mount Arao and Mount Kinpu block the winds coming from the sea, Kumamoto ends up being hot in summer and cold in winter—exactly why it’s like this." "As the first step toward improving the climate and transportation, there’s nothing for it but to blast away Mount Kinpu or thereabouts with dynamite."

[Mr.Miwa's brother] spouted yet another sweeping theory.

Well, the entire group had been staying here since last night. It seemed Mr.Dan had intended to stay at an inn, but since he had dragged everyone into his esteemed elder brother’s house in Nagoya, he couldn’t make a strong case for it. While staying at an inn had the drawback of being less convenient, for gaining familiarity with local affairs, nothing surpassed a private home. Thanks to this arrangement, we were told even about how Mr.Miwa’s uncle had joined the Shinpūren. “Uncle was an eccentric. “And thus, he was the prime example of a stubborn fool of his time. “At one time, when he caught a cold and went to see a doctor, he was told it was influenza. No sooner had he rushed back in a panic than he cried, ‘Mother, I must apologize. ‘I’ve been afflicted by a barbarian disease!’ and tried to commit seppuku, they say.” “In short, the Shinpūren were a band of such formidable figures. “But the amusing thing is, Tetsuhiko here is a perfect likeness of this uncle in both appearance and personality.”

And his brother pointed at Mr.Miwa.

“I don’t resemble him one bit!” “Nonsense—you’re his spitting image,” retorted Mr.Miwa’s brother. “You spout utter nonsense half the time! I’ve always quietly suspected you’ve been nothing but trouble for your friends.” “Ah-ha! So that uncle’s blood runs thick in you after all!” Mr.Dan interjected with mock solemnity. As was their custom, they set out sightseeing—guided by Mr.Hideo, whom they’d befriended in Hakata, and Toku-san serving as attendant. “Just as Fukuoka stakes its pride on repelling Mongol invaders,” explained Mr.Hideo, “Kumamoto builds its legacy on Lord Kiyomasa’s deeds and the Satsuma Rebellion.” He gestured toward Toku-san. “Hard to believe now, but this fellow here was a lad in his twenties during those war years—scampering about to keep his head attached.”

Mr. Hideo explained.

From Ikeda, following the designated route, they first visited Honmyōji Temple. “They’ve built an oddly gaudy Niō Gate here, haven’t they? Could it be reinforced concrete?” said Mr.Miwa. From there to the main hall stretched a tediously long path. “At Honmyōji Temple in Higo, from morning till night it’s clack-clack Hokke-kyō clack-clack Hokke-kyō—everyone comes worshipping, they do!” “Hey, glittery-gold!”

Mr. Hideo began singing cheerfully as he climbed the stone steps.

“What is that?” Mr.Muraoka asked. Even when he inquired, “...Hey now, glittery-gold! Golden hand-washing basin! Chest-thrusting steep slope to Sakura Parade Ground! And so they say—glittery-gold, glittery-gold Ganemasa-don! Ganemasa-don’s sideways scuttle-scuttle!” “This was meant to be an imitation of our local Kinkirakin-bushi melody.” Mr.Toku laughed. “Imitation’s a tough business, eh?” “The melody’s different, you see.”

“That’s interesting,” said Mr. Dan. “Is this ‘Ganemasa-don’ referring to Lord Kiyomasa?” Mr. Muraoka grew intrigued. “Ganemasa-don’s a crab,” said Mr. Miwa. “Would Lord Kiyomasa ever crawl sideways and scuttle about?” “Is there actually a connection between crabs and Kiyomasa?” “Well, there you have it—the characteristic clumsiness of Kumamoto people showing through.”

“Ah, this is agony.” “It really lives up to its name as a chest-piercing slope.” “Let’s rest there awhile before continuing.” Mr.Dan slipped into the ice shop on the left.

On their way back after touring up to the treasure hall, “Not only did Lord Kiyomasa build Kumamoto Castle, but he also carried out flood control works on the Shirakawa River, making him a benefactor of the city.” “Next to the Fifth High School remains what’s called Ichiyadō, and due to the way it bends there, we have absolutely no flood damage here.” Mr. Hideo explained. “Since he was such a splendid lord, he’s enshrined not only at Honmyōji Temple here but also at Katō Shrine.” Mr. Toku also praised Lord Kiyomasa’s virtues and,

"Compared to Lord Kiyomasa, today's engineers are all like marionettes," Mr. Toku added. "I'm obliged," said Mr. Dan.

“I’m obliged,” said Mr.Dan. “You see, that’s Hanaoka Hill—it occupies a page in Japan’s Christian history.” A moment later, Mr.Miwa pointed at a low mountain directly ahead.

“During the Satsuma Rebellion, Mr. Ikenobe—who was called Higo’s Saigo—fired cannons from that mountain toward the castle. They gave up when they couldn’t sustain the attack, but if they’d kept at it for three days straight, the castle wouldn’t have held out.”

Mr. Toku recalled the past.

As midday approached, they made just a straight pass-through of Kumamoto Castle and, upon reaching town, immediately took a shared-ride bus to Suizenji. They climbed up into the lakeside restaurant and cooled off thoroughly. “Ms. Taguriko, what do you think? Doesn’t this remind you of Mishima in Izu?” said Mr.Miwa. “This water really is like Mishima’s, isn’t it? It’s so refreshing—I feel revived.” Ms. Taguriko, too, seemed to have been worn out by today’s heat. As for Mr.Dan,

“I’m not moving until evening.”

he stripped down and was lying sprawled out.

Mr.Muraoka walked around the pond with Ms.Taguriko，just the two of them．With spring water gushing forth enough to form a large river，there could be no better summer retreat than this． “They say students，soldiers，and Korean candy are the local specialties—and indeed，they’re here．” said Ms.Taguriko． “Is the Korean candy out for a stroll？”

When I deliberately surveyed the area, two or three students wearing geta with alarmingly thick thongs were sidling closer. Even to these unrefined country students' eyes, Ms. Taguriko's Western-style outfit must have appeared striking. "Let's go over there instead," Ms. Taguriko said uneasily.

When they returned to the tatami room, “...Gorō, like me, was from Yokote Village just over there—he was called Gorō of Yokote.”

Mr.Toku had begun telling some story. "At eighteen years old, he possessed the strength of thirty-six men—what a formidable man he was, don’t you agree?" "He served as the labor boss and worked tirelessly on the castle’s construction." “Gorō, you’ve worked hard every day,” said Lord Kiyomasa. “No, if I consider it my own, there’s no hardship,” replied Gorō. "I always say it’s my own." “Thereupon, Lord Kiyomasa grew suspicious.” “So he developed murderous intent, huh?” said Mr.Hideo.

“Since Gorō kept saying 'my own,' Lord Kiyomasa suspected he meant to seize the castle—even such a stalwart grew concerned and knew he must act at once. Furthermore, there was once a warrior called Kiyama Danjo in these parts who had pinned Lord Kiyomasa to the ground long before. People said Gorō’s formidable physique made him Danjo’s reborn spirit. Lord Kiyomasa found this unease unbearable. So when the castle work advanced sufficiently, he ordered Gorō to dig a well-river.”

“A river?” asked Mr. Muraoka. “No, it’s a well,” said Mr. Toku. “In this area, we refer to wells as ‘well-rivers.’”

When Mr.Hideo explained, "Even if they dug wells, due to a lack of words, they applied the character for 'river' that they'd used before." "There are places where they simply call wells 'rivers,' you know." "From the perspective of linguistic evolution, this is a rather interesting example, isn't it?" And Mr.Miwa made things rather complicated. "He made Gorō dig a well-river, then had large stones dropped down aiming for him at the bottom." "However, Gorō caught them one by one in mid-air, stepped on them with his feet, and climbed up." "With his peerless strength, he was unmanageable." "Finally, Lord Kiyomasa appeared and said, 'Gorō, this is unfortunate, but you must resign yourself to the karma of your past life." "'Afterward, I will make sure to hold a proper memorial service for you,' he said." Then Gorō also steeled himself and said, "I'll die." "Drop the pebbles all at once," he is said to have declared. "And so he was buried alive in the well-river."

“What a terrible thing to do.”

Mr. Muraoka remained dissatisfied. “In the old days, they’d kill people for their own convenience and then tell them to resign themselves to karmic retribution from past lives—warlords all had a cruel streak,” said Mr.Miwa.

“If Gorō had truly succeeded in his intent to take over the castle,” said Mr.Toku,“I believe our circumstances in the same village would have changed.I might have ended up as something like the son of a senior councilor.”

Mr. Toku lamented.

After a short while, the student from earlier passed by. “It’s so damn hot—can’t focus on serious stuff tonight! Maybe this old man should hit the flicks too?” “To the flicks!” “Toss those damn notebooks!” “Strike while the iron’s hot—let’s get goin’ already!” “C’mon! C’mon!”

It truly had the feel of a foreign tongue. “Is that a fight?”

Mr.Muraoka wondered. "No, it's perfectly peaceful. "They've just settled on going to New Downtown Area* (*historical term preserved per B)to watch moving pictures* (*historical term for movies per semantic accuracy) tonight since it's too hot for studying."

Mr. Hideo kindly interpreted. “Does ‘kyā kyā’ mean ‘agreement, agreement’?”

“No, it’s simply an interjection used to strengthen the tone.” “If it were school, they’d just go without fuss, but when it comes to movie outings, they get dead serious about going.”

The Kumamoto dialect continued to dominate the conversation.

“Here we also have a song called ‘Otemo-Yan’ that weaves in Kumamoto dialect,” said Mr. Hideo. “Mr. Toku—isn’t this your specialty? Treat us to a rendition as our souvenir.” At his prompting, Mr. Toku replied, “If this humble offering might prove instructive, it would be my greatest honor,” and began singing the folk song with ceremonious stiffness: “Otemo-Yan, Otemo-Yan—didn’t you wed? Wed I did, but Gon Jādon’s pockmarked mug, Left those nuptial cups undrunk. With clerks and constables and mediators nosing about, What else could become but what became? Round Kawabata-machi we roamed—kyā— Tugging at Kasuga Bōbura’s what-kind-of backside, Blossoms abloom, blossoms abloom!”

“Gujappe refers to a pockmarked face—they’re saying that when you go meet them and see the pockmarks, you can’t stand it. This song appears to date from before smallpox vaccination times, I’d say.”

Mr. Hideo explained.

They returned to town after the evening cooled. They passed through the bustling area called the new downtown. It was a place that truly deserved its name as the Forest Capital, with trees growing in utterly unreasonable numbers. “Japanese wax trees, I suppose. And this big one? It’s astonishing they’re growing right in the middle of the thoroughfare.”

As Mr.Dan said reproachfully,

“These are street trees. “Cities with street trees since ancient times are likely found only in Kumamoto.” “Even in Tokyo these days, they’re eagerly imitating this place by planting them everywhere.” Mr. Hideo answered with a straight face, but even so, it was terribly ill-mannered. They stood lined up right in the middle of the road.

“Kyushu has many Japanese sumac trees, but this prefecture stands out.” “In olden days under feudal lords’ encouragement, people planted them wherever they could reach—but that left countless ownerless trees that still spark quarrels when gathering fruit.”

And Mr.Toku told the truth. "Do the fruits have any use?" Mr.Muraoka knew nothing about any of it. "They're used as raw material for candles." "Ah, I see." Mr.Muraoka was impressed. "You'd better jot that down in your notebook." And Mr.Miwa teased.

They arrived home at sunset.

After dinner, Ms.Taguriko and I were, as usual, utterly consumed by our correspondence home. Ms.Taguriko wrote about the Fujisaki Hachiman festival as though she'd seen it with her own eyes. "They go about driving horses while shouting 'Wasshoi! Boshita!'" "So would forty or fifty horses come out then?" "The sheer vigor of it all's mighty fine, ain't it just." "'Boshita' means 'to vanquish the enemy,' you know." "As y'all well know, Lord Hachiman being the god of war and all..." She even slipped into shaky Kumamoto dialect.

“So, you’ll finally be departing tomorrow?” “I had sincerely intended to guide you through Aso myself—truly regrettable.”

In the next room, Mr.Miwa's brother finally abandoned his attempts at persuasion. They had held some expectations for Aso, but it seemed the visit was to be called off. With a mountain hater like Mr.Dan along, there was no help for it. Whenever mountains came up, he inevitably found some reason to object. At my school there were students with what we called water-induced seizures who turned pale at the sight of seas or rivers - perhaps Mr.Dan suffered from mountain-induced seizures.

When the train ascended the clear banks of the Kuma River and arrived in Hitoyoshi, "Well now, this is the Sagara region of Kyushu."

And Mr.Muraoka stuck his head out of the window. However, since it had been said there was nothing to see outside Aoi-san's gate crafted by Hidari Jingorō, they decided against disembarking midway. Before long, they passed through several tunnels in succession and came upon a spiral railway section. "This here's got a woop-style setup," said one of the passengers.

“It’s loop-style. They can’t manage the ra-ri-ru-re-ro syllables at all,” Ms.Taguriko whispered to me. “The tracks wind their way up the mountain flanks toward Yadake with a creaking groan,” said a man who’d forgotten his R-sounds entirely and substituted vowels instead. Once you noticed this and listened closely, few among the chattering passengers had properly articulated speech. Most appeared to be Ōsumi and Satsuma folk.

“A company that had been paying sixty percent dividends—when not a single investor showed up, they went and downsized everything.” “Unlike riffraff like me, they’ve got such magnificent foresight, ain’t that grand!”

As the businessman-type man said, “Actions speak louder than words—the servants spare no effort for their master. First and foremost, his character is admirable.” The other participant’s enunciation was equally slurred. It must be that since they’re constantly drinking shochu, the effects of their drunkenness linger even on their pale faces.

When they arrived in Kagoshima, they immediately settled into the Meiji-kan under the guidance of Mr.Dan's friend Mr.Kobayashi. When they took a stroll through town after sunset, they somehow found themselves in a relaxed mood. Trams were running, and the area around Yamagataya Kimono Store felt like walking through downtown Tokyo. "It should feel farther than Nagasaki, yet I don't sense that at all." Even Mr.Muraoka remarked to that effect.

“Since this place is directly influenced by Tokyo, it isn’t particularly rural.” “The fact that so many who go to Tokyo and succeed are from here is because this place has been foremost in sweet potato vine connections since the Meiji Restoration.”

Mr. Kobayashi explained. “Truly, even the yukata patterns and how they’re worn are just like Tokyo.” Ms. Taguriko watched the sauntering girls and children of similar age pass by. “In summer many return from Tokyo, so it’s not imitation but the genuine article.” “A town of successful people has a certain brightness to it, doesn’t it? Nagasaki’s lively too, but being a town of strivers, it somehow lacks this sort of calmness.” And Mr.Muraoka abruptly became a Kagoshima partisan.

“The sweet potato vine certainly gained unusual profits.”

“The sweet potato vine certainly gained unusual profits,” said Mr.Dan. “Since it’s the success of the vine, there’s no end to how much they glorify their hometowns. The folks here say ‘returning home’ as ‘returning to their homeland,’ I tell you. In my case, we say ‘returning to the countryside.’ Human psychology is a delicate thing, you know.” Mr.Kobayashi invariably held a grudge against Satsuma. “In Mr.Miwa’s case, how do they say it?”

Mr. Muraoka couldn’t make the comparison himself, since Tokyo was his hometown. “They say ‘return to Kumamoto.’” “I understand Kumamoto’s case, but what about common nouns?” “They also say ‘country,’ you know.” “They don’t seem to add the honorific ‘o-’ to it.”

“After all, they probably haven’t been very successful,” said Mr. Muraoka. “Here they invariably say ‘homeland.’ They revere their homeland to the same extent they exclude people from other prefectures. A term containing a kind of contempt for outsiders has emerged.” “Countryside areas are generally like that,” Mr. Kobayashi cautioned, “but here it’s especially blatant, so it’s best not to overestimate them.” “You’re really laying into them,” Mr. Dan laughed. “What’s next—are their prices too high?”

Mr. Dan laughed.

“Not at all—it’s a fair judgment, I assure you. As individuals they’re sincere and faultless, but collectively their feudal ideology still clings—they’re rather pitiable. When excluding outsiders, it’s the former domain retainers who swagger most among locals. Among those retainers themselves, it’s either those with old stipend ranks or the elderly who throw weight around. In government offices, when sharing domain ties, older low-ranking officials casually drop honorifics for younger superiors. They maintain what you might call an admirable fixation on seniority order.”

“That’s an enviably admirable custom,” said Mr.Dan with a chuckle. “When in the homeland, shouldn’t we follow its customs?” The elder Mr.Dan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes yes~ It was last December,” Mr.Kobayashi replied, straightening his collar. “The maid from my household went to a promotional lottery.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “The place was packed tighter than a coal elevator, but get this—some girl who arrived late pushed through the crowd declaring ‘I’m from a samurai-class household!’ and drew her ticket first.” His finger jabbed the air for emphasis. “That’s their reality. Even among servants, they’re convinced samurai-household maids outrank others.”

“How intriguing.” “It’s noble precisely because it lacks logic and is pure faith.”

And Mr. Muraoka welcomed any extreme example whatsoever.

Back at the inn, while drinking tea,

“Sakurajima should be safe by now, shouldn’t it?”

And Mr.Miwa suddenly recalled the stories he had heard along the way. “Since it carries a ninety-some-year guarantee, we needn’t worry during our lifetimes.” Mr.Kobayashi replied. “Planning to live ninety-some years, are you?” The man was outrageously shameless. “If this thing doesn’t erupt today or tomorrow, that’s good enough for me.” “I’m not asking for much.”

And yet Mr. Dan was far more shameless. “This karukan is a local specialty here and a source of regional pride that rivals Nagasaki’s castella. However, regrettably, it doesn’t keep well.”

And soon, as usual, food became the topic.

“Is this a sweet?”

And Mr.Miwa picked up a piece for the first time. “It’s made from mountain yam as the main ingredient.” “Ah, this is sweet. I thought it was white bread.” “What inn would serve white bread as a tea snack?” Mr.Muraoka laughed. “No, I thought you specifically ordered it to assess our cultural standards.” And Mr.Miwa retorted.

“Mr. Miwa makes a fair point. Muraoka’s point is also reasonable. But stop fighting over something like food, you youngsters.” And Mr.Dan promptly asserted his Kagoshima seniority. “I feel bad rushing our esteemed guests like this, but as I mentioned earlier, I’ve been ordered to depart tomorrow for Miyazaki on business. Why don’t we finish sightseeing here in the morning and go together? Instead, I’ll give you a proper tour of Miyazaki Prefecture!”

And Mr. Kobayashi consulted Mr. Dan as they were leaving. “That’s the most ideal outcome.” “Let’s definitely do that.” “That’s a problem if you unilaterally decided ‘We’ll definitely do that’ on your own.” “Not at all—I have no complaints about those who are prompt.” “By all means, let me accompany you.” And with Mr. Muraoka’s words, the discussion was quickly settled.

In accordance with our promise, we got up early. When we had finished breakfast and were ready to depart, Mr. Kobayashi appeared. “Since it’s early, it’s nice and cool.” “Let’s set out right away.” They got into the rickshaw they had ordered. First, they went to the prefectural office where Mr.Kobayashi worked. Kagoshima has an oddly meticulous quality, with schools and government offices all lining their eaves in the same town. “This is the Seventh Higher School, I hear. “Since you’ll have to come all the way to a place like this if you don’t get into the First Higher School, make sure you take a good look.”

Father admonished me. “Taguriko, there was a girls’ high school just now, wasn’t there? You keep talking about entering some women’s university, but do you really have the resolve to come out here and live single your whole life?” And Mr.Dan proceeded to do something—whether mimicking Father’s speech patterns or voicing his own opinion. “This is the prefectural hospital. During the Satsuma Rebellion, this was one of those Private Schools, so it seems this area became a target for the Imperial Army. You can see the shell marks on the stone wall there.” And Mr.Kobayashi informed us.

“I see—it’s gotten quite bad,” Mr.Miwa observed. His voice carried through the group. Soon they reached the site commemorating Saigo Takamori’s final moments and disembarked from their rickshaw. They paid homage to the cave in Iwasaki Valley where the Commander had once taken refuge. Turning back, they began ascending Shiroyama’s slopes,

“The Satsuma Rebellion had its great tragedy here, you see,” Mr. Kobayashi said. “I hear there are numerous households where all the men were wiped out.” “That must be it,” Father responded. “In short, it comes down to Satsuma and Ōsumi alone having turned all of Japan against them.” “Oh, there’s a cave here too!” Ms. Taguriko discovered.

And Ms.Taguriko discovered it. “That’s probably where beggars go in. Oh, there’s one over there too.”

And we energetically climbed the slope. The trees, too, were large and grew thickly, which delighted Mr.Miwa.

“Perfect. If we just sit here like this, we can sightsee without even walking anymore.”

Just as Mr. Dan exhibited his characteristic indolence, the summit's vista proved magnificent.

“Sakurajima is the focal point of the view here. Since the eruption, the opposite shore became connected to Ōsumi, but its shape as seen from here remains unchanged. That blackened area is the traces of lava.”

Mr. Kobayashi began his explanation. "Since it erupted fire right from the front over there, that must have caused quite the nuisance." Mr.Miwa personified the mountain. "It was apparently a tremendous uproar. However, under normal circumstances, it adds just enough scenic beauty that once it quiets down, no particular management issues arise. Quite well arranged indeed. They grow Sakurajima daikon here too, but it seems this island is most suited for waka poetry." "In what way?" "It's waka, you see. The path of Shikishima. I'm just an amateur who doesn't fully understand these things, but most compositions here have lines like 'something does something to Sakurajima,' so they apparently don't require special reworking to fit waka conventions. Truthfully, one can hardly imagine what Kagoshima would be like without Sakurajima in the picture."

“Who on earth would imagine such needless things? You said your wife writes waka—did you pick up some scraps of it?” said Mr.Dan. “You’ve got second sight! I surrender.” Everyone laughed at how quickly Mr.Kobayashi gave in. “The climate’s mild and the people honest—nothing to complain about,” Father praised.

And Father praised.

“The guys go out to sea to fish, and the wives stay home reading poetry...”

“Enough already.” “But when it comes to fishing catches alone—I’ve turned into a proper pro.” Mr.Kobayashi came across as quite the angling devotee.

“You catch anything?” “Of course I catch them.” “I go out to sea every Sunday.” “Because we catch so many, there’s even a man in my office who decided to divorce his wife.” “Now that’s quite a tale!”

And Father leaned forward.

“Well, it’s nothing at all.” “The man I take fishing—he’s from the mountains of Kōshū—every time he hooks a sea bream, he puffs up and declares, ‘With this, it’s fine to divorce my wife!’” When I asked him the reason, it turned out that in his hometown, encountering an actual sea bream—something people only ever heard about at wedding banquets once in their lives—would be both their first and last experience with the fish. "By the way, when he comes here, he can catch live sea bream, right?"

“I see—so that old belief equating sea bream with weddings, and weddings with once-in-a-lifetime events was suddenly exacerbated by actually catching sea bream.” “Exactly. “If he had stayed in his hometown where sea bream can’t be caught and continued farming, there wouldn’t be any problem, but it’s quite troublesome.” “Their marital relationship was always bad, and now it seems they’ve started talking about separation.” Mr.Kobayashi joked while still being concerned about his subordinate’s circumstances.

When they came down the mountain, they immediately hurried to Jōkōmyō-ji Temple. The graves of Saigo, Kirino, Shinohara, Murata, and other tragic figures stood on high ground commanding a view of that ever-present Sakurajima. A wooden statue - an exact replica of the familiar bronze one in Ueno Park - likewise faced toward Sakurajima. Just as Mr. Kobayashi had theorized, these people could no more imagine a Kagoshima without Sakurajima than one without air to breathe. Every placement - whether tomb or effigy - showed clear intent to keep Sakurajima in their eternal gaze.

“There were rumors during my elementary school days that Saigo Takamori was still alive and would return from Russia, but coming to Kagoshima, his influence feels even greater than if he were actually alive.”

Father looked genuinely impressed. “Saigo must’ve been truly formidable. First off—he had bulk. Skinny types always lack something somewhere, so they can’t help scheming. Measure anyone worth their salt by sheer heft, and you won’t go far wrong.”

And Mr.Dan's definition of a hero seemed remarkably simple. "There's some truth to that," he said. "Carlyle said exactly that sort of thing." Mr.Miwa likewise refrained from making any case for thin people where Saigo was concerned.

On the way to the coast, “That house on the corner is mine—please stop by for a moment.”

And Mr. Kobayashi had the rickshaw stopped. “That’s right. Since we’ve received your hospitality, it’d be rude to just pass by—perhaps I should briefly pay my respects to your good wife?” And Mr. Dan was the first to get off. “Since we’re pressed for time, please make yourself at home this way.” And they all sat down on the veranda and had tea. “Despite this heat, it can’t be quite adequate.” And Mrs. Kobayashi worked hard to assist alongside a young woman two or three years younger than Ms. Taguriko. They didn’t seem like the sort of irresponsible people who would compose poetry. The small children, there being far too many of them, clung to the pillars and shoji screens with their eyes wide open.

“This is a fine residence.” “Hmm, there’s quite an array of fishing gear here.” As Mr.Dan remarked while surveying the area, “He’s such a madman—it’s quite troublesome.” Mrs.Kobayashi acknowledged with a polite nod. “You must get quite the catch here?” “No, my husband’s enthusiasm leans more toward amateur passion.”

“The reputation’s getting worse and worse, huh?” Mr. Kobayashi laughed. After politely taking their leave and exiting the gate, “This gate structure somehow looks like a temple, doesn’t it? And is this side all like this too?” asked Mr. Dan. “Everyone’s like that. Since it’s a stone wall of haphazardly stacked stones, indeed it does resemble the structure of a temple that repurposed old stone pagodas.” Mr. Kobayashi answered. At Gion-no-Su lay a graveyard for government soldiers killed in action. They hadn’t gone there specifically to pay their respects, but in the end, that’s essentially what it amounted to. As it was now midday, having rested in the grassy field by the nearby coast, they had already grown weary of pressing onward.

“Sakurajima’s gotten bigger, hasn’t it?” Father remarked while still lying on his back, gazing upward.

“It’s gotten closer,” said Mr.Dan. “The lava looks pitch black. But it isn’t a bad view.” “There’s likely no better vista than this,” said Mr.Miwa. “A lord’s garden hardly matters anymore.”

And Mr. Miwa settled in. Wherever they went, Sakurajima became a topic of discussion.

“Right in front of us here, there’s a verdant island that looks like Odaiba, don’t you think? That’s called Hakamagoshi (Trouser Waist).”

And Mr.Kobayashi explained. “Hakamagoshi?” “Indeed, it does resemble Hakamagoshi.” When Father said this, “What a clever name! It truly looks like Hakamagoshi!” “It really does look like Hakamagoshi!” Ms.Taguriko also marveled. “Kaimondake should be visible from here as well…”

And Mr.Kobayashi rose halfway to his feet,

“That’s it. Doesn’t it resemble Fuji? We call it Satsuma Fuji.” “A counterfeit, huh?”

Dan said. “It’s the genuine article.” “A counterfeit Fuji, you mean?” “That’s certainly true. It’s in the same category as the Japanese Alps.” “Things like the Japanese Alps, Satsuma Fuji, and Higo Saigo exemplify humanity’s thieving nature.” “What an extreme thing to say.” Mr. Kobayashi dismissed this with a laugh, “Shall we head out quietly?”

“Wait a moment. I have some thoughts to consider.”

And Mr.Dan became lost in thought.

"He might have resolved to throw himself off here." And Father too did nothing but chatter idly and made no move to get up. "A nice breeze is blowing, isn't it?" And Mr.Miwa also lay down. "Taguriko," After a short while, Mr.Dan called in a formal tone. And then,

“You call your father a philistine, but even he has some aesthetic sense. I composed a waka on the spot about Hakamagoshi—listen up.” “Oh my! This has turned into quite a situation!”

And Mr. Muraoka and Mr. Miwa sat up straight. "That explains why you kept counting on the fingers of both hands earlier."

And Mr. Kobayashi promptly adopted an attentive listening posture. “Sakurajima first. “Following Mr. Ogawa’s theory, you see. “Sakurajima—lava flows in blind-striped patterns, crisp blue trouser-hips!” “What do you think?” “I’m impressed. That’s truly a once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece!” And Father lauded. “Actually, it’s more laborious than drafting specifications.” And Mr. Dan wiped his sweat, looking quite pleased with himself. “Sakurajima—lava flows in blind-striped patterns, crisp blue trouser-hips!”

And Mr.Miwa repeated it once more, “A waka?” “A kyōka, huh?” “I haven’t considered that aspect yet. “I’ll have Mrs.Kobayashi appraise this one. “Taguriko, before the character count gets out of hand, write this down quickly for me.” “Because it’s Sakurajima, it must be a waka.” said Mr.Kobayashi. Just then, a rickshaw driver approached, “Sir, it’s already past twelve, so if you plan to depart at 1:45, you’d best start heading back quietly now, or it’ll be risky.”