Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One What was he trying to achieve—the other day at school our homeroom teacher investigated all our fathers’ occupations. Starting with the class president, each student answered in seat order with occupations like “Ministry of Finance engineer” or “Shirakiya department store clerk.” As my turn approached, I grew increasingly flustered—my father had no occupation. Saying “I’ll do something soon” was just empty talk—despite being a parent to five children with me as the eldest son，he still had no stable occupation. Since there’s that saying about being free from doubt at forty，time and again，he seemed to have resolutely settled into unemployment without hesitation. I had recently learned during reading time that living without doing anything is called idleness，but just as I was agonizing over whether I couldn’t possibly answer with “idleness” as my father’s occupation，the boy in front of me sprang to his feet，

“Unemployed!” he answered energetically. Huh. When I realized there was someone else in the same situation, I suddenly felt reassured. However, the teacher: “Unemployed! “The truth is, I find this 'unemployed' designation problematic, but people who are truly without any occupation are exceedingly rare.” “Surely he must be doing something?”

and pressed Morishita-kun further.

“He isn’t doing anything.” “Then does that mean he’s wealthy and simply idling?”

“No, he’s not wealthy.”

Morishita-kun denied.

“Then how does he make a living?”

the teacher pressed further.

These were trying times. First-year middle school students had to answer questions about livelihood. “We receive rent.”

“Then he’s a landlord, isn’t he?” “Do you have many rental properties?” “There seem to be many.”

“And that’s your own land, correct?” “Yes. We also receive rent from the land.” After this line of questioning, Morishita-kun’s father was officially deemed a landowner. And then it was my turn. “He’s unemployed.” Having answered, I remained standing because I thought this wouldn’t be settled so easily either. True to form, the teacher wouldn’t accept “vagrant ne’er-do-well” as satisfactory, first verifying whether we owned rental properties or landed estates, then asking things like, “Do people come to your house requesting favors?”—even casting suspicion of usury—

“This complete unemployment is quite problematic. Then what does your father mainly do to spend his days?” the teacher asked. “He mostly reads books.” I answered truthfully.

“What kind of books are they?” “Well, mainly literary books.” “In that case, we’ll classify him as a literary scholar. Being completely unemployed is problematic.”

And the teacher—perhaps because even his own wife was a working woman—did not consider the unemployed to be upstanding citizens.

The investigation continued to progress one after another. In the end, among some forty-odd parents and guardians, my father stood alone as the only one whose sole occupation was idleness. Everyone else was doing this or that to earn their keep. One seat over from me sat a naval vice admiral. Then five or six entries later came someone listed as branch manager of Mitsui Bank. The very reason they so emphatically teach in ethics class that “all occupations are equal” is precisely because society remains shackled by deeply entrenched hierarchies of status. It’s like posting “No Trespassing” signs precisely where shortcuts exist. Even now, when those forty-some students declared their parents’ occupations, you could see who swelled with pride and who shriveled in shame. What stuck in my craw was how the propertyless rabble—those lowly clerks and corporate drones—strutted about like peacocks, while the self-made merchants who actually built businesses kept apologizing for existing. But none drew more pity than Tsuchiya-kun hunched in his back-row seat. This student first—

“Army’s Official Supplier!”

he said, and immediately,

“The Army Garrison Hospital’s Official Supplier,” he corrected. “An official merchant? So it’s commerce then?”

The teacher pressed for confirmation and tried to write it down. At this point, if Tsuchiya-kun had simply answered "Yes," that would have sufficed,

“No，it’s not commerce.” “He prepares goods and supplies them to the Garrison Hospital.” he added by way of explanation.

“Then that’s manufacturing, isn’t it?” Since the teacher was already at the end of proceedings and eager to wrap things up quickly, he picked up his fountain pen once more. However, Tsuchiya-kun was not satisfied even with manufacturing,

“No, that’s not quite right. “Still, it’s the Army Garrison Hospital’s Official Supplier.” He strove persistently to link his family business to officialdom. “Supplying to the hospital… Ah, I see. Understood.” “A pharmacist, then?” “No, it’s not medicines.” “It’s the opposite kind of thing.”

“The opposite kind?” “What exactly is it?” “We prepare them and supply them to the hospital… coffins.” “Ah, I see.” “That’s enough, that’s enough.” “That’s enough.” The teacher, oddly flustered, made Tsuchiya-kun sit down. Everyone began to snicker. I found Tsuchiya-kun’s efforts quite amusing. Funeral supply stores are as indispensable as rice shops. No—even those who eat bread and never need a rice shop’s services will inevitably require a funeral company’s aid sooner or later, so one might rightly say this is an even more legitimate occupation than rice selling. Tsuchiya-kun fully understood this reasoning himself, but given the inauspicious nature of his trade, even as a legitimate occupation equal to others, it wasn’t something he should be the one to proactively offer his services for. “If he were to say something like, ‘Today, we are a funeral company,’ he’d risk being struck down.” Therefore, Tsuchiya-kun, unable to state it outright, had invoked the Army—with whom they had regular dealings—to add a touch of prestige while he was at it. The only ones inconvenienced were the garrison hospitals, for there, they could only take it to mean that patients were dropping dead every day like flies. However, regardless of the issue at hand, the indiscriminate eagerness to borrow the authority of officials is a common trait among the Japanese; thus, whatever the military doctors’ intentions may be, it would be unreasonable to blame Tsuchiya-kun alone.

Now, setting aside digressions about Father’s unemployment, I felt even more self-conscious about his idleness than Tsuchiya-kun did about his funeral supply business. With absolutely no business to speak of, there was no way to present oneself to either the Army or the Navy. If labor was sacred, then non-labor was surely profane. It would have been nice if he did something about it, but we were truly in a bind. Mother seemed to share my view on this point as well, “Since Mr. Miwa has gone to such lengths to recommend it, how about taking up a position at that school?” “Since Ken’ichi will soon be an adult too, I think it’s rather inappropriate for you to be lazing about every day where he can see you.”

Mother had been urging him rather insistently just moments before, but Father, in his usual manner, “I'll do something soon. I’ll definitely do it. Come on now, don’t you rush me like that—it’s not like we’re starving or anything.”

He seemed to have left it at that with just some empty reassurance, as usual. When it came to wanting Father to get a steady job, Mother was more urgent about it than I was. Especially since the start of this year, Mother’s way of pressing him became more frequent. She seemed to be constantly on the lookout for opportunities. The following exchanges were ones I often overheard.

“Aren’t you already forty?”

“I know that already.”

“If you understand, then I’d like you to actually do something about it.” “I’m telling you I’ll do something soon!” “Your ‘soon’ has already been going on for fifteen years now, I must say.” “Don’t be so reluctant—anything would do, really…” “A school or a newspaper company, perhaps?” “And then, if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps a company as well?”

“Since I’ve been saying it so much that you’re now reciting it by rote, please give it some serious thought. Anything would do, but as I’ve said before, it would be most splendid if you would assist my family back home.” “Do I look like someone who understands business matters? For one thing, I can’t handle calculations at all. What the hell does that Onigawara of yours even want me to do?” “He won’t make you do anything. He said that since you have such a large build, it would be enough if you just sat in the shop with a stag-like sternness. Isn’t it the same thing whether you’re sitting at your study desk at home or going to the shop and sitting in the manager’s chair?”

“Since it’s the same thing either way, I’m staying home.” “Don’t rush me so much!” “I’ll do something soon.”

“If you remain without any occupation indefinitely, I feel self-conscious even when visiting my family.” “Akiko’s household is making moves to purchase an automobile, you see.” “And Yoshie’s household has a doctor now, you see.” “Even if I stay silent, I truly can’t keep my mind at ease.” “And yet you never once noticed this, and whenever you see my face, you always ask, ‘Is old Gudarabee still idling about as usual?’”

When Father talked to Mother, he would refer to her father as Onigawara this and Onigawara that. Perhaps in return, Grandfather seemed to call my father Gudarabee. Even while exchanging such mocking nicknames and teasing each other, Father and Grandfather understood one another perfectly well. In fact, Mother had counted off on her fingers two or three occasions when it was said that among the sons-in-law, Ken’ichi’s father made the best conversation partner. Be that as it may, there were times when Onigawara would send over an errand boy because Go players had come, and times when I would go as a messenger from Gudarabee’s side for a poetry gathering. In Go, Grandfather was the master, while in haiku, the son-in-law appeared to be the authority. Above all, they maintained a perfectly satisfactory father-in-law and son-in-law relationship. Now, since this serves merely as a prefatory note in my writing, I should explain: Aunt Akiko with her automobile and Aunt Yoshie with her doctorate were Mother’s younger sisters. Mother, who cherished her sisters deeply, rejoiced at how their respective spouses were steadily advancing and succeeding. Yet at the same time, driven by that natural competitiveness said to exist between siblings—the beginning of becoming strangers—she grew exasperated by Father’s half-heartedness. Father, however, remained serenely unchanged, persisting wholeheartedly in his role as Gudarabee.

Another problem Mother faced because of Father’s unemployment was the near-constant stream of visitors. Because the protagonist was an idle man perpetually craving company, friends came flocking one after another. And since they were all kindred spirits who shared Gudarabee’s leisurely disposition, everyone carried a touch of his temperament—so when their discussions grew animated, they would forget entirely about the sun setting or the night deepening.

Among them,

“Coming to your place is killing two birds with one stone. Since you’re bound to meet someone from the group, you’ll never have to worry about neglecting your friends. It’s really handy—works out perfectly!” and, “How about this—let’s consider meeting here at New Year’s as our greeting and do away with all those bothersome formalities, shall we?”

And so, there were those who treated our house’s parlor as their club. People really did come often. Last year, when the neighborhood was being burgled almost every night and even both next-door houses had fallen victim, ours alone was spared—perhaps because there were so many people coming and going that the burglars thought it was a suspicious house. Father remained unfazed by this state of affairs, but Mother was too busy to bear it. Moreover, with so many children, the maids and old women were swamped with work and frequently grumbled. In other households, the husband at least went out to work during the day, so the wife could catch her breath during that time. Generally speaking, wives did not work so diligently even when their husbands were not watching. She would time it to when the master was due back home and tie her work sash. Even in my house, on the rare occasions when Father was out, Mother read magazines, pretending not to notice even if the children cried. This was by no means laziness or two-facedness—it was a wife’s rightful due. The husband worked outside from morning until evening, and the wife worked inside from when he returned until she went to bed at night. While the husband worked, the wife rested; while the wife worked, the husband rested. Thus, while the combined working hours claimed by both men and women roughly aligned with the official standard of eight hours, at home—since Father remained present all day—Mother had to endure sixteen hours of labor.

Given all this, I had been wanting Father to start something soon when the teacher told me, "Being completely unemployed is problematic," so the impression struck me with utmost intensity. However, it seemed the teacher had only meant that having him be unemployed would complicate his own survey, not that it was inherently problematic as a human being. Even so, I found myself preoccupied with Father’s occupational issue all day that day, and as I left the school gate, I thought of taking this opportunity to admonish him myself. When I turned from the tram line toward home,

“Is your father a writer?” Morishita, who was walking with me, suddenly asked. “No, he’s a literary scholar.”

I answered.

“Is there a difference between a writer and a literary scholar?” Morishita-kun looked puzzled. “That’s not right. Those who can appreciate literature are all literary scholars, whether they write or not. And those who write articles for a living are all writers, regardless of whether they can appreciate literature.” I parroted Father’s explanation. I’d actually wanted to say he was a writer, but Gudarabee did nothing but spin theories without ever writing anything, so there was no helping it.

“So your father falls into the non-writing camp then?” “That’s right.”

“Then it would’ve been better if we’d called ours a literary scholar too.” "My father’s always reading historical tales." Morishita-kun lamented.

When I arrived home, as usual, there was a guest. Normally, I wouldn’t care at all who was visiting, but today, anything even remotely related to Father caught my attention. I found myself sitting at my desk, unconsciously eavesdropping on the conversation in the parlor. The guest was Mr. Miwa. If he had come again to urge Father to return to teaching, then it was a heaven-sent opportunity, and I thought I would lend my meager assistance as well— “I really need to start doing something soon.” “Before I know it, I’ll grow old just thinking ‘I’ll do something soon.’”

Father said. He spoke as though he had just realized for the first time that years accumulate with the passage of time. Even so, it wasn’t a bad trend. “Did something strike a chord?” Mr. Miwa asked. “It’s not like I’ve been particularly spurred into action, but these past four or five days, you’ve had the verdict ‘you’re no longer a young man’ delivered to you twice by unexpected people—so I’ve started to panic a bit.” Father answered. “If I keep thinking of myself as a young man despite having five children, Mother can’t bear it.” Mr. Miwa was also somewhat surprised,

“Hmm, did you think you were still a young man?”

Mr. Miwa laughed. “Of course I don’t think I’m a young man, but when I once saw a description in someone’s novel about an age where one could no longer properly be called a *young man*, I thought it matched my own age exactly.” “In the West they consider people young men up to thirty-five or six—no, even thirty-seven or eight.” “But the other day when I went to order shoes and suggested, ‘Shall I try high-laced ones this time?’ that damned clerk responded, ‘Deep rubber soles would suit you best. All our esteemed older gentlemen prefer deep rubber.’” “‘All our esteemed older gentlemen choose deep rubber,’ he said.” “And his tone was so natural it clearly wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment remark.” “I was rather taken aback.”

“You really got it handed to you there. That’s because you consider yourself far too young. So did you end up putting the order on hold?”

“No—without a second thought, I settled on deep rubber soles, turned tail, and fled. But then the very next day—because my mother said her glasses prescription wasn’t right anymore—I stopped by the optician’s on my way out, as you can imagine. ‘I’d like these replaced with lenses one or two degrees stronger,’ I requested. The clerk examined the lenses, then fitted a pair of reading glasses into a trial frame and said, ‘How about this strength? Please try them on for a moment.’ He was convinced they were my glasses. Since this happened just a day after the shoe store incident, I’ve fully resigned myself to no longer being a young man.”

“Of course.” “Still, it’s good your uncertainty has cleared up.” “You don’t notice when you see someone every day, but to a complete stranger, you’re clearly of a certain age now.” “So I urge you once again…” “School is out of the question for me. A job bound by the clock would never suit someone like me.” “It would only cause trouble for you as my recommender.” “But now that it’s been settled that I’m no longer a young man, I can’t go on like this.” “I really will do something.”

“What exactly are you going to do?” “I’m not sure what exactly, but I’ll do something.” “So you finally got a complaint from your retired father, huh?”

“No—as they say, a child can’t outsmart their parent. Father never urges me to get a job.” “Saying that if you carelessly try your hand at business, what little we have would vanish in the blink of an eye—he’s actually expressing approval for keeping things as they are.” “But I’ll do it.” “I’ll definitely do it.” Father kept insisting he would do something—going on and on about it—but seemed to have no idea what exactly he would do. Until recently, the verb “do” had always been prefixed with the future adverb “soon,” but today he was omitting it. Though it was unclear why, he seemed ready to act soon. Father seemed to have been spurred into action thanks to the clerks at the shoe store and optician. At the very least, he had left behind the word “soon” at the shoe store or the optician’s.

“By the way, you’re from Kumamoto, but that place really hasn’t progressed much culturally yet, has it?”

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

“Why?”

Mr. Miwa was immediately drawn in. “It doesn’t even have running water. No streetcars either. Wouldn’t you say it’s more like a bunch of houses clustered in the middle of a forest than an actual city?” Father said with an air of firsthand knowledge. “You know quite a lot about it!”

Mr. Miwa’s tone conveyed unexpected surprise.

“What’s the use of living in Japan if you don’t know anything about it? Do you know the legend that Yokote no Gorō is Kiyama Danjō’s reincarnation?” “Yokote no Gorō? I know that story. But you’re strangely knowledgeable about Kumamoto!” “Don’t be so quick to pin me down like that. ‘I went and got myself wedded true—but with Mr. Gonzaemon’s pockmarked face, still no sake cup have I tasted through. With village clerks and constables gone too—those folk all vanished—what’s left to do but cry anew?’ How’s that?”

“You know some impressive things!” “Where did you learn all that?” “You must be impressed, right? “There’s still plenty more, but if I were to lay out every bit of my erudition one by one, it’d never end, so I’ll stop here.” “You probably realized you’d run out of material around that point, but I have to say, I was impressed.” “Since I ended up coming here as a child, I have only a vague memory of the current ‘Otemoyan’ song.” “Who did you hear it from?” “The truth is, I had to look into it recently for a reason.”

“If it’s about Kumamoto, my father knows all about it—I’ll ask him anything you need.” “But what exactly are you planning to do?” “Preparing to write.” “Not that I’m putting special emphasis on Kumamoto.” “That earlier display was just because you’re from there—I wanted to stun you with a snippet of my research.” “I’ve always wanted to write something like *The Pickwick Papers*, but you can’t do that cooped up in a study forever.” “I don’t understand the first thing about society.” “So to properly grasp human nature and customs, I mean to soon set out on a solitary journey across all Japan.” “What I’ve been going on about doing since earlier—this trip is it.”

Father had grandly likened what was merely sightseeing or something of the sort to an Arctic expedition. Even so, Mr. Miwa,

“Hmm, quite the ambitious plan.” admiring as though someone who had crawled for over a decade had risen to their feet,

“That’s a brilliant idea!” “It’ll surely turn out to be something fascinating.” “Now that’s a Pickwickian idea!” “Your group is a sort of Pickwick Club.” “If you like, I could come along and play the roles of Mr. Tupman and Mr. Winkle.”

“If I have a companion, there’s nothing better. To tell the truth, going it alone feels a bit daunting. But you’re rather busy, aren’t you?” “If it’s during vacation, I can arrange things however needed. Moreover, since the doctor has recommended recuperation for my neurasthenia, this trip couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll wait for your spring break.”

And so, a promise to embark on a journey together was swiftly formed between Father and Mr. Miwa. Father, it seemed, had been harboring this plan for quite some time, as he brought out a notebook containing the written travel itinerary. As the two were still talking, Mr. Dan lumbered into view.

“Mr. Dan, something extraordinary has happened! Mr. Muraoka has finally resolved to do it—they say he’s going to write *The Pickwick Papers*.”

And Mr. Miwa immediately proclaimed. “*The Pickwick Papers*?” “What’s that?” “What’s this ‘Pickwick’?” Mr. Dan was not a literary scholar but an architect. “Don’t you know Dickens?”

said Mr. Miwa, the English literature specialist, in an exasperated tone.

“Dickens? I don’t know him. Such architectural scholars don’t exist in Britain or America, at least.”

Mr. Dan had no regard for novelists. “Ah, right—it was you, Mr. Dan, who had intended Ivanhoe as a bicycle.” Mr. Miwa set Dickens aside and explained Father’s travel intentions in plain terms.

However，the engineer— “So ultimately，it’s just sightseeing，isn’t it? Neither Pickwick nor Dickens．You people always exaggerate everything．”

He had just dismissed them scornfully, yet they showed no surprise at all. “You’re as charmless as ever,” Father laughed.

Father laughed. “There’s no point scattering charm for you lot. But are you truly going on this trip?”

Mr. Dan asked.

“Genuineness. Since Mr. Miwa is coming, why don’t you join us too?”

“Well, I’ll pass.”

“Why? Are you busy?” “No, business has been completely idle since the depression. If I push through, it’ll only lead to losses, so I’m holding back on everything for now.” “Then isn’t this just perfect for you? Let’s go. We’ll stop by your hometown too. You’re from around Nagoya, right?”

“Nagoya.” “Nagoya’s in the city proper too.”

“So it’s ‘three blocks from Sasashima Station,’ eh?” “One house, two houses, then the third one, right?” “How about ‘When ya get to Nagoya, drop by pronto’?”

As Father said in a singsong tone, “Well, you know some strange things!”

Mr. Dan wondered. “Should we go ‘n’, should we stay ‘n’, what’re we s’posed to do?” “You’re not makin’ an inch of progress just dawdlin’ around!” “Let’s go.” “I’m a bit surprised.” “Where did you train to pick that up?” “You know, for me, this is a breeze.” “We’re different from architects—we’re the sort who know famous places without ever leaving home.” “I’ll show you all sorts of rare places, so just follow along quietly.” Father declared boldly. “Well, I do value my life, you know.”

Mr. Dan wouldn’t take the bait. “We’re not going to Africa or anything, so what danger could there possibly be?” “No—if it were Africa, we’d hire a guide, but precisely because it’s Japan where we can speak the language, it’s all the more troublesome.” “Just think about it.” “If I’m dragged around by you, who has no numerical sense, and Mr. Miwa, who can’t tell directions, there’s no telling where we’ll end up or when we’ll get back.” “I can’t let that comment about me having no numerical sense slide.” “Do you have any proof?”

Father voiced his objection.

“There is. “You’re shaky not just with math concepts but even reading numbers themselves. “If you wish, I can prove it right here and now.” Mr. Dan said with conviction. “For reference, I’d like to ask one thing.” “That’s an easy one. “Well then, Mr. Muraoka—what’s a hundred thousand yen multiplied by ten?”

“A million yen.” “Then what’s a million yen multiplied by ten?” “Ten million yen. “Don’t take me for a fool.”

“Then what’s ten million yen multiplied by ten?” “A hundred million ten thousand yen.” “There, see?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? If ten million yen multiplied by ten makes a hundred million ten thousand yen, isn’t that right?” “There’s no such unit as ‘hundred million ten thousand.’” “Hmm, a hundred million yen? You’ve got me there! I just misspoke a little.”

“No, you always say that.” “You can’t weasel your way out of this.” “If you’ve got proof that I don’t know my directions, then let’s see it!”

Mr. Miwa, who had also been waiting for Mr. Dan to show his hand, lodged a complaint. It seemed nobody truly understood themselves.

“Yours is even worse than Mr. Muraoka’s.” “You haven’t shown up even once since coming to my house last New Year’s, have you?”

“That’s right. But that’s because we meet here so often—doesn’t that go both ways?”

“That’s not what I’m asking about.” “You saw the photo of the large building that was hanging in my study at that time, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.” “You’re talking about that what’s-it-called German trading house in Shanghai, right?” “You do have an impressive memory, at least.” “But that’s neither in Shanghai nor a German trading house.” “It’s the Kaijo Building in Marunouchi.” “The sign says ‘Kaijo Building’ written left to right, but you read it backward as ‘Gunderubi Shanghai’ and said, ‘There’s a building in Shanghai that looks just like Kaijo Building.” “Didn’t you say, ‘Isn’t that the German trading house?’” “I see—that was quite the blunder, wasn’t it?” “But misunderstandings are something everyone has.” “You’re such a man who holds onto trivial grudges forever.”

“I’m not nursing some grudge or avenging that ‘Aiwahō’ incident from earlier. I only used it as an example because you asked for proof.” “If you can read left-to-right text backward for a whole year without batting an eye, you’ll wind up boarding an eastbound train when you meant to go west.” “Get dragged around Japan by Gunderubi Shanghai and a hundred million ten thousand yen, and even the sturdiest constitution wouldn’t come out unscathed—that’s what I’m saying.” “Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Mr. Dan roared with laughter, his delight reaching its peak. “Well then, why don’t we have Mr. Dan lead us around? Hey, Mr. Miwa.” “That’s fine. Mr. Dan—let us accompany you.” The two of them resumed their efforts to persuade him. Their resolve was that any form would do as long as they could secure traveling companions.

“If we set out like that, we’ll figure something out along the way. However, unlike the unemployed or schoolteachers, I have office matters to consider, so you’ll have to wait a little longer for a definite answer. But joking aside, I might just end up accompanying you all. After all, if it’s not during idle times like these, I can’t even get some real rest.”

Mr. Dan finally let slip his true intentions. "That’s more like it—no backing out now! It’d be a shame if you’d agreed without putting up any resistance at all."

“Since I’ve traveled all over on official business during my time as a government official, I’d feel more at ease if we went together.” “Actually, something good has come up.”

And so the two of them already considered the matter settled.

Part Two

I was disappointed in Father. He’d been saying ‘soon, soon’ for ages, but when it finally came time to act—just when I thought he was about to start some grand venture and had braced myself—apparently all he’s doing now is preparing for a trip. And those preparations were also for a trip, apparently. If it were something you could call an inspection tour of Europe and America, there might be some sense to consider—but given that he’s just sightseeing around the familiar confines of Japan with friends under the guise of recuperation, even I couldn’t help doubting Father’s true intentions. Mr. Miwa declares it’s Pickwickian and makes a fuss, but given that he’s the type to take a day off school because a cat went into labor—as Mr. Dan said—the whole affair is just an exaggeration. In reality, it’s neither Pickwick nor Dickens. It was an idle person’s sightseeing trip. As Mother’s relentless pressure grew increasingly severe, it could only be taken as Father’s scheme to temporarily escape the house under the pretext of studying society and human nature. Grandfather laughed, saying that Seiichirou puts too much care into every preparation, so he loses interest before ever getting to the crucial work. Even if he were genuinely serious about writing something now, that would only be a fleeting resolve—by the time he finished traveling all over Japan, his intentions would undoubtedly change again. Having sorted through one too many ornaments after all, Grandfather had a discerning eye for both home and countryside matters. Father was ultimately Gutarahee.

Having thought this way, I had given up expecting Father to conform to societal norms and had come to think nothing mattered anymore—when one day, out of the blue, I found myself obliged to take a serious interest in Father’s sightseeing trip. It felt comical how abruptly things had changed, but now I needed Father to thoroughly explore every interesting corner of Japan. The circumstances were as follows.

When they noticed I had returned from school, my younger sisters Aiko and Kako came into my room, grinning. “Big brother, I heard Father is going on a trip?” Aiko was the first to deliver the news. “That’s right, so I hear. But hasn’t he decided yet when we’re leaving?”

I answered in a way that suggested it didn’t matter either way. “Oh, Big brother, you’re so sneaky!” This time, Kako said.

“Why?” And I genuinely didn’t understand what they meant. “Why? Because you’re going with Father too, aren’t you, Big brother? Earlier, Father and Mother said so. Big brother, you thought we’d want to go and kept quiet about it, didn’t you?” Aiko explained.

“Yeees, exactly!” “Truly sneaky!” Kako chimed in triumphantly.

Kako also chimed in triumphantly.

I must have let my composure slip at the unexpected good news, finding myself at a loss for words. Try as I might not to smile, my cheeks simply wouldn’t stay still. “See?!” “You’re keeping secrets!” With that triumphant cry, they seemed convinced they’d backed me into a corner. Truth be told, this had all come so abruptly that I wanted to verify more details about the news first.

“But Aiko… Kako… Wait a second…”

He tried to speak up and ask, but the sheer joy drained his strength. He smirked slyly, his words trailing off. They mistook this for an attempt at making excuses, “Aha! Cornered, cornered!” “Stuffed tight as a full sake bottle!”

With that, they withdrew leisurely to the living room while taunting.

However, I soon began to have doubts.

This whole story seemed too good to be true. Why would Father take me along! The same person who complained that children were a nuisance and went out alone even for walks—it made no sense for him to order me to accompany him on a long trip. Perhaps my sisters had jumped to conclusions and said such things. I thought about going straight to Mother to confirm things, but given my tendency to get overly excited—making a fuss the day before school trips or sports festivals—she might have been planning to keep it unannounced until the very last moment. In that case, asking would have been useless. In this way, I continued to indulge in various speculations, but ultimately arrived at an utterly mundane conclusion: there was nothing to do but wait and see how things would unfold.

Shortly after finishing dinner, Keiji, our little lordling of a brother, grew sleepy. Children of four or five do not yet know to spare themselves. Since they make it their mission to play as hard as they can from dawn onward, they tire out surprisingly early in the evening. Of course, if these tiny whirlwinds were to stay awake indefinitely, Mother would never catch her breath. Even we felt oddly bereft after Keiji went to bed. Then Fumiko started nodding off next.

“Hey, Fumiko’s getting sleepy.” Father, who was sitting by the brazier, called Mother. After finally putting Keiji to bed, Mother took Fumiko away. Of course, once Fumiko was changed into her sleepwear, she could sleep on her own, so that didn’t require much effort.

“Hey, hey, Aiko and Kako seem to be fighting.”

And a little later, Father called Mother again. Mother was truly busy. She had no time for anything else. Father, on the other hand, was having an exceedingly easy time of it. Sitting by the brazier and smoking tobacco, he observed with his eyes and listened with his ears to everything around him, “Hey, hey, the iron kettle’s whistling.”

In this manner, as long as he verbally reported things with reasonable accuracy, that sufficed. Mother mediated the quarrel in the study room and came to sit on the opposite side of the brazier. With this, she had finally finished the day’s work. When Father tried to stand up, Mother— “Do you always get up when I sit here?” she stated the plain fact. “It’s not exactly like that,” Interpreting that as criticism, Father resettled himself where he sat.

“If your trip is going to be so vague that no one can even tell where you are while I’m left here managing all these children and elderly relatives, then I absolutely refuse to stay behind.” Mother said suddenly.

“That’s no problem. I’ll put together a schedule so you’ll know exactly where we’re staying each day, alright?”

Seeing how Father answered immediately, it was clear this conversation had been ongoing for some time. I thought I understood the situation anyway and was glaring intently at the evening paper. “Of course, you must have a proper schedule prepared, but you’re hardly the type to send us meticulous letters.” “I’ll write them. “It’s just letters.” “No, that’s utterly unreliable. “That’s why, to reassure the family, as I’ve been saying all along, please take Ken’ichi with you.”

When Mother said this, I involuntarily straightened up. "I don’t mind taking him along, but he’ll just be a hindrance, you know." Father said bluntly.

“What hindrance could there possibly be? “Since he’s already a middle school student, he can manage everything himself.” “If Ken’ichi sends daily correspondence without fail, I’ll be able to stay reassured.” Mother presented an eminently reasonable case.

“That’s a fair point. “Maybe I'll take him along. “But Ken'ichi has school.”

Father, at every turn, kept trying to find fault with me. “If Mr. Miwa is accompanying you, then Ken’ichi’s school must be on break anyway, right?” “School breaks are the same everywhere.”

Mother spoke up for me. That was indeed the case. “Ken’ichi, do you want to come along? Walking around with adults would be boring for you, wouldn’t it?”

This time, Father directly asked for my opinion. Because it was too sudden, I couldn’t come up with an immediate response. “If you ride the train every day, you’ll just end up getting bored.” Father tried to keep up the benevolent pretense. By this point, I had completely regained my composure and smiled serenely. “Ken’ichi will of course be delighted to accompany you. He does like traveling, after all.” Mother added by way of explanation. “I’ll take him along. Since everyone seems to be in agreement, I can’t help it. At Mr. Miwa’s house too, his wife was talking as if Ken’ichi’s accompaniment was a condition for his departure. She keeps saying that if Ken-san is coming along, she’ll feel at ease too. It seems having that hanger-on tag along provides some reassurance beyond just correspondence, doesn’t it?”

Father said mockingly. “Do men really have so little self-respect that they’d conjure up such notions?”

Mother twisted the knife, “But since Mr. Dan will be joining you, Mrs. Miwa must have felt somewhat cautious as well.”

and she shifted all responsibility entirely onto Mrs. Miwa. “Mr. Dan’s the one who’s really in a fine mess now.” “But putting that aside, even the retired folks—Father and Mother—were just now insisting that Ken’ichi absolutely must be taken along.” “Of course, their stated reason was that Ken’ichi is self-willed and would be too much to handle without a father around, though.” “In short, since it’s everyone’s earnest request—though I don’t know where the driving force behind it lies—I suppose I’ll take him along.”

With that, Father finally ordered me to accompany him.

Now that the situation had developed this far, even I couldn't remain as carefree as before. If I couldn't even manage my own affairs, Mother had declared she'd request to have my accompaniment canceled. I thought it was just a bluff, but I couldn't afford to let my guard down. So I had to put away my bedding every morning myself; otherwise, Aiko and Kako might start giving me orders at any moment. If I kept having Otsuta polish my shoes all the time, there was a risk of being found out. What worried me most was that my capricious Father might just call off the trip altogether. Since he treated planning and execution as completely separate matters, it was truly unnerving. Because of this, I couldn't wait for Mr. Dan to arrive. Both Father and Mr. Miwa were counting on him, so if he were to say something like he couldn't get away due to work obligations, there was no telling how things might change. Even if it didn't come to cancellation, it could easily be 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, even without me needing to worry, Father—whether Mr. Dan had even sat down yet or not— “How about it? What about that matter we discussed earlier?”

he demanded a definite answer as promised. “I’ll take a look today. But don’t get your hopes up too much.” Mr. Dan replied.

“So that’s no good?” Father seemed disappointed. I had stayed seated there thinking I would wait until I heard a definite answer, but my expectations were completely dashed.

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

“What are you talking about? You…”

“What do you mean? Didn’t you ask me the other day to check the locks since you’re going on a trip?”

Mr. Dan was talking about the locks. There was still hope.

“I see, that’s part of it, but I’m asking whether you’re coming along or not.” “Of course I am. That’s actually what I came to report, you know.” “If that’s the case, you should’ve said so clearly from the start.” Father seemed satisfied, having been kept in suspense. Needless to say, I was relieved.

“The trip ranks second in social obligations.” “Securing the house comes first in practical affairs.” “Doesn’t it make sense to address first things first?” “Honestly, you people’s minds work exactly this sloppily—it’s downright perilous.” “So as your friend, I couldn’t just sit back—I’ve rearranged everything to drag you lot around properly.” “You ought to thank me.”

Mr. Dan was being as logical as ever. “That’s a relief. If I just hear that much, the locks can wait until next time.” “No—if I’m to accompany you, there’s work I must settle first. I won’t be able to come around so frequently anymore. I’ll take a look today while I’m at it. But a demand like yours to absolutely keep burglars out is impossible. Japanese-style houses can be broken into even by amateurs if they try, so they can only be secured to the extent that they don’t tempt burglars.”

“That’s an uncharacteristically defeatist thing for you to say.” “If you’re in the architecture business, isn’t it inexcusable that you can’t manage a proper lock-up?”

“Actually, when it comes to locking up, I made a complete fool of myself the other day.” “A man who used to be a minister was going abroad, so he consulted me about securing his mansion.” “I incorporated some of his own ideas and fortified the key points quite thoroughly, but being a financier, he was an exceedingly meticulous man. After personally testing every nook and cranny himself, he made this request: ‘Say, could you introduce me to someone with burglary expertise?’” “Introducing a burglar—now that’s clever.” “As expected, you really do have the physiognomy of someone untrustworthy.”

“It’s not about physiognomy. He wanted to conduct a security test. Now, I have acquaintances across all social classes—my network’s by no means limited—but unfortunately, I don’t have a single burglar among my close associates. So at my wit’s end, I went to the Metropolitan Police Department and dragged Mr. Iguchi into this.” “Sharp observation there. His Sherlock Holmes routine certainly makes him more than a burglar.” When the conversation turned to slightly unusual topics, Father would get overly excited and bring up characters from novels. In this regard, he shared a similarity with Mr. Miwa.

“He’s no Westerner.” “You know that Mr. Iguchi of yours.” “It’s not just this time I’ve been impressed by him—the man’s downright remarkable.” “He brought every burglar tool imaginable and showed us thirty-nine different break-in points while explaining how to pick this lock here and pry that one open there.” “Once it’s business, he stops caring whether you’re friend or family—completely unmanageable.” “I lost serious face back there.” The protagonist looked shocked too, but the carpenter just gaped and asked, “Who in blazes is that fella?” When I told him “He’s head of the Metropolitan Police Forensics Division,” the master carpenter kept squinting at Mr. Iguchi before finally advising, “No offense meant—you’d make a better living ditching the cops and turning thief.” That set everyone roaring. “Bottom line—Mr. Iguchi proved firsthand that if a real burglar wants in, there’s no stopping them.”

“That does sound like something he’d do, but for someone in his position, it’s downright improper.” “Isn’t that just him pointlessly showing off for burglars’ sake?” “That’s not it.” “On the contrary, he was showing off for the Metropolitan Police Department.” “But doesn’t that just lead to the conclusion that locking up is completely ineffective?” “No, that’s not it.” “Locking up, much like fire prevention, is something even the Metropolitan Police Department constantly promotes.” “Even someone as contrarian as Mr. Iguchi wouldn’t oppose that.” “But since that man specializes in researching crime, knowledge from Ishikawa Goemon onward has been fermenting in his brain.” “A burglar as expert as him should be practically non-existent.” “Since that authority declares he’ll break in openly in broad daylight to demonstrate, the job becomes exceedingly straightforward.” “However, if you were to impose the condition of breaking in undetected on a pitch-black night without permission, even the head of the Forensics Division wouldn’t know where to start.” “He himself said so too.” “And then he said, ‘Since there are plenty of conditions besides locking up that make burglary difficult, it’s perfectly fine to have them secured rigorously—but there’s no need to get overly anxious about it.” “‘When you look into it, there’s no business as foolish as burglary.’” “‘The average monthly earnings are eighteen yen and fifty sen.’” “‘To risk so much danger for such meager earnings—they’re nothing but dimwits who can’t even grasp profit and loss.’” “‘There’s absolutely no need to fear.’” “‘Implement locks appropriate for your house and entrust all else to us police officers,’ he lectured the minister.” “I have to admire how he never misses an opportunity to promote police authority, no matter the situation.”

“He’s quite a character.”

With that, Mr. Dan concluded his story,

“By the way, isn’t Mr. Miwa coming today?”

With that, he appeared set to move on to the second issue.

“I’ll send for him now.” After answering, Father turned to look at me. Without waiting to be told, I stood up. Only by acting this way could one fulfill the duties of a secretary. Mr. Miwa’s house was just a stone’s throw away. It didn’t even take five minutes. When I rang the front doorbell, it wasn’t the maid but Mrs. Miwa who came out and opened the lattice door for me. “Are you here on an errand?” “You’ve had quite the task.” “He’s at the barber’s now, so I’ll have him come up as soon as he returns.”

Since this happened every time, she’d conclude I’d come to ask for her husband the moment she saw my face. Under these circumstances, I realized there’d been no chance to think of how to phrase things along the way. I had planned to simply bow and take my leave then and there, but Mrs. Miwa called me in,

“Ken’ichi-san, I heard Kei-chan has caught a cold. How is she doing?”

she asked. “Kei-chan has already completely recovered.” With that being my first utterance, “That’s most wonderful to hear.”

Mrs. Miwa said with relief,

“Ken'ichi-san, you must be so happy—getting to accompany your father on his trip.” he already knew. He had already arranged everything with Mother.

“Since Mr. Dan has come to discuss the trip, please do tell him to make haste.”

I answered with a grin. “Is Mr. Dan joining you as well?” “Yes, he’s joining us. Mr. Dan has offered to show us around all sorts of interesting places.” “How envious! I’d love to join you myself. I’ll make a proper request later, but for now, please keep a good eye on my husband. And you’re your father’s shadow, after all. Wherever you go, you’re clinging tightly to your father.”

“Don’t worry. It’d be a disaster if he got lost during the trip.”

“Since my husband is like an old child, I’m truly concerned about the trip.” “Moreover, Ken’ichi-san—though it might be rude to say so—your father is just as much of a handful as my husband, precisely because they get along so well.” “I’m actually quite uneasy about it.” “But Ken’ichi-san, you seem less like a clever child and more like an adult who never ages—why, I even told your mother as much the other day—so I do hope you’ll look after these old children for me……”

Mrs. Miwa kept me from leaving. Even if I didn’t engage with her, things were already this way, so I supposed it was only natural that when Mother came, it would turn into a half-day affair. Fortunately, Mr. Miwa returned then, so I was saved. “Isn’t that the wrong hat? “And another thing—” Mrs. Miwa promptly called him out. Some wives, if not exactly taking pride in belittling their husbands in the presence of others, regard it as proof of their affection.

“Is that so? I thought it felt a bit large, but I’d figured it was just because I’d gotten a haircut. Here—take a look.”

With that, Mr. Miwa took off his hat and handed it to his wife. Given how he’d given up from the start—being so indifferent as to rely on others to identify his own belongings—his wife had her hands full. Of course, their household customs differed from others’; since Mrs. Miwa bought and assigned everything from hats to neckties, it was only natural that those who picked their own items wouldn’t recognize them. “As I thought, it is yours. Why has this navy faded so quickly?”

Even if Mrs. Miwa realized she’d made do with a domestic one,

“As if I’d make that mistake every day! And come to think of it, since I left early today, I was all by myself.”

Mr. Miwa puffed himself up, tacking on an explanation that wasn’t even worth boasting about. In the meantime, I— “Well then, I’ll be going now.” “Goodbye.”

With that, he ran back.

Soon, Mr. Miwa arrived. Apparently having heard from his wife, when he met Mr. Dan, “We’re going, right?” he said cheerfully. “We’re going.” Mr. Dan remained as composed as ever. “If you side with me, it’ll be like having the strength of a hundred men.”

As usual, Mr. Miwa’s way of speaking was exaggerated. “It’s as if we’re about to start a family feud.”

Father laughed.

“Now that you two honored guests have gathered, I suppose we should move on to our private discussion.” “However, before that, there is one matter I must ask you both to formally acknowledge.”

Mr. Dan began in an oddly formal tone.

“I’ll agree to anything! Hey, Mr. Miwa.” “Sure thing! Since things are moving at such a breakneck pace, I’m fully prepared to have conditions imposed on us!”

The two of them put on an air of meek compliance.

“The truth is, I have to bring my daughter along. Since my wife absolutely insisted I do so, I ended up nodding in agreement—but would you still be okay with that?”

Mr. Dan said in an uncharacteristically listless tone.

“If that’s all, there’s absolutely no need to hold back.” “You’re more dutiful than I expected.” “I’m actually the one who nodded in agreement as well.”

Father replied.

“What’s that? You’re taking your child along too?” “That’s right. This brat insists on tagging along, so there’s no helping it.” “So you’re not trusted either, huh? What about you, Mr. Miwa?” “I’m not tied down in any direction. I don’t have any kids, you see. If I carelessly nod, my wife will tag along.” I couldn’t help laughing at what Mr. Miwa had blurted out. “I know you don’t have children. Judging by your tone, you two are clearly an untrustworthy bunch after all.”

Mr. Dan ended up including everyone in his own group.

“Why’s that?” When Mr. Miwa asked, “Why? Because trying to send us out with kids in tow means my wife has an ulterior motive.” “You drink alcohol and don’t exactly seem known for your propriety, so that’s only natural, but mine is different.” “Mine and Mr. Miwa’s…”

Even as Father tried to explain their position, “The hell it is!” “It’s just a matter of degree.” “Of course they wouldn’t phrase it that way openly.” “In your case, the pretext was probably about maintaining contact with the main family or something like that, right?” “You know all about it, don’t you?” “If I didn’t grasp that much, how could I possibly manage my wife?” “Literary scholars are surprisingly obtuse about human feelings, aren’t they?”

Mr. Dan puffed up his chest a bit and, “My wife is pulling that same trick too. “‘Tatsuko will soon graduate from girls’ school, but once she’s married off—as you can plainly see from my own example—she’ll dutifully descend into being a household slave and disappear completely from society,’ my wife started with her usual sarcastic edge, adding, ‘Given how things are these days, please do let her accompany us.’ “‘She’s already eighteen, so she’ll actually be helpful and won’t hold anyone back at all,’ or so my wife claims.” “Even when we clearly see through their schemes, it’s only logical that there’s nothing to be done about it.” “Since it amounts to the same either way, I ended up agreeing cheerfully.” “If you don’t let their demands slide unchallenged once in a while, you lose your bargaining power later.”

“There’s an awful lot of scheming involved, isn’t there?” “It’s because you’re always so suspicious that you twist things around and end up doubting even the rest of us.” “But even for the child’s sake, traveling isn’t a waste—and if that keeps my wife happy, it’s killing two birds with one stone.”

“It’s good that Ken’ichi-san will also have someone to talk to and won’t get bored.” “Things are progressing more and more smoothly.” “I’ll probably at least have someone fold my clothes for me as well.” Mr. Miwa was already relying on Ms. Tatsuko.

After that, the three of them increasingly turned 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 my presence was indispensable. Being included among the adults like this and treated almost as an equal felt immensely gratifying. Even if my actual role was just ornamental, my official title as secretary meant I wasn’t mere deadweight. In fact, I’d even dashed to the stationery shop earlier to buy up recent travel guides. Mr. Dan appeared quite well-traveled, while Mr. Miwa had only made a couple trips to his hometown of Kumamoto—and even those without seeing anything along the way. As for Father—who’d never left Tokyo except for a childhood school trip—he remained convinced that uncivilized tribes roamed beyond Hakone.

"You—are there barber shops in Kumamoto?" That was the tone of his question.

“There certainly are! But you’d better bring a razor—erysipelas is the local specialty there. After all, it’s a long trip, so I’ve got no choice but to bring a lot of things. Two suitcases would never be enough.” Mr. Miwa pondered.

“Don’t go spouting such nonsense.” “Since it’s a long trip, we should keep our luggage as simple as possible.” “Are you all here to discuss luggage or coordinate the itinerary?!” Mr. Dan called the two men’s attention back to the map.

“Anyway, as a principle, let’s omit any places that can be covered from Sunday to Saturday, shall we?” said Mr. Miwa. “Saturday to Sunday, you mean?” “Fine.” “So it is decided.” “Since we’ll be traipsing all over Japan regardless, it hardly matters where we begin—but given that Muraoka here is the one who proposed this trip, we ought to give some consideration to his preferences.” “Therefore, following Mr. Pickwick’s schedule, why don’t we adopt as our general policy to start from beyond Hakone and go as far as we can reach in two weeks?” “We can just add the rest during summer vacation.”

Mr. Dan sought to expedite the proceedings.

“Very well.” Mr. Miwa agreed. “How far do you think we can get?”

This was Father,

“That depends on your pace.” “But a courier-style trip won’t be any kind of rest.” “We’ll limit train travel to no more than five hours a day and go as far as we can while leisurely sightseeing.” “However, for folks like you who are so devoted to serving your households, it might be better to first head straight to your destination and then take in the sights bit by little bit on your way back.” “Since each day brings you closer to your wife and children, you’ll feel reassured, right?”

Mr. Dan made rather pointed remarks.

“After all, if we have to return, it’s better to go straight back.” “The little ones seem so far away.”

Mr. Miwa was already thinking about the return journey even before setting out. “Having roughly settled on the general approach, shall we leave the detailed schedule entirely up to Mr. Dan? I’ve tried working out all sorts of arrangements, but I simply can’t make them hold together.”

It wasn’t that Father was simply being lazy; the task had genuinely become too much for him. “That would be quicker. Mr. Dan, I’m counting on you.” Mr. Miwa responded. “Very well, I’ll take it on. Mr. Muraoka, I’ve looked through this notebook of yours, but this schedule isn’t made with a twenty-four-hour day in mind. If we keep up this much activity, even someone as sturdy as I am would be worn out in two or three days.”

Mr. Dan said while flipping through the notebook.

“That’s nothing more than an ideal.”

Father maintained his composure.

“No wonder there’s not a single moment accounted for lunch, and it’s all planned assuming clear skies every day.” “However, you’ve managed to collect quite an impressive list of famous sites and historic ruins.” “And this list of local specialties is attached.” “You’ve scheduled us to eat our way through every last one of them, but this also miscalculates human digestive capacity.” “Once you set your mind to something, you’re surprisingly extreme, aren’t you?” “Fine, I’ll prepare a more practical schedule.” “I’ll borrow this notebook and do my best to arrange things in line with your wishes.”

“Please don’t put too much weight on it and just use your discretion to pick and choose.” “I’m countin’ on ya, okay?” “Do make it as easy as possible when you put it together, I beg of you.” “Was Mr. Muraoka’s schedule truly that ferocious?” “Too close for comfort!” “If you hadn’t joined our company, I’d have been hauled all over creation by Muraoka until my neurasthenia turned downright chronic, I swear.” Mr. Miwa declared with theatrical dismay.

Fussing over this and that, it was rather time-consuming. It seemed they would have to hold another meeting to discuss things before departure. How I couldn’t wait for it. However, my school still hadn’t gone on vacation yet.

Part Three

Thanks to the mimeographed travel itinerary we received from Mr. Dan—which I pored over daily like scripture—the long-awaited day of departure finally arrived.

I rushed by rickshaw to Tokyo Station before eight in the morning, accompanying Father and Mr. Miwa. From home, Mother had gathered up all the children to see us off, while from Mr. Miwa’s side, his wife—having no sleeves to wave, so to speak—had no choice but to come alone; both parties had turned out for the send-off. Father would disparage those Japanese who couldn’t shake off old habits from the days of water-cup farewells, complaining how they made such an exaggerated fuss over every little send-off or greeting, yet when it came to his own travels, he showed no qualms whatsoever about having his entire family turn out to see him off. He was rather delighted, holding Keiji and such. Because most people, like Father, maintain a strict separation between theory and practice, Tokyo Station became so crowded. We promptly took up positions in the waiting room.

Soon, Mr. Taguchi arrived, looking around bewilderedly as he hauled in his large frame—unbecoming of a painter—through the station. After scanning the area through his thick nearsighted glasses for a moment, he hurried over to us as soon as he spotted us, “Made it in time. “Made it in time.” “Ah, Mrs., my apologies for the other day.” “Muraoka, here it is.” “Mr. Miwa, I’m counting on you.”

He handed Father a strangely bulky newspaper-wrapped package. “You’ve brought quite a large item.” “This thing’s a shocker, huh?”

Father sighed as if mentally weighing the bulk of the entrusted item. “It’s lighter than it looks.” “I’ll carry it.”

Mr. Taguchi remained unfazed. “Is this thing really going to trek a thousand miles?” Mr. Miwa said.

“Well, a promise is a promise, so there’s no helping it. But I never imagined it’d be this big.” Father said again. “I had to search all over because ones this large aren’t readily available.” “Please take good care of it for me.” “And when you reach a scenic spot, please show it off for me.” “I’ll ask Mr. Miwa too.” “And Mr. Dan too… What’s become of Mr. Dan?” “Isn’t he late!”

Mr. Taguchi looked around his surroundings.

In reality, Mr. Dan and Tatsuko-san 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 mounting. All the while, Mrs.Miwa drew close to me several times and asked me to look after her husband. When I thought about 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 brother like someone important, clung to him from all sides today, making sure to extract promises of souvenirs. Anyway, thinking it was already about time for the ticket gates to open one by one,

“What’s become of Mr. Dan?”

The moment someone repeated it for the fifth time, the man they’d been talking about and Tatsuko-san strolled in leisurely. “We’ve been waiting!”

“We’ve been waiting!” said Father and Mr. Miwa. “There’s still twelve minutes to spare.” Mr. Dan, as unflappable as ever, first greeted Mr. Taguchi and the rest of the send-off party, then introduced Tatsuko-san to Mrs. Miwa, who had not yet made her acquaintance. When I thought of myself as a fellow traveler, I couldn’t be half-hearted; to ensure they’d look after me properly, I took particular care to show my respect. Mother and Mrs. Miwa “We earnestly entrust them to your care.” repeated their appeals.

“You—hurry up and buy the tickets!” When Mr.Miwa urged him, Mr.Dan— “The porter will bring them now,” he answered,

“Everyone’s in Western attire, and the luggage—one, two, three pieces.” “Admirably kept your promise.”

Though it was merely a domestic tour of Japan—and one from which we would return shortly—when the moment came to part ways, it still felt rather unpleasant after all. After boarding the train, I exchanged handshakes with my sisters and younger brother many times over. Mother too remained at the window, saying, “Ken’ichi, do take care now, and write to me every day.” Mrs. Miwa was likewise saying something to Mr. Miwa. Then Mr. Taguchi shouted, “Everyone—I implore you to take good care of it!”

He shouted, though this might have been more about the newspaper bundle than our well-being. Before long, the bell rang and the train began to move. “Farewell!” “Farewell!”

For the first time, I found myself viewing Tokyo—my birthplace—from the standpoint of a third party. I had often ridden national railway trains to Shinagawa before, but that was while living in Tokyo—with Tokyo naturally occupying my mind—making it fundamentally the same relationship as seeing one's own family members at home. Mother’s right eye is smaller than her left. I had been unaware of this for over a decade, but I first discovered it through Mother reflected in a mirror when we went to Mitsukoshi the other day and were climbing the stairs. Now that I had become a traveler and was surveying Tokyo with the feeling of having already left it behind, the place where I was born was by no means as dirty a city as the impression I usually held. Especially this morning—perhaps due to the aftermath of the rain—the sky appeared freshly wiped clean, and the large buildings towering in the distance, in both form and hue, stood out clearly to present a truly magnificent spectacle. Tatsuko-san seemed to share the sentiment,

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it—Tokyo too.”

[Tatsuko] gazed intently. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Oh, look—the kites are chasing each other!” I pointed at the sky above Miyagi. “Oh my!” “There are so many!” “There are so many of them!”

With this as our starting point, we stopped putting on airs with each other.

The adults had been talking nonstop from the start, but when the train stopped at Shinbashi, Mr. Miwa leaned out the window to look,

"I've made a great discovery!" he said.

“What is it?”

When Father asked, “When seeing people off at Tokyo Station, I always feel like the train departs in the opposite direction—but even so, this must be acceptable after all?” “Why does it turn out that way there?” “Still hung up on that Gunderubi Shanghai routine, I see.”

Mr. Dan laughed. “I also mix up east and west when I step onto the platform at Tokyo Station. “After all, my sense of direction is just inaccurate.” “When I visit a house with a long path from the gate to the entrance, I inevitably end up facing the opposite direction when leaving to return home.” “It’s a story from when I was a child, but I once even got so lost I couldn’t find my own school and had to ask a policeman, you know.” Father gave up on directions.

“I was there with you back then.” “Didn’t the policeman get angry at you?”

said Mr. Miwa. “Hmm, was I with you?” “Anyway, I was around Ken’ichi’s age and had just entered middle school.” “I went out for a walk during lunch break—we were together after all, weren’t we? Since we’d just started [school], I shouldn’t have had any other friends yet.”

Father went back twenty-five or twenty-six years and, “I went out for a walk,but on the way back,I got lost.” “Fortunately,there was a police box nearby so I asked,‘Where is the school?’ but the policeman just glared at me with a scowling face and wouldn’t tell me.” “When I asked again he barked,‘Hey!Don’t mock me!” “‘You're wearing your school badges aren't you?!’he barked.” “Startled,I dashed about half a block away,but when I glanced around there was the school’s back gate.” “Hey Mr.Miwa that policeman had every right to be angry you know.”

“You two were quite the pair even back then, huh?” “To think you two—who can’t tell east from west—tried setting out alone like that. Got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

Mr. Dan, having ceased to engage with them, spread open his newspaper and began to read.

After a short while, Father, as if suddenly remembering, took down the newspaper-wrapped package that Mr. Taguchi had entrusted to him earlier from the luggage rack. I had been making all sorts of guesses about what was inside, so I unconsciously leaned forward. From inside emerged a single papier-mâché tiger. It was quite large. It was shaking its head vigorously. The nearby passengers’ attention instantly gathered on this peculiar piece of luggage. “What’s that you’ve got there?” Mr. Dan also set aside his newspaper and widened his eyes.

“I got tricked by Mr. Taguchi.”

Father answered. "A farewell gift?" "No—if it were a farewell gift, there'd be ways to handle it, but he made this terribly troublesome request to have me carry it around on the journey." "That thing's just going to be a nuisance," "You should've refused it when you had the chance." Mr. Dan was extremely concerned about the luggage.

According to Mr. Dan’s theory, the degree of civilization was determined by the quantity of luggage travelers carried. In Japan too, there had been a time when people carried rice with them. The military was a relic of feudal culture, so even today they carried Dōmyōji rice with them. In uncivilized Africa, there were apparently people who carried even their houses on their backs as they walked. By this standard, I had been appraising the middle-aged couple sitting directly across from us as members of high society from regions like Tibet since earlier. Even the wife alone occupied seating space for about three people with two large cloth bundles and an equally large rattan basket, along with her own body. It was surprising that these two also laughed at Father’s tiger’s size. Leaving their own luggage as it was, they shelved their hypocrisy.

No, regarding that tiger issue—

“I ended up accepting it, so there’s nothing to be done.” “As you know, he’s mad about tigers—step into his studio and it’s practically an exhibition of tiger figurines.” “When I told him about this trip the other day, 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 along.’” “It’s said that tigers can cross a thousand *ri* of thickets, and also that they can charge a thousand *ri* out and return a thousand *ri* back.” “I have quite a few tigers,’ he said, ‘but not a single one has walked a thousand *ri*, so if you’re going to walk all over Japan, please take one along by all means.’” “‘Later,’ he added, ‘I’ll have you inscribe the box, and we’ll pass it down to posterity as a thousand-ri tiger.’” “‘How about it?’ he kept urging.” “‘If it’s heavy, that’ll be a problem,’ I said—since I’ve often been tricked by that man—‘but when he insisted it was light, I ended up accepting it.’” “It really is light, but I never imagined it would be this bulky.” “I was cleverly taken in.”

Father explained. “He said it was actually the lightest kind of thing, so I thought it’d be something small enough to fit in a pocket.” “What an awful fellow!”

“Hmm…” Mr. Miwa also muttered while staring intently at the entrusted item. “No matter what you say, it’s already too late.” “Look here.” “As you see, it keeps shaking its head so nonchalantly.” “Even this rascal seems to be mocking you all.” “You’re conflating weight and volume.” “It’s precisely because you’re the type who thinks a kanme of iron weighs more than a kanme of cotton that we’ve landed in this predicament.”

Mr. Dan, having ceased to engage as a discussion partner, began reading the newspaper again. “Shall we just toss it out?” When Father said, “I suppose so.” With that, Mr. Miwa mumbled a vague reply. “Since we made a promise, there’s no choice but to carry it all over Japan.” “How could we possibly dispose of it without consulting Mr. Taguchi?” “Since I have no knowledge of this matter whatsoever, you two be so kind as to bear the responsibility yourselves.” And Mr. Dan was inwardly amused.

Once the tiger was stowed back on the shelf, I—already familiar with the area up to Tsurumi from previous visits to Kage-tsuen—found little of interest and immersed myself in cross-referencing our travel itinerary with the guidebook. Tatsuko-san was quite the studious type and had been holding something like Tolstoy the entire time. When we arrived at Yokohama, a large number of passengers boarded. Near us, after a Tibetan woman, following the porter’s instructions, had stowed her cloth bundle on the overhead rack, a young mother holding a child took a seat.

Up to this point, it had been like an extension of Tokyo’s outskirts with nothing particularly novel, but from Hodogaya onward, the scenery abruptly took on a rustic character. Thatched houses lined the roadside. They all seemed to have conspired to grow plants atop every single roof, with some even beginning to sprout flowers here and there. “Ken-san, this is the old Tōkaidō.” Mr. Dan informed me. “Indeed, these thatched houses and tree-lined roads are truly typical of a post town.” “It’s the spitting image of a Hiroshige print.”

When Father said, “Is the scenery nice? If you like it, I’ll let you have a look at the tiger for a moment,” Mr. Miwa stood up and took the tiger down from the shelf. Upon hearing “Hiroshige,” he connected it to the scenery and seemed to recall Mr. Taguchi’s request. “This is utterly absurd,” “What a fine embarrassment!”

Father muttered. “Mind if I borrow it for a moment?”

Ms. Tatsuko too reached out her hand, evidently having grown concerned about the tiger as well. The troublesome item came from Mr. Miwa’s possession, passed through Mr. Dan and Father, and arrived in my hands. “There—I’ll show you the Tōkaidō.” I let her peek outside through the window for a moment before handing it to Ms. Tatsuko. “My, it’s huge! It’s shaking its head! Are you going to walk all over Japan too? Really?” Ms. Tatsuko said this with exaggerated expressions that made me laugh. For a brief time, the tiger passed back and forth several times between my hands and Ms. Tatsuko’s. Even such a simple toy served well enough to stave off boredom. Before we knew it, we had arrived at Ōfuna. Yet amidst this scene sat a young boy across from us who had tired of playing but still stared enviously in our direction—

“Hey, Mom!” “Mom, I said come on!” We were rather flustered by his sudden demands. If this were at home, we’d be roundly blamed for showing the child something he’d obviously want and forced to hand it over to His Honor the Magistrate without a second thought. We could offer it up if need be, but given that this very item had become a matter of responsibility among the adults, there was simply nothing to be done. On the other hand, if we were to suddenly put it away, he would undoubtedly burst into tears. Since he was already sniffling, his mother offered a whole basket of tangerines and prayed fervently for peace.

“You—I don’t believe I’ve seen that pin before—is it newly acquired?” Mr. Dan somewhat abruptly brought up the matter of Father’s tie pin.

“What, this pin? “It’s not new. “I’ve no interest in such things—this is the only one I own, so I just use it year-round.”

Father answered. "But it's quite an interesting design," said Mr. Dan. "The craftsmanship is remarkably intricate." "Oh, it's nothing special." "It's a tiger's face," continued Mr. Dan. "The boldness of the open jaw makes it striking." "Exactly the sort of piece you'd expect Mr. Taguchi to favor." "This?" Father exclaimed. "Well I never!"

“What’s wrong?”

When Mr. Dan asked, Father—

“This isn’t mine.” “That’s a strange thing, I tell you.”

he tilted his head, still holding the pin between his fingertips. “That’s precisely why I said you hadn’t seen it before.” “Solid gold with silver eyes and teeth, and the mottling is shakudō?” “You won’t find anything this elaborate ready-made.” “These teeth were each implanted one by one afterward, I tell you.” “Here, let me have a look.” As Mr. Miwa, who had been craning his neck, reached out toward Father, “Oh, Mr. Miwa’s cufflinks are tigers too.”

Mr. Dan grabbed [his] sleeve.

“I see.” “But that’s odd.” “When did I ever have someone buy me something like this?”

Of course, he himself had no recollection of it. “This one’s also a bold design.” “The slight difference between the left and right faces must be meant to distinguish male and female.” “You there—be on your guard.” “There’s a pickpocket about, I tell you!”

“You, be on your guard. There’s a pickpocket around, I tell you!” Father said with a laugh. Mr. Miwa took him seriously and felt around in his pouch pocket.

“It’d be a blessing if they could go on unaware of having their pins and cufflinks swapped.”

Mr. Dan was gleefully acting as though this were someone else’s problem.

Meanwhile, the young boy in front of me finally started crying for real. The mother was bright red as she tried to placate him, but it was no use. Since his assumption had been off the mark, thinking that ordinary methods wouldn’t suffice, “Here you go! Here, take his tiger!” he began to announce clearly, leaving no room for misunderstanding. As someone with younger sisters and brothers, I found such a scene impossible to sit idly by. Almost instinctively, he stood up and offered the item, intending to be of temporary service. Then Father,

“Young master, I’ll give you this tiger.” “It’s yours now, young master.” “Take it and play with it.”

he added. The young master fell silent as soon as he hugged the tiger. He may seem mercenary, but this artless innocence is precisely what’s endearing about him. Because he lacked concern for appearances, unlike adults, he didn’t keep fussing long after the matter was settled.

“I’m terribly obliged.” “Then I shall take the liberty of borrowing it briefly.” The mother said in a deeply apologetic manner.

“No, I’m giving it to the young master.” “Please, do not hesitate.” “No, I cannot possibly accept it.” “Please allow me to borrow it just briefly.” “There’s absolutely no need for you to hold back. To tell you the truth, we had all been at a loss with that item since earlier, so the young master kindly asking for it couldn’t have been more opportune.” “Is that truly the case?” “I can’t help but feel as though I’ve imposed upon you, and I am truly mortified.” “Young man, do say thank you.”

The papier-mâché tiger had now been fully disposed of, but the tiger pin and tiger cufflinks still remained a mystery. “As for the pin, well—that’s one thing—but when you think about it, having both sleeve buttons swapped is something that simply couldn’t happen,” said Mr. Miwa as he compared the buttons on both sleeves. “I think this must have been newly made by my wife for this trip after all.”

Mr. Miwa was comparing the buttons on both sleeves.

“But it’s a tiger, I tell you. Starting with the papier-mâché tiger, there’s no reason we should keep encountering nothing but tigers like this, is there?”

Mr. Dan called attention to an irrefutable fact.

“That’s just a coincidence!” “Coincidences happen all the time!” “In plays, there are even women born in the year, month, day, *and* hour of the Tiger, aren’t there?” “If you go interpreting real-world problems through theater talk, it takes all the fight out of it.” “Mr. Taguchi must have put considerable thought into his scheme, but alas—he seems to have misjudged his audience.” “The scheme has gotten through properly.” “Behold!” “Didn’t we just dispose of the prop?” “The pin is the son’s doing, and the cufflinks are the parents’.” “As for why someone passed something of a nature that couldn’t possibly be lost to Mr. Miwa—though I lack divine insight, ha ha ha!—I know the reason.” “What do you say?” “Enough already—I bid you confess each and every detail!”

Father declared boldly. “Oh dear, has my misdeed been exposed?” “Now, hold on a moment, I beg you.” “Since this train doesn’t have a dining car, we must buy boxed meals here.”

With that, Mr. Dan hurried out as the train had just arrived at Kōzu.

The lady opposite, who was getting off here, thanked them profusely, then picked up the young master—who in turn hugged the tiger—and “Bye-bye!”

She bowed repeatedly. Once they finished eating the boxed meals, the adults started talking again while smoking tobacco. “You pinpointing me so quickly shows unexpectedly keen insight.” Mr. Dan unapologetically admitted his guilt. “At first I thought it might be Mr. Taguchi, but your mannerisms gave you away.” “Exactly when did you swap them?” When Father asked, “While I was saying my reluctant goodbyes to my wife at Tokyo Station.” “If I was going to do it anyway, I figured I’d pick a time when you couldn’t mouth off about it later.”

“There really are some rotten pickpockets around. What about Mr. Miwa’s?” “Because Mr. Miwa’s was in a tricky position, I had a devil of a time with it. After making them change seats repeatedly, I finally carried out Mr. Taguchi’s request.” “No wonder he kept telling us to go over there and come back here—I thought he was being downright unreasonable.” “If you’re going to swap things with that many conditions attached, even I could manage it.” Mr. Miwa retorted. No matter how many conditions there were, that he’d had both cufflinks swapped without noticing—I thought it was truly something.

“In any case, if you get pickpocketed and start boasting about it, that won’t get you anywhere—so you’d best be careful.” “It’s only because it’s me that things turned out all right—if it were anyone else, they’d have taken them for good.” With that, Mr. Dan admonished them about the future and returned the items in the small case to the two of them. Mr. Taguchi’s tiger, remaining as it was, would now tour all of Japan from Father’s necktie and Mr. Miwa’s cuffs.

Amidst all this bustling about, 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.” Miss Tatsuko told me, keeping her handkerchief pressed to her nose.

I had been so preoccupied with the adults that I hadn't written much about Miss Tatsuko, but by this time we'd already grown quite close. "Right? Is it because it's an eight-ri mountain path that there are so many tunnels?" And I had long since discarded formal speech.

“That Hakone refers to Motohakone - the area where Lake Ashi is located. A genuine eight-ri mountain path like that would never allow trains to pass through.” “Have you been there?”

“Yes.” “Last year on my school trip.” “You come quite far, don’t you? Even girls’ schools…” “Even girls’ schools…” “How cruel to say ‘even girls’ schools’!” “But since I don’t know anything beyond Hakone, it makes everything more exciting.” “I do wish we’d reach Numazu soon.” “Truly, I can’t wait any longer.” “Since this’ll be my first time staying at an inn, I’m so excited I can hardly bear it!” They arrived at their eagerly awaited Numazu shortly after Miss Tatsuko had photographed the rugged contours of Mount Fuji through her camera in Gotemba. Father’s friend Mr. Senmu was waiting for us on the platform. After quick introductions, we piled into the prepared automobile and—before we knew it—had raced through the town like a whirlwind, already arriving at Senshōkaku Hotel by the coast for a rest.

“The townscape we just passed through is Menuki no Machisuji, and this here is Senbonhama Park.” “Numazu is more or less this much, I suppose.”

“This here is Senbonhama Park,” said Mr. Senmu. He was a terribly concise guide. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since leaving the station. To think that even this famed village of Numazu along the Tōkaidō Road had already been fully seen here—I felt completely deflated. “If you’re not too fatigued, shall we depart straight for Mishima?”

Mr. Senmu looked ready to spring to his feet at any moment. He was quite impatient. Since he had allowed us to rest, he must have acknowledged our fatigue—so was he actually trying to hurry us along?

“Does it take all that long to get to Mishima?”

When Father asked, “If we hurry, the round trip takes thirty-five minutes.” With that answer, Mr. Senmu seemed intent on dragging us around in his earlier manner once again.

“Well now, since this is a sightseeing trip, why don’t we take it slow?” If Mr. Dan hadn’t said that, we would’ve been dragged off to Mishima right then and there. As the name Senbon suggested, the pine grove along the beach stretched as far as the eye could see. These were no ordinary pines—ones so thick it would take three arm spans to encircle them—and whether from being buffeted by sea winds, they twisted into every imaginable whimsical shape. Mr. Senmu explained that it continued all the way to Tagonoura. Over the tranquil spring sea with its languidly rolling waves, Mount Fuji peered down from above Mount Ashitaka.

“What a splendid view!” As we were gazing in admiration, “This spot here is our pride.”

Mr. Senmu also seemed satisfied. And then he dragged us off to where there was a fountain.

“What’s this! ‘The season is spring— Snoring on a gourd-shaped pillow... Ah.’ Ah, so it’s Takehiyashi!” Mr. Miwa read the large zigzag-shaped haiku monument. “Was Mr. Kadota from here, I wonder?”

When Father raised a question, Mr. Senmu— “Well, anyway, the story is he grew up here and worked as a lawyer here.” “In that case, perhaps we should get going now?”

urged once more. So we once again packed ourselves into the automobile and headed for Mishima. It was still moving at a dizzying speed. “You, is the automobile business profitable?”

Father asked. “We’re in deficit every quarter. “But we do it believing it serves society.”

Mr. Senmu answered. “You sure talk big.” “Are you the president?”

“I’m the Managing Director.” “Right, right.” “So there was a letter saying you took the name Senmu because you’re the Managing Director, huh?” “Still writing haiku?” “Company duties keep me swamped—no way I can manage that.” “If you try to hush up hitting someone with just thirty yen or so, you’ll naturally stay busy, huh?” “Don’t go saying things that make me look bad.” “My company has very few accidents.”

“Drivers must have it easy in the countryside with so few pedestrians, hm? But even so—isn’t this speed over the limit?” Mr. Dan interjected. “It’s fine as long as the police aren’t watching.”

Mr. Senmu was unfazed.

“It’s just unbearably dangerous. If you drive this fast in Tokyo, you’ll get caught right away.”

Mr. Miwa had also been worried for some time now. “This is Sanmaibashi, you know.”

After a short while, Mr. Senmu said. “What’s Sanmaibashi?”

Father requested an explanation.

“The Hondaidō’s a detour—we’ll take Sanmaibashi Beach along my self-taught shortcut…” “Ah, that Sanmaibashi! So the Numazu episode’s actually true then?” “We’d be in trouble if you didn’t treat it as factual here. They’re already clamoring to erect Heisaku’s bronze statue at Senbonhama.” “Fair enough. This is an age where even Momotarō gets statues.” Just then we entered a pine grove flanking a great river to our right. The car jolted to an abrupt halt—I crashed headlong into Tatsuko-san. Mr. Senmu scrambled to disembark when—

“It’s all right. He just tripped and fell,” the driver said. Indeed, an old man who appeared to be from the mountains got up and was dusting himself off. “What’s this? You’re sitting right in the middle of the road with a cigarette butt on your palm, smoking calm as you please. “Watch yourself there—dangerous, ain’t it!”

After delivering his admonishment, the driver took out his notebook and wrote something down. It seemed he was resolved to have them arrested if they obstructed traffic again. Once you cross Hakone, it’s fascinating how much the world changes. That being said, we started moving again.

“The driver was writing something in his notebook just now, wasn’t he?”

Mr. Dan also grew suspicious. "He was just pretending to write it down. If you don’t scare them a bit like that, country folk won’t learn to be careful."

Mr. Senmu was laughing. “Quite the clever trick—letting them take a fall on our side.” “If we keep up this tactic, we might end up charging the injured for their medical fees.”

Father remarked admiringly.

“What just happened may have looked like a simple collision between a car and an old man on the surface, but fundamentally, it was a clash between old and new ideologies!” “The old man’s manner of smoking tobacco perfectly embodied conservatism.” “And this automobile represents a progressive ideology that’s even somewhat radical.” “The contrast becomes especially striking with the Tōkaidō pine grove as our backdrop.” With that, Mr. Miwa beamed with delight.

“Senmu-kun, didn’t an accident just occur right after you said they’re exceedingly rare? It’s dangerous—please slow down a bit more.” “It’s dangerous—please slow down a bit more.” Father requested. Thereupon, Mr. Senmu conveyed the gist to the driver and then, “Actually, since your letter stated this trip was to observe the rustic simplicity and hometown pride of local figures, I’ve been working quite hard to uncover the truth behind that.” “If someone writes bad reviews saying country cars are slow, it immediately hurts our business, you know.”

“You’ve really gone out of your way, haven’t you?” “No wonder I thought you weren’t boasting about your hometown at all.” “But since we’ve come all this way to see the sights, I’m counting on you.” “If you understand how things work, I’ll take you on a leisurely tour.” “Perhaps I’ll try practicing my guiding skills.” “……Young sir, we just crossed a bridge now, didn’t we?” “That is the Kisagawa River, and the place where Yoritomo and Yoshitsune met remains just beyond here.” “And young lady, are you familiar with the play about the Soga brothers?” “The grave of Kamezuru, the beautiful white tempo dancer who appears in that play, is located right where we just passed.” “Shall I teach you the Numazu lullaby?” “‘Little one’s a good boy, hush now.’” “‘This child’s preciousness knows no bounds.’” “‘If you climb to the heavens, stars beyond count.’” “‘At Shichirigahama, sands beyond count.’” “‘In the mountains, trees beyond count, grasses beyond count.’” “‘If you descend to Numazu, there’s Senbonhama, Senbonmatsubara, Komatsubara.’” “‘More precious still than pine needles beyond count’—that’s how it goes.” “What do you think?” “It’s far more poetically crafted than the nursery rhymes today’s poets are putting together, don’t you think?”

Part Four “They call it both Taisha and Myojin-san. “The people around here,” “It’s the foremost shrine in Izu, but really, the only thing notable about it is the size of the carp in that pond—there wasn’t really anything else remarkable about it, was there?” Mr. Senmu said as we passed through the precincts of Mishima Shrine. “What are the divine benefits?”

Mr. Dan asked something uncharacteristic of him. “It’s effective against all ailments, I suppose.” “Shrines and temples are rather like hot springs, I suppose.” “Since this sacred site is where Yoritomo prayed for the revival of the Minamoto clan, it also holds efficacy for social success.” Mr. Senmu responded in an unfoolish manner,

“Now then, let me show you one of this town’s miracles.” “My, what beautiful water!” Just as they reached the riverside, Miss Tatsuko immediately came to a stop atop a stone. “It’s remarkably deep!” “Ah, there are fish!” I too found myself peering into the water’s depths. “This here is that very miracle.” “In Mishima, the only rarity lies in its water.”

Mr. Senmu introduced it as such. "Hah hah, Mr. Senmu, even you seem a bit out of your depth with this automobile company business," said Mr. Dan. "As expected of a literary scholar, your pronouncements are just as grandiose as this crowd's. Undeniably beautiful water, but you can find a river like this in any town." By now, Mr. Dan had grown sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Senmu to voice his thoughts exactly as they came to him. "You have me there," replied Mr. Senmu. "However, a river with this much volume wells up right before your eyes. When I say it has no equal elsewhere, everyone marvels at it."

“Hah hah, I see.” “Mishima doesn’t import rivers like other places do. “When it comes to rivers alone—if I may be so bold—we are self-sufficient. “This land has five or six such homegrown rivers, each crossing through the town. “Because it wells up freshly, in winter mornings it’s warm enough to steam, and in summer it’s cold as ice. “Thanks to this water’s influence, Mishima stays warm in winter and cool in summer. “Since it’s an ideal place for both escaping winter cold and summer heat, visitors from Tokyo come year-round in endless streams, and we’ve just now made prayers at the grand shrine that they all—like you—will alight at Numazu, come here via Asahi Automobile, and return by Asahi Automobile as well.”

“What’s this? I thought this was an explanation about water—is it actually a car advertisement? Still, it’s a beautiful river. You used to sing that song often—‘The white snow of Fuji melts in the morning sun, melts and flows down to Mishima’—but this water couldn’t possibly be that, could it?”

Father interjected. “That’s right. ‘The Makeup Water of Mishima Courtesans,’ you see. It’s a popular belief that Mishima’s water is both abundant and pristine because the white snow that falls on Mount Fuji melts in the morning sun and flows underground through this area.” “That’s quite fascinating, you see. That explanation adds poetic charm—quite nice, you see.”

Mr. Miwa was delighted.

“Depending on the spot, even if you bury a bottomless sake barrel, water comes gushing out.” “It’s a place with such abundant water that even the local legends seem to have some basis in reality.” “What a preposterous legend.” “Just how many ri is it from Mount Fuji to here?”

Mr. Dan was not one to readily accept such commonplace explanations at face value. “Five or six ri, I suppose.” “By the way, this here is the source of the river.” “What do you think?” “Isn’t it miraculous how the water wells up and instantly forms a river here?”

“Indeed, it is welling up, isn’t it? It’s only natural for it to flow once full, but given the sheer volume, it’s quite a spectacle regardless.”

Mr. Dan corrected "miracle" to "spectacle" while adding the caveat of "regardless." He was quite exacting in his calculations.

The spring source of Mishima’s Beauty Makeup Water was a modest pond, so clear that one could even see the eyes of the minnows darting among the waterweeds. The sand at the water’s bottom swelled up here and there, forming shapes like chrysanthemum flowers of varying sizes. It was said that water welled up from there. "In this area, we call such ponds 'spring vents,'" Senmu explained. "There are even larger ones further ahead, but as for the smaller ones, they are beyond counting. The white snow of Mount Fuji, towering high above the clouds…"

Mr. Senmu pointed at Mount Fuji—its two legs now longer than when we had seen it in Numazu—and explained: “...The proof that it passes underground and connects to these spring vents is that Mishima’s water increases most around spring to summer when the snow melts.” “In summer, it wells up twice as much as in winter.” “Quite clever, aren’t you? You must’ve really polished your craft from all that guiding.” Father was impressed. Mr. Dan remained silent, but Mr. Miwa smirked as if he had something to say.

Before long, we boarded the automobile again and began traveling through the town of Mishima.

“It’s a ridiculously stretched-out one-street town.” When Father made a critical remark, Mr. Dan—

“Country towns are mostly lanky like this. Cities are like people—the malnourished ones lack breadth, just like you all. Mr. Senmu, is Mishima still in the ‘Beef Available Today’ category?”

“You’ve judged us quite harshly.” “To be fair, when we were children, on days when beef arrived from Shizuoka, even in Numazu we would put up red flags that said ‘Beef Available Today’ and celebrate. But these days, with the military base established, they say prices here are higher than Tokyo’s.” “What is Mishima’s local specialty?” “It’s the water, you see.” Mr. Senmu kept going on about promoting the water.

“Considering how good the water is, there weren’t many beautiful people to match, were there?”

said Miss Tatsuko.

“Fuji’s white snow can’t be trusted either.”

When Father said this, Mr. Senmu— “Beautiful people are in Numazu. I’ll introduce you soon.” “I’ve drawn this much water from that pond for reference purposes.”

Miss Tatsuko carefully took out a small bottle from her handbag and showed it. “Miss Tatsuko, you’ve been deceived by Mr. Senmu, haven’t you? That isn’t Fuji’s white snow!”

Mr. Miwa laughed. “It is white snow, I tell you. Mishima’s water all comes from Fuji’s…” “No, in fact, my hometown Kumamoto has a water attraction called Suizenji Park with springs just like that pond we saw earlier. It’s warm in winter and cold in summer—even the fish swimming there are exactly the same. And despite having no snow-capped mountains nearby, the water still wells up twice as much in summer compared to winter.” “Well, there’s just no squirming out of this one. This was a colossal blunder.”

And Mr. Senmu scratched his head and burst out laughing,

“However, for appearances’ sake, it’s better to keep attributing it to Fuji’s white snow—it’s more poetic that way.” “If we get too bogged down in logical explanations, these prosperity strategies around here lose their charm.” “If that were to become mere ordinary well water, my business would take an immediate hit, you see.” “Moreover, there’s an ulterior motive behind me promoting Mishima’s water like this.” “I intend to bottle that in the future and release something like ‘Fuji Brand White Snow Cosmetic Water.’” “Why, just add a drop of Risurin and slap on a fancy bluffing label—it’ll sprout wings and fly off the shelves!” “Women are such foolish creatures.” “When it comes to liquids applied to the face, they’ll buy even the most unreasonable things.” “Oh! Miss Tatsuko is here.” “My apologies! My apologies!”

“How outrageous!”

Glaring at him, Miss Tatsuko ended up spilling the sample of *Fuji Brand White Snow Cosmetic Water*.

When we returned to Numazu at dusk, we were led to a restaurant for dinner. We settled into a second-floor room at Fueikōrō—the name kept intact—where during daytime one’s figure would likely reflect from the railings onto the Kano River’s surface. Mr. Senmu had evidently arranged everything beforehand, for meal trays appeared immediately. I realized a single day could feel remarkably long depending on how one spent it. Parting from my family at Tokyo Station this morning already felt like distant history. After traveling thirty ri by train from there, touring Mishima in Izu via Senbonhama, and doubling back—only now were we finally having dinner? Had I been home, it would be around the time they returned from school after playing ball. What was Keiji doing now? Surely not asleep yet. How I wished to glimpse his face. My little sisters must be missing their big brother—I mused as I took up chopsticks beside Miss Tatsuko.

“The young ones must be worn out by now, don’t you think? If you’d like, once we finish eating, shall we have the luggage sent over to Mishima-kan along with everything else?”

Mr. Senmu, who had been urging everyone to drink, said after a short while. If Miss Tatsuko and I were to be discussed alongside the luggage like this, we might perhaps be a nuisance. However, since I had received secret orders from Mother to stick close to Father as if clinging to him, leaving early for the inn would make me an unfilial child—and moreover, it would go against Mrs. Miwa’s repeated requests too. "The adults are quite exhausted as well." And Mr. Miwa, afflicted with neurasthenia, hastened to rest.

“The sun’s only just set.” “Heading to the inn and going to bed now would be such an uninspired move.” “Why don’t we drink at a leisurely pace?”

And Mr. Dan remained composed. “Please take a bath or something and relax at your leisure.” “You must get a taste of Numazu’s atmosphere, or there’ll be nothing to talk about later.” “There’s a slight ulterior motive behind guiding you here.”

And this host Mr. Senmu was truly a man with ulterior motives. “Mr. Senmu, please spare us the musical band.” Father said while indicating Miss Tatsuko and me with a nod of his chin. “You’re unexpectedly uptight, aren’t you?” “All of you.” “No, there are those who aren’t so rigid either...” “Now now! What are you saying?” And Mr. Dan lodged his protest. “If it’s just drink-pouring service, that should be acceptable?” “Truth is, they’ve already arrived.” “This poses a problem.” “No problem at all!”

“It’s actually a problem.” “Is that so?”

As Mr. Senmu said this, a woman peeked out from behind the sliding door. The instant I thought, “What an enormous nose!” she had already vanished. Several more appeared one after another, but each time Mr. Senmu shook his head, so none came in. When someone glanced back at Miss Tatsuko, the ever-composed young lady was putting on an especially formal air for outsiders. So I too shrugged my shoulders and earnestly straightened my posture. “Are those geisha? That lot?”

When Mr. Miwa inquired as if making a grand discovery, Mr. Dan replied, “Yeah, don’t get so carried away,” then addressed Mr. Senmu: “The first one was quite a beauty, wasn’t she? Her face looks familiar—isn’t she from Nagoya?” “No, that one’s from Shizuoka,” said Mr. Senmu. “She goes by Hama Isamu and is the most sought-after geisha in these parts. Did you find her to your liking?” “That was quite a large nose she had.”

Even Mr. Miwa appeared to have noticed that nose. However, the hypocrite Father said nothing. When the meal was finished, Mr. Senmu,

“In that case, let’s prioritize the children and retire to the inn early, shall we?” Having said that, we once again got into the car. Thinking we were passing through what felt like the outskirts of Tokyo, we soon found ourselves in rice fields. “Where are you taking us?”

When Father asked, “Mishimakan, you see. “Dinner was in Numazu, and lodging’s arranged for Ushibuse—that’s the plan. “I’m trying to show you all these different places in such a short time—it’s been quite a struggle, you know.” Mr. Senmu answered. After driving quite a while longer and weaving this way and that between towering pine trees, we finally arrived at our lodging for the night. Miss Tatsuko 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. However, considering that I’m accompanying them not only as geisha repellent but also serving as secretary, I can’t really complain. The adults were already about to bathe and turn in for the night, making them utterly carefree.

“Mr. Togo is decidedly terrible at calligraphy.” “The one who requested such writing is misguided, but the one who wrote it lacks too much artistic conscience.” “Admittedly, it’s precisely because he had this much nerve that he was able to crush the Baltic Fleet.”

Father was criticizing the hanging scroll in the alcove and,

“Country bumpkins thoughtlessly request calligraphy works, you see. My old man sometimes gets asked to write too, so he’s doing this ‘sixty-year-old’s study’ thing,” said Mr. Miwa. Admiral Togo’s calligraphy was highly valued even in Tokyo. Even the Marshal couldn’t endure dealing with such people. “This would get top marks,” said Mr. Dan. “When I was a government official and traveled to the provinces, I used to get asked to do calligraphy, but things never went quite so smoothly. And since they seemed entirely like my own compositions, it worked out splendidly.”

And Mr. Dan used children's neat handwriting as his standard. "Did you write this?"

“Yeah. No need to make such a fuss about it.” “Out in the provinces, we’ve got this charming tradition of official worship and civilian contempt—even a third-class senior official gets pestered to scribble something.” “What did you end up writing?” “What do you mean? I’ve got a quicker system than dealing with those dilettante literati types. No need to rack my brains—simple as pie.” “I jot down the horizontal plaques from whatever inn we stayed at the night before and repurpose those.” “Four-character phrases are standard for horizontal displays—manageable with some creative interpretation.” “Though I do sweat when they ask how to read them—that’s where providence steps in. Some smart aleck in the crowd always pipes up with an answer.”

“What an impressive calligrapher we have here!” “When I was on assignment in China, I wrote out ‘Hissē shukushuku’ in full for them.” “I learned that through sword dancing when I was a student, but who on earth wrote that poem?” “Rai San'yō.” “No wonder the Chinese people were so impressed.” “But in Hankou, I completely lost credibility.” “Since the host kept tilting his head in puzzlement, I asked the interpreter about it, and he said that a Japanese dignitary who’d come through recently had also written that very poem.” “You just can’t get away with anything.” “According to that interpreter, when Japanese are asked to do calligraphy in China, they mostly just dash off ‘Hissē shukushuku,’ so you’ve got to have something else prepared or you’re done for.”

Just then, Mr. Senmu arrived guiding Mr. Seko Rokudayu, the master of this house, and for a short while, a lively discussion about Numazu tales blossomed. Though his name was antiquated—reminiscent of relatives like Kudayu or Sandayu—Mr. Rokudayu was a young, vigorous gentleman of modern civilization with neatly parted hair and rimless glasses, not even a frog's tail's worth of his chonmage topknot remaining. According to his explanation, during the old shogunate era, post towns like Mishima and Numazu always had two establishments called honjin—official lodgings where feudal lords would stay.

“That’s correct. Up until my great-grandfather’s generation, we operated the honjin in Mishima. In any case, during the alternate attendance system, honjin served as crucial institutions for attending to the daimyo’s needs. As such, they were granted the right to bear surnames and swords along with government stipends—meaning they enjoyed special designation and subsidies from the authorities. Thus, they were nothing like the meager operation I run today.”

Rokudayū XI delivered all this in modern Japanese and stepped back, “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. “Let me present the letter of apology first.” Since Mr. Senmu—being related to Mr. Rokudayu—seemed to frequent the place regularly, he pulled out a single tattered mounted scroll from within. And then,

“This is Ōtaka Gengoro’s letter of apology and the treasured heirloom of this household.”

he introduced. A Written Pledge of Apology We hereby report that upon our arrival, due to an inconsiderate matter concerning you—specifically, our failure to load horse-attached luggage—our hasty and thoughtless actions have caused you significant inconvenience. Therefore, through the honjin staff, we present this apology along with sake money. Thus, this matter is hereby settled. Genroku 14 Ninth Month of the Snake Year, Ōtaka Gengoro Lord Kunizō “I see,” said Father. “It seems Mr. Koyō was quite resentful—he wrote his opponent’s name in an extremely low position.” “For a samurai of Ōtaka Gengoro’s stature to have his sake money and written apology taken by a mere commoner horse handler—it must have been mortifying to his very core,” said Mr. Rokudayū. “Yet in kōdan storytelling, Ōtaka becomes Kamizaki Yagorō, Kunizō becomes Ushikui no Ushigorō, and the location shifts to Enshū Hamamatsu.”

As Mr. Rokudayū provided commentary, “This must be Chushingura.” “Why was the letter of apology taken?” It seemed that Mr. Miwa, like me, wasn’t familiar with the details of the story either. “Naturally, this becomes a tale called ‘Kamizaki Yagorō’s Journey East,’ but now that the time was ripe for their vendetta, Ōishi and his band set out for Edo.” “When Yagorō arrived in Hamamatsu four or five days later—a fair-skinned, handsome youth perhaps due to his young age—he was mistaken for a traveling actor. At a roadside teahouse, a horse handler named Ushigorō provoked him into a quarrel.” “Ushigorō was a man of such fierce spirit that even while being bitten by a horse, he tore flesh from its thigh—hence earning him the nickname ‘Horse-Eater.’” “Cutting someone down would have been simple enough, but even a commoner horse handler couldn’t be slain without consequence.” “‘Trivial matters before a great task—if delayed, all efforts would vanish like bubbles. “Endurance anyone can manage isn’t true endurance,” he told himself, hand gripping his sword hilt...’”

“You’re quite the storyteller, Roku-san.” “An amateur with his pants down.” Mr. Senmu interjected with a sarcastic remark. “Don’t you go meddling now. “You’ll break my flow.”

Mr. Rokudayū briefly slipped into Numazu dialect and, “Well, in short, this is how this letter of apology came to be.” “This has been passed down through generations in my family to this day, so it’s a genuine article.” “However, since Kamizaki Yagorō has already become the established name, I see no need to change it back to Ōtaka Gengoro now. I’ll let the kōdanshi keep telling their lies—it’s their duty to embellish such tales, after all.” “This honjin blueprint is really well drawn.” “It says ‘Carpenter Yozaemon’ here—is he indeed related to that Yagorō?”

Mr. Dan asked while crawling across the old, insect-eaten blueprint. “No, Kamizaki Yagorō was a rōnin serving Asano Takuminokami of Ako in Harima Province.” “Hmph—a naniwabushi ballad?”

The architect dismissed [it] with a sniff. Mr. Dan, true to his proclaimed ignorance of literature, scarcely knew even the Ako retainers—let alone *The Pickwick Papers*. When it came to Chushingura, he probably understood it as nothing more than a sturdy storehouse.

When I awoke to the sputtering noise—too frantic for a car—it wasn’t my house but an inn’s guest room. Last night, it seemed I’d fallen asleep while writing a letter to Mother as I listened to everyone’s conversation. Father was still sleeping. The others must have been resting in a different room, as there was no one here. I quietly got up and peeked through the door crack at the bright outside. Right before me was the sea. The sputtering noise came from a fishing boat’s petrol engine.

We were supposed to visit Enoura before departure, but everyone's late-night habits—particularly Mr. Miwa's trouble falling asleep—left us sluggish in rising, so we ended up skipping breakfast and rushing straight to Numazu Station. "If I'd had a little more time, I could've shown you more of Izu," Senmu said, "but since you're charging ahead blindly, there's no helping it. Trying to grasp this area's essence in a day or half-day—that's overreaching by a wide margin."

Mr. Senmu escorted us all the way into the train car and said,

“Not at all—thanks to you, we saw everything most efficiently. I really ought to visit your home as well, but with this large group in tow, please do convey my regards to your wife.”

Father offered polite greetings like anyone else would. “My wife would also like to receive you properly, but she’s rather large, you see.” “How many do you have?” “What in the world?” “This makes six now.” “Hey! You there! The train’s about to leave!” “Nah, we’re still fine.” “It’s leaving, Mr. Senmu! Thank you very much for everything.”

Mr. Miwa, perhaps intending to hurry things along, began flusteredly expressing his gratitude.

“Not at all, it was nothing.” “In truth, finding this all rather anticlimactic, I’ve decided to take advantage of the Sunday and accompany you for the entire day today.” “How very gracious of you.” “No wonder it was so calm, I thought.”

Just as Mr. Dan said this, the train began to move.

“Oh, how beautiful!”

Before long, Miss Tatsuko let out a cry of admiration. Indeed, peach blossoms were blooming. And not just ten or twenty trees either. As far as the eye could see, there were peach orchards. “What a waste! Even in a place like this, we just go chugging right through!” I said. However, the eye-dazzling crimson haze continued to linger against the backdrop of Senbon Matsubara for quite a long time. “Originally, Shizuoka Prefecture has been famous for lacking both human resources and materials—but lately they’ve been rousing themselves to hatch various schemes. These peach orchards are one example of their recent efforts. But when it comes to human talent, there’s simply no helping it. Contentment with minor achievements is our regional trait—even among the wealthy, those worth over a million yen could be counted on one hand. Particularly from Izu onward, this area is renowned as the heartland of weak wills and feeble conduct. To put it plainly—even if they go train in Tokyo, precious few return as accomplished individuals. I myself ultimately failed to graduate—but I suppose this counts as a representative qualification for a Shizuoka native. Might even prove useful when I become a Diet member someday.”

Mr. Senmu expanded his discourse from the peach orchards to the character of Shizuoka Prefecture residents,

“Even in its famous sites, you can clearly see evidence of this shortage of notable figures.” “The Izu region is completely dominated by Yoritomo and Yoshitsune.” “Once we enter Shizuoka proper, if it isn’t Lord Ieyasu, dawn will never come.” “The stage may be ours, but every last actor gets imported from elsewhere.” “Isn’t this a lamentable situation?” “That proposal to erect a Heisaku statue at Senbonhama? It’s really just a desperate cry born from this very shortage of local heroes.” “Having nothing but memorials for first-class privates killed in the Russo-Japanese War makes for poor civic pride, you see.”

he sighed with lament.

After quite some time had passed, when the sea began to come into view, I leaned out from the window and got a coal cinder in my eye. As I was rubbing it, “Ken-san, you mustn’t rub it.” “Just keep your eyes firmly closed for a little while and see.” “The tears will naturally bring it out to the corner of your eye.” Miss Tatsuko instructed. I kept my eyes firmly closed, but tears began streaming down. “Feeling better now?” “Not yet.” “Oh, you mustn’t rub it!”

"But the tears keep coming out and it's troublesome." "Try wiping them with this cotton." "It seems to feel slightly better now." "Oh! Warships, warships!" "Where? Ah, warships!"

“Feeling better now?” “Still a bit…” “Oh, a submarine!” “Where? Where is it? You’re lying again!” “Feeling better now?” “Yes, finally.” I found myself being deftly maneuvered by Miss Tatsuko. I’d fallen for this same ploy yesterday too. When dust gets in your eye, they say rubbing it intently only worsens things—you must entrust it to the eye’s natural structure and wait patiently like this. Still, things frequently found their way into my eyes. Was it because I kept leaning recklessly out the window, or did coal cinders harbor some peculiar fondness for children’s eyes?

“Ken-san, the statue is coming into view. Marquis Inoue!” This time Miss Tatsuko told the genuine truth. Blown by the sea breeze, its color had turned a pallid blue. “This one’s an imported figure too.” Mr. Senmu was still making an issue of notable figures.

When they got off at Ejiri and passed through Shimizu Port by rickshaw, Mr. Senmu remarked, “Here lived a homegrown chivalrous commoner named Jirōchō.” “And whenever some remarkable figure does appear around here, they inevitably turn out to be gambling bosses.” Mr. Senmu remained fixated on the topic of notable figures. Before long, we saw the wooden statue of this Mr. Jirōchō at Tetsujū Temple. He looked such a kindly old man that you’d never imagine him being a chivalrous commoner whose trade involved cutting people down and brawling.

“Fair weather or foul—Fuji’s form remains unchanged.” “Tesshū?”

As Mr. Dan read the poem carved on a stone in the temple grounds,

“It says something like... you know.” “If even I can understand it, it can’t be anything special.” “For one thing, if it’s cloudy, you shouldn’t be able to see its figure at all.”

At the neighboring Ryugeji Temple, we were astonished by the enormous sago palms. The rickshaw driver insisted that from a single plant grew about fifty-some stalks. "Here too lies the grave of an imported figure." With that, Mr. Senmu guided us up the garden hill and introduced an impressive Western-style tomb. “We must transcend modernity…?” “Looks just like a Jintan ad.” “Chogyu was precisely skilled at self-promotion, so he had it placed in a spot with a fine view.” “It looks rather covetous and hasn’t transcended anything in the slightest.”

And Father seemed dissatisfied. “I see. Now the rickshaw driver was also proudly saying, ‘There’s Dr. Takayama’s tomb.’ For a mere doctor to have his stone monument become a notable landmark—this man must be about the only one. He’s certainly achieved his purpose well.” Mr. Miwa also agreed.

“Humanities, huh? This guy. Engineering’s a losing game.” Even Mr. Dan voiced his complaints. “Anyway, isn’t this a splendid view? Days this clear with not a single cloud on Mount Fuji are exceedingly rare. That part jutting out into the sea is Miho Pine Grove. Hey, rickshaw driver, why don’t you lend a hand instead of staying quiet?”

After descending into the garden, Mr. Senmu prompted. Then my rickshaw driver extinguished the flame from his baton, tucked it behind his ear, and stepped forward a few paces, "That cape there is called Miho because, as you see, it splits into three spits." "It forms a single village renowned for sending the most laborers to America—top in the prefecture." "The pine tree from the Noh play 'Hagoromo' stands at the offshore cape. The view of Mount Fuji here ranks first nationwide, with His Excellency Marshal Tōgō's personally inscribed monument marking it as one of Japan's New Three Views." "The castle-like structure on the central cape is Saisōkaku—a Nichiren sect school where Mr. Tanaka Chigaku delivers hygiene lectures every summer..."

In this manner, he launched into an exhaustive explanation.

Before long, we set our sights on Kunozan. 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 ships are deep-sea fishing boats. “Since all the fishing boats from Enshū to Izu dock here, the gathering of fish at Shimizu Port isn’t some piddling frog’s trickle—it’s downright astonishing!” “Then the fish must be cheap, eh?”

Mr. Dan responded while still facing that direction.

“But those fish are eye-poppingly expensive!” “Why?” “They’ve all been shipped off to Tokyo. “Last winter, they caught thirty thousand buri.” “Sir, thirty thousand!” “That’s quite a haul they managed.” “With such a bountiful catch, I naturally thought some would end up on our plates here, but as it turned out, they were just used a tiny bit in restaurants before being shipped off elsewhere.” “It’s a pitiful situation when fish caught here don’t even end up in the mouths of the people who live here.”

It seemed the rickshaw driver had quite a craving for buri. After a short while, again, “Sir, do you see those red things on this mountain’s stone walls?” “Ah, strawberries, huh? “They’re early, huh?” And Mr. Dan looked up at the mountainside.

“Far from being early, this is actually a late variety.” “Early varieties start appearing from New Year’s.” “Even in the cold, since the sun hits those stone walls as you can see, the strawberries mistake the warmth from the stones for summer and ripen at an extraordinary time.” “So the strawberries they serve at winter restaurants are these, huh?”

“That’s correct. Referred to as stone wall strawberries, all of them are shipped out to Tokyo and Yokohama. There are so many households making two or three thousand yen every year by fooling plants that can’t even speak up for themselves.” “Still expensive, huh?”

“The first harvest goes for five to seven or eight sen per berry, so unless we’re given some, they’ll never reach our mouths.” “It’s like we’re just looking after goods from other places here in this town.”

And the rickshaw driver still held lingering feelings for the strawberries. And then,

“They force-grow cucumbers and snap peas to bring them to market in mid-winter.” “These things are money-makers too…” “Still don’t end up in the locals’ mouths either, eh?”

This time, it was Mr. Dan who took the initiative.

Part Five

Having learned our lesson from staying up late two nights prior, yesterday we cut our visit short at Kunozan and immediately secured lodgings upon arriving in Shizuoka by train from Shimizu. Even so, after dinner we saw Mr. Senmu off as he returned to Numazu, wrote letters home, and went to bed a little past eight. “Will everyone be dining together in the Master’s room?” Shortly after we awoke in the morning, a maid appeared and inquired.

“That’s fine—same as last night.” Father replied. I waited briefly for everyone to come, but when there was no sign of them at all, I peeked into Mr. Miwa’s adjacent room. Contrary to his reputation as a late riser, he was already neatly dressed and reading a newspaper—seemingly waiting for us instead. In the next room over, Mr. Dan’s room, Miss Tatsuko sat with an expectant look. Moreover, five meal trays were lined up with two serving maids standing by. So I urged Mr. Miwa and Father and entered Mr. Dan’s room.

“I’m surprised. So this is what they meant by ‘the Master’s room’?” As soon as Father sat down on the zabuton cushion, he said. “I was waiting all this time thinking it was my own room.” Mr. Miwa too looked genuinely taken aback. “Do I really look like the master? Terrifying, isn’t it? Can’t very well back out now. These ladies have professional eyes, after all.”

And Mr. Dan played the part of Master just as he was. “Even if you were to write a farce, it wouldn’t work.” “Isn’t this young master here referring to this gentleman as ‘Master’ over and over?”

And one of the maids assumed an unyielding attitude. "Ah, so Mr. Dan was acknowledged as Master, then?"

And Father realized.

“No, if it’s torn, then torn it is—that’s perfectly fine.” “By the way, Miwa—you did send that telegram last night, right?” And Mr. Dan, getting carried away, increasingly put on airs of being the master. “I never sent any telegram!”

But even Mr. Miwa's denial proved futile. The maids had firmly convinced themselves that Mr. Dan—the portly, well-built eldest of the group—was the master, while the lean Mr. Miwa and Father were merely shop clerks in his entourage. As proof of this, without the slightest hesitation, they began serving Mr. Dan first. "Kunozan yesterday really did me in. After all, with over a thousand and fifty stone steps, they really take a toll on those of us carrying extra padding. I won't agree to any mountain climbing today!" Mr. Dan said a great many things that weren't exactly jokes.

“By the way, Miss—is this Daitokan an honjin?”

And Mr. Miwa applied the term "honjin" that he had learned the night before last.

“That is correct. “In the past, it was located in the town center and was called ‘Daiman.’ “This area around the station was developed after the train came through, so I hear it was all rice paddies before.” the maid replied. “You managed to get us lodged at an honjin.” “Indeed, this is a daimyō trip.” “Since this place is a cut above the Mishima-kan, I suppose there’s a letter of apology from Ōishi Kuranosuke here, right?”

Father asked. However, the maids paid little attention to the entourage and focused solely on responding to the Master’s questions, “That is correct.” “Suruga hanshi paper is also a local specialty here.” “In this area, we call Suruga hanshi simply ‘hanshi,’ while elsewhere they refer to regular hanshi as ‘kura hanshi.’” “I see. The rickshaw driver yesterday also kept referring to Mount Fuji as ‘the mountain.’” “When you come to Suruga Province, if they say ‘the mountain,’ they mean Mount Fuji; if they say ‘hanshi,’ they mean Suruga hanshi?” “Then if you go to Mino, they’d call Mino paper simply ‘paper,’ right?” “I’m thoroughly impressed.” And the Master was expressing admiration for such trivialities.

And the Master was expressing admiration for such trivialities.

After we finished our meal, we soon went out sightseeing. Mr. Dan, revered as the Master to the very end, rode in the foremost rickshaw. Miss Tatsuko, being the Master’s daughter, was second. I was recognized as the attendant’s attendant and naturally took the rear position.

“This is the outer moat of the former castle.”

The guidance from Mr. Dan’s rickshaw driver could faintly be heard. I felt terribly forlorn. We passed by military barracks and the prefectural office, but I still couldn’t make out the explanations. When we dashed through the castle grounds, the rickshaw drivers all stopped in their tracks at once, and Mr. Dan’s driver— “Since this outer moat is fed by natural springs, you can see how beautifully clear the water remains here.” “They tried growing wasabi in this spot, but the crabs ate them, so they never thrived.” —he explained.

“Can wasabi even grow in a place like this?” When Mr. Dan said this, “It grows in mountain streams with clean water. Shizuoka is an exceptionally good place for water—even Daitokan’s water comes from a borehole. With no water shortages, though it’s a major city of seventy thousand—the largest in the prefecture—there’s no need for waterworks.” “So it truly comes from Fuji’s white snow after all?” “That is indeed the case. You’re very well-informed, aren’t you?”

This rickshaw driver somehow seemed to be a former soldier. And then,

“The area we’re about to pass through, Nishikusa Fukamachi Town, is an officials’ district where Shizuoka’s high-ranking dignitaries reside.” With that, he lifted the rickshaw shafts.

Leaving Asama Shrine for later, we went to Rinzai Temple at the large rock on the outskirts of town. Any shrine or temple with historical origins invariably displays numerous old implements labeled as treasures. Whether these implements became treasures because many people came to see them, or whether people came because they were already considered treasures - that distinction proved somewhat difficult to determine. You could say the chicken came first, yet it wasn't impossible to argue for the egg's precedence. In any case, we viewed more treasures that day. The temple's connection to Imagawa Yoshimoto's mortuary site - where Ieyasu had been held hostage in his youth - meant there was an extraordinary variety of artifacts on display. Among them hung a scroll purportedly painted and inscribed by Lord Yoshimoto himself. It depicted Semimaru in priestly robes, with the verse "This is where those who come and go must part ways..." inscribed above.

“Mr. Dan, even Imagawa Yoshimoto made do with others’ belongings like you do. It seems ‘the hush of whips’ has been fashionable since ancient times.” Father teased.

“Experts—not just architects—are too busy for literary pursuits,” Mr. Dan retorted, coming to Lord Imagawa’s defense. After viewing the antique artifacts, we visited Lord Yoshimoto’s grave. Compared to yesterday’s grand Kunozan shrine dedicated to Lord Ieyasu, this was hardly worth mentioning—just a ramshackle structure resembling a wayside shrine, with no stone pagoda in sight. “Driver,” Mr. Miwa inquired, “this military commander was from Suruga Province originally, yes?” “Indeed,” answered the ex-soldier rickshaw puller. “Lord Imagawa Yoshimoto hailed from Shizuoka Prefecture.”

The aforementioned ex-soldier replied. "No wonder he didn't succeed." "Mr. Senmu's theory cuts right to the truth of things." "The Imagawayaki aside, I must say I've taken quite a liking to this temple's architecture. "The way they've maximized use of this narrow plot offers some valuable lessons. "The foundation seems to be mostly bedrock. "That must be why they call it Ōiwa [Great Rock]. "The stone steps in the garden are carved straight into the living rock. "Now look at these steps here. "They're ancient, yet not a millimeter out of place. "Even you lot with your selective blindness should appreciate that much."

Mr. Dan said something harsh.

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 experience at Kunozan, “Is there still more? “I’ll wait around here.”

With that, he was about to give in to utter laziness halfway up the path, but the sign proclaiming “The Finest View of Mount Fuji in All Japan Awaits Above” spurred him to muster his courage once more. “For someone of your physique, the mountain path would be quite arduous. In the military, we refer to that condition as excess fat and find it most undesirable. Excess fat inevitably leads to flat feet, you see.” said the rickshaw driver. “Because I’m heavy, rickshaw pullers never take kindly to me wherever I go. But what exactly do you mean by ‘flat feet’?” “It means feet without arches. Since your feet are completely flat, long journeys become impossible.”

“This just keeps getting worse for my reputation, doesn’t it?” “Shall I give you a push from behind?” “That won’t be necessary. Still, this really is the countryside, huh. Calling this a park is being too generous.” In desperation, Mr. Dan made a spiteful remark. Shizuoka was quite the urban center. When we had looked out from Shizuhata-yama, we thought it had considerable width, but even when passing through by rickshaw, there was still quite a distance remaining to the Abe River at the town’s edge. “I’ve been to Tokyo myself, but seeing Shizuoka, I wasn’t the least bit intimidated, I tell ya.”

And Father’s rickshaw puller began to boast.

“It’s quite bustling, isn’t it?”

Father nodded in agreement. “It’s bustling, isn’t it?” “If you ask me，Ginza and Nihonbashi are just this Kofukumachi district widened and its houses enlarged.” “It’s bustling because there’s heavy foot traffic，isn’t it?” “Ain’t nothin’ to be surprised about at all!”

This rickshaw driver possessed an exceptionally strong sense of hometown pride. By this logic, there truly would be nothing in all the world to fear. “Is this the Abe River?”

When Father asked, “That it is. This here’s Warashina Bridge, it is.”

omitting the endings of his sentences, “Nozaki, Ozaki, and Miyazaki are counted among the wealthiest in this city, it is. "They say the predecessor of that current Mr. Miyazaki built his entire fortune right here at the edge of this bridge selling Abe River Mochi, it is." “A human’s lot is like pulling a rickshaw up a slope.” “Enduring what can be endured is something everyone does, but enduring what cannot be endured is Suruga’s endurance, as they say. Perseverance is what matters, I tell ya.” and turned into something resembling a moral lecture. Being in Fuchu, even the rickshaw drivers speak as if they were Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Mr. Miwa's rickshaw driver was likewise putting his all into extolling his hometown's virtues. Everything seemed to revolve around moxibustion - he declared that Tego cured all maladies, while Sakuraido stood unrivaled for treating abscesses and boils. "Facial abscesses wait for no man, I tell you. Rather than dawdling until it's too late at some Tokyo hospital, you ought to come racing straight here," he proclaimed. "Why, merely crossing that threshold alone would do the trick! We'll fix you up proper without fail." He kept making these reckless assurances about diseases they hadn't even caught yet, as casually as if discussing his morning routine.

Before long, we approached a pine grove that looked exactly like those along the Tokaido Road, passed through Maruko Post Town, and arrived at Togetsuho. When I first saw this destination on our itinerary, I thought the name Togetsuho sounded familiar from somewhere. However hard I tried to recall, only the branding mark on tobacco pipe ash containers came to mind, so I had concluded it must be a mountain after all. Yet upon arriving now and looking, it turned out to be a monk's hermitage called Togetsuho Shibayaji Temple. Discovering there was actually a connection to tobacco trays gave me a feeling that was both surprising yet somehow inevitable. The monk was crafting ash containers for tobacco trays as his side work. We immediately viewed the garden—no larger than a cat's forehead—and inspected the antique tools.

“Togetsuho are being made in great quantity here, aren’t they? Are you supplying Togetsuho to all of Japan from here?” Mr. Dan asked.

“No, since this is just my hobby work alone, I can’t produce much at all.” “At this temple, since the time of our founding abbot Shucho, we’ve made tobacco pipes as a side business and sold them.” “Moreover, since we branded and released them as Togetsuho, today the name Togetsuho has become more widely known in society as tobacco pipes than as this temple’s name.” “I think I’ll take one authentic Togetsuho 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 ridiculously thick,” said Mr. Miwa. “But it’s labeled as Togetsuho.” “Everything made here gets branded as Togetsuho, you know,” replied Muraoka. “But those who don’t know any better will think it’s a giant tobacco pipe and spit in disgust, I tell you.”

Mr. Dan now brandished his expertise on Togetsuho.

When they turned back and approached Shizuoka, “Darn it all! I ended up not having Maruko’s torojiru!”

Father expressed his regret. “You made all sorts of promises to treat us to various things, but you haven’t fulfilled a single one since we departed.”

Mr. Miwa said, turning around. “In such dirty houses, they’d never suit the palates of Tokyo gentlemen like yourselves.” “You must bring bowls and chopsticks from the inn.” The rickshaw driver consoled Mr. Miwa. “It would’ve been nice to at least see the house.” Father had quite an attachment to local specialties. And then, “Isn’t there anything else to see?” “Well, I suppose it’d be something like Lord Yui Shosetsu’s grave.”

Father’s rickshaw driver answered. “I really must see that. Hey there, Mr. Miwa! Since we paid our respects at a great success’s shrine yesterday, how about we mourn at a great failure’s grave today?” “Was Yui Shosetsu from Suruga?” Mr. Miwa seemed to think that whenever one spoke of failures, they must invariably be people from this land. “Lord Shosetsu is a man of this prefecture.”

Mr. Dan’s rickshaw driver answered. And then, “As soon as Lord Marubashi realized his failure in Tokyo, he committed suicide here in Umeyacho.” “By the time the police officer arrived, it was said he had already cleanly severed his trachea.” “Ever since then, Lord Yui’s ghost appears in this town every year.” “Hmm, so ghosts appear here?” Mr. Dan said. “That is so. “Every year when April and May come, a tremendous number of mayflies emerge.” “They emerge indeed in such numbers that even the eaves and pillars of Asama Shrine become obscured by their dense swarms.” “And it was said that these mayflies are completely unparalleled elsewhere.”

“What’s a mayfly?”

Mr. Miwa voiced his puzzlement. "You lot are such scrawny specimens." Mr. Dan looked like yesterday's Kunozan expedition was still weighing heavily on him.

After crossing the Oi River, we soon got off at Kanaya. It was just over an hour from Shizuoka, yet we were already in Enshū. And the language was quite different. “The road to Maruishi’s a harsh mountain path—a rickshaw ain’t suitable for someone like you, sir.”

said the rickshaw driver at the station.

They seemed intimidated by Mr. Dan's physique. "How about adding a pusher to the two-puller rickshaw?" When faced with mountain paths, the faint-hearted Mr. Dan pinned his sole hopes on the rickshaw. "Hmm, I wonder... What if we try getting to Maruishi with a two-puller and a pusher?" The rickshaw driver consulted his colleagues. However, the descendants of Kawagoe remained sitting in their gathering place that resembled a beggar's hut, "We're all out here like this, ain't we? No matter what you say, he's got a fine build."

they did nothing but praise Mr. Dan’s physique. In reality, there were only three rickshaws. Though even if all were gathered, it wasn’t a town where you’d find ten of them. “Is the path really that bad? If so, we’ll walk. Could someone guide us to the Night-Weeping Stone?”

Father said. Before long, we followed behind the rickshaw driver and came upon the mountain path. Miss Tatsuko and I, finding this sort of genuine mountain climbing quite novel, didn't find it the least bit troublesome, but the adults were quick to voice their complaints.

“This is an awful place. I see—with this, a rickshaw really can’t get through.”

Mr. Miwa gasped. “Nah, the rickshaw path’s over yonder, but this here’s the shortcut.”

“Since it’s called Sayo no Nakayama, that area over there must also be a mountain without doubt,” said Mr. Dan, wiping his sweat. “When I make the next itinerary, I’ll exclude every single place with ‘mountain’ in its name. If we keep doing this daily, my life won’t last.”

Mr. Dan was wiping his sweat.

“What kind of mountain is this?” “And this?”

When Father asked this, we emerged onto the flat main road at the summit. “It’s called Shiroyama. This is where Lord Bamba Minobu’s castle stood, and these are the remains of the stone walls. When this castle fell during the war, they say many palace maids threw themselves into the moat and died – that’s why snakes around here have red lips.”

“Why is that?” asked Muraoka. “Because when those palace maids turned into snakes, they kept wearing their lipstick,” explained the rickshaw driver. “This path isn’t bad,” said Mr. Dan, his vigor returning. “With this footing, it’s smooth going.” After glimpsing what locals called Kikugawa Village in the valley below, we soon reached the teahouse housing the Night-Weeping Stone once the path began sloping downward. The stone stood perfectly round, its bulk resembling the midsection of an enormous snowman. To our astonishment, even in these desolate mountains, we found visitors—two refined ladies attentively listening to the teahouse proprietor’s rehearsed spiel.

“...Todoroki Gouemon struck down Princess Koishi with a single sword stroke.” “When his blade hit this very stone during that strike, its edge chipped slightly.” “Princess Koishi had been in her final month of pregnancy at that time. From her body—which vanished like autumn night dew—emerged a healthy baby boy.” “The head priest of Kannon Temple happened upon this scene as he passed by. He lifted the wailing infant, gave him his first bath in the mountaintop pond’s waters, and brought him back to the temple.” “With no mother’s milk available, they nourished and raised him by daily obtaining sweets from a confectioner at the temple gate—this being how Sayo no Nakayama’s renowned Night-Crying Candy sold at my humble establishment came into existence.”

And the old man launched into his well-rehearsed explanation without missing a beat. “Did this stone cry when the Princess was killed?”

“Did this stone cry when the Princess was killed?” “No, it is said that ever since Princess Koishi was killed, this stone has wept every night.” “It was due to the Princess’s lingering grudge having enveloped the stone.” “When the Great Master Kōbō Daishi passed through this land, he declared, ‘This is a pitiful matter,’ and inscribed upon this stone, as you can see, the four characters ‘Namu Amida’.” “With this, it seems the Princess’s spirit was finally laid to rest, and it no longer weeps.” “Given this backstory, everyone takes home sand from beneath this stone.” “If you place this beneath the pillow of a child who cries at night, the crying will cease instantly—truly a marvel.”

“Then wouldn’t that make it the Night-Not-Crying Stone instead?”

Mr. Dan interjected. “By not crying, this stone has been a great failure.” “Around the tenth year of Meiji, the local people held discussions with the firm intention of making a profit by exhibiting this stone as a sideshow in Asakusa, Tokyo.” “However, a sharp-witted Tokyo showman caught wind of this reputation and created a papier-mâché stone that could have someone inside make it cry.” “Back when there were no trains, while we were crossing Hakone to reach Tokyo, the fake one had already made an astonishingly large profit.” “Having been beaten to the punch and with it not crying at all, they ended up crawling back in defeat without any customers, dumped the stone here, and went into hiding.” “It used to be up on this mountain, but hauling it back up there would cost money, so as you can see, nobody’s touched it since.”

“That was a huge blunder, huh? Now that’s what you call not disgracing the name of Shizuoka Prefecture people. However, considering they transported such a large thing all the way to Tokyo in an age of poor transportation, their resolve was truly impressive.” Mr. Miwa was impressed.

“Now then, the boy who had been raised by the head priest of Kannon Temple resolved at the age of 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 polisher and bide your time.’” “Thereupon, Otohachi journeyed to Yamato and took up residence at a sword-polishing shop.” “Time flew like an arrow, and ten years passed.” “One day, a samurai of about sixty years came to request maintenance for his sword. When Otohachi drew the blade from its scabbard, he found a slight chip near the tip.” “‘This is a fine blade, you see, but there’s an unfortunate chip here,’ he said. The samurai replied, ‘Counting on one’s fingers, it’s already twenty-five years past—I once cut down a woman at Sayo no Nakayama Pass. This chip came from when the blade struck a stone that time.’” “The rest is now trivial.” “Otohachi accepted the sword maintenance with an innocent look.” “And when the samurai came on the appointed day for the polishing, he seized him and accomplished his revenge with that sword.” “This sword is still displayed at Kannon Temple up here.”

And with that, the old man concluded his tale. We rested at the teahouse and ate Night-Crying Candy. The ladies had somehow started talking to Miss Tatsuko, "Oh, are you from Hongō? We are from Ikenohata." As one of them expressed delight, the other— "What part of Hongō might that be?" "I reside in Yayoi-chō." "That’s quite close by."

And Miss Tatsuko was dealing with the two of them.

“Oh my, Yayoi-chō? That’s truly close by. In that case, we must have met you in Tokyo before. I did think you looked familiar.” “The world is rather small, isn’t it? To think one would meet someone from right next door even in such remote mountains.” “That’s precisely why one mustn’t misbehave. Are you already turning back from here, Miss?”

“Well, I suppose that must be the case.” “How silly—I’m quite the fool myself.” “I don’t even understand myself, you see.”

Miss Tatsuko laughed with animated expression. “What a pity—just when we thought we’d found such splendid company.” “We’re visiting this Kannon Temple with the Night-Weeping Stone as an added attraction—won’t you join us while you’re here?” “Since this isn’t somewhere you’ll likely visit again, you really ought to ask your father about it.”

And the ladies endeavored to persuade her.

Women’s conversations were much like this Night-Weeping Stone—less something to listen to than something to behold. They accompanied each and every word with precise expressions. When they said things like “Oh my” or “Goodness,” they seemed to have an agreement to raise their eyebrows and widen their eyes as much as possible. Moreover, they responded with matching facial expressions for every word they heard, so it was said that even a deaf person watching could follow the gist of women’s conversations. However, as long as they were not angry, men could say all manner of things without moving a single facial muscle. When I whistled, Father would scold me in a monotone without taking his eyes off his book: “Hey, hey, Ken’ichi, you’re being noisy!”

“Old man, what sort of divine benefits does this Kannon grant?” Father asked while jotting notes in his notebook. “Those without children who worship here receive miraculously swift results—that’s why they come all the way from Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka.”

And the old man answered. “Is it quite far from here?” Mr. Miwa asked, his cheeks still stuffed with water candy as he looked outside. “It’s right on this mountain above. When you return via the old road, it will be on your way, so please pay a visit.” “In that case, since it’s on the way, why don’t we stop by? Hey, Muraoka.” “Hey, Mr. Muraoka.” “Well, what do you think, Mr. Dan? Since the driver’s been badly frightened, he might insist on turning back via the new road after all. Mr. Dan, don’t you have the courage to take the old road over Inaka Hakone?”

When Father proposed the idea,

“I wouldn’t refuse Inaka Hakone—it’s all for making Mr. Miwa visit the child-granting Kannon, you see.” Mr. Dan surprisingly agreed quite readily. “He only agreed so quickly because he thought there’d be a beautiful travel companion joining us,” Father whispered to Mr. Miwa. “What a calculating man.” Then to the driver: “In that case, driver—since we’ve come this far—we’ll pay our respects at Kannon Temple and return via the old road.”

“That’s true. Even if the road is bad, since we’ve come this far, it simply wouldn’t do to skip passing through Kikugawa.”

the driver answered. After resting a little while longer, the ladies began preparing to go out, and the driver started on ours—

“Let’s get going!” the driver urged. We couldn’t keep dawdling forever either, so we took that opportunity to get moving. "You’ve gone and bought a bunch of useless stuff! Yesterday it was all those ash trays, and now this compulsion of yours to buy everything you lay eyes on—there’s just no helping it.” And Mr. Dan scolded Mr. Miwa and Father, who were carrying heaps of candy souvenirs.

The ladies offered prayers at the Kannon Hall. Because Miss Tatsuko had demonstrated her sociability and settled down with them, we had no choice but to wait. In the meantime, we viewed the treasures as usual, but those here—snake-bodied bird fangs, fragments of stones and bells—didn’t even count as proper antiques. Precisely because the items were crude, they were laid out on straw mats at the edge of the veranda. “When it comes to superstitions, the harmful ones should at least be suppressed by the authorities,” said Mr. Dan. “Those women are mistaking the Kannon Hall for a gynecology hospital. If they just want a child, that’s still tolerable, but if it’s an active problem like trying to cure an illness, they’ll be too late.”

And because it was taking too much time, Mr. Dan began voicing his complaints.

“If you can’t conceive, going to a gynecologist won’t make it happen.” “Do they think sutras can perform uterine retroversion corrections or curettage? As if!” “Since they brazenly offer prayers that clearly have no efficacy, those monks are beyond saving.” Even Mr. Miwa, who through experience held particular sympathy for those without children, became indignant. “They seem like proper housewives, but how shallow they are.” “This is exactly why the third page of the newspaper is never without women’s issues.” “I can’t fathom the mentality of those bastard husbands who send their wives on pilgrimages all the way out here.” “They’re probably businessmen or something.”

Father also spoke ill of them. These three had not come to worship Kannon—it seemed they had come to voice complaints.

The head priest, unaware of his poor reputation, prolonged the already lengthy prayer even further,

“Gentlemen, I must apologize for keeping you waiting,” he bowed respectfully. “Long ago, a monster called the Serpent-Bodied Pheasant with Bladed Feathers haunted these parts. You see—it was a monstrous bird with a serpentine body and razor-edged plumage...” He launched into a tale that sounded like a recycled version of Yorimasa’s Nue extermination legend, meandering from the Bell of Perpetuity to the Night-Weeping Stone. “That monk is utterly ignorant,” Father muttered as we left the temple and followed the old road.

“Uneducated? Well, he’s a monk after all.”

Because it was a downhill slope, Mr. Dan was in high spirits. "How could bandits' or hunters' daughters have names like Tsukikoyou or Koishihime? That's preposterous," he said. "Tsukikoyou-hime was actually the daughter of Toshimoto Ason, who was slain at Kikugawa. That monk's 'Serpent-Bodied Bird' is wrong too—it wasn't some hunter's wife, but Toshimoto Ason's vengeful spirit." "You certainly know such trivial details," remarked one of the ladies. "That monk did say Princess Tsukikoyou was a modest beauty, didn't he? I suppose this Sayo no Nakayama place got its name from her?"

As one of the wives ventured, “That must be so.” “It’s a much better name than things like Cut-through Pass or Broad Street, don’t you think?” “It has taste.” Another one chimed in, and Miss Tatsuko— “Names taken from stories inevitably carry a romantic resonance.” “Especially when you mention Tsukikoyou-hime, even the most insensitive person would conjure an image of someone beautifully ethereal.” “That ‘Sayo’ in Sayoko-san’s name is poetic, you see.”

she concluded in a very scholarly manner.

When we had descended the slope completely, it was Kikugawa Village.

It was said that due to the opening of railways, towns along the Tokaido Road had instead become desolate in this manner and could no longer maintain their former prestige. In the valley of Yamamata-yama, because it was too excellent as a stronghold, civilized transportation systems seemed to be entirely avoiding them. We saw this village's famous site—the grave of Lord Muneyuki, the Middle Counselor. "This is also the grave of a noble lord who was killed here long ago. Since this person’s ghost incited Toshimoto Ason’s ghost to transform into a serpent-bodied pheasant with bladed feathers, this tomb—resembling a pile of rocks—is, so to speak, the foundational origin of all the famous historic sites in this area."

Father explained to the ladies with a serious expression. Inaka Hakone was a steep slope, just as the rickshaw driver had exaggerated. However, Mr. Dan endured without saying a word. Or perhaps he had not had the leisure to speak. “The surest way to get Mr. Dan up a mountain is to bring along a beauty.”

Father was whispering close to Mr. Miwa’s ear.

When we returned to Kanaya, we found an impressively grand bronze statue near the station, unusually so for this mountain village. “Whose statue is this?” When Father asked, the rickshaw driver said,

“This is Mr. Sakujū, a wealthy man of this land.”

“It’s strangely facing sideways and looking dejected, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” “It used to face the station, but due to an official directive from the prefectural office stating he’d just amassed wealth, they made it face sideways like this.” “If they’ve saved up money, can’t they make it face the station?”

“Well, they said it would be troublesome to answer if esteemed personages on the train were to ask who that is from inside.” “I see. Because he’s a Shizuoka Prefecture man.”

Mr. Miwa interjected from the side.

Part Six

Dawn broke at Hananoya Main Store in Hamamatsu. The sound of raindrops reached my ears. Remembering how clear it had been last night, I strained to listen, but there was no mistaking it—it was raining. I was disheartened.

And then, “Father, it’s raining,” I said, lifting my head from the pillow.

he said, lifting his head from the pillow.

“Hmm, it’s coming down quite hard.”

Father had already composed himself. The others had also resignedly slept in, so when Mr. Murata, who was supposed to guide us for the day, arrived, they still hadn't finished breakfast.

“In any case, there’s no helping it with this rain. When I called the weather station, they said it would clear up by noon, so let’s take our time and talk.”

said Mr. Murata. Mr. Murata was a friend of Mr. Dan’s and had also met us at the station last night and guided us to this inn. “You sure that’s alright? Even if it’s a backwater, shouldn’t at least one or two patients come by noon?”

Mr. Dan showed absolutely no reserve even toward someone he hadn't seen in ten years. "Don't say such unkind things," "Even this Hananoya falls within my patient base," "A country doctor isn't like those who rush straight from examining patients to manning the pharmacy!"

And Mr. Murata promptly retorted in kind. “How many novices do you have?” “I’d prefer you call them assistants, you know. There are four besides the nurses. Even so, it’s barely manageable. In ophthalmology, unlike internal medicine, the patients’ bodies are perfectly healthy—that’s why they come from far away.” “Hmph, so you chose ophthalmology. Ophthalmology, eh? Smart move. Even if I botch things up, there’s no killing involved—mess up one eye and they’ve still got the other left.” “Hey now, quit it already. The landlady’s here!”

Indeed, someone other than the maids entered, "I do apologize for our humble hospitality. This unfortunate rain must be hindering your sightseeing plans," she greeted them with a friendly expression. "Aren't you going to sing a jinku folk song?" When Mr. Murata said this, "Oh my, what a sharp-tongued doctor you are!"

The landlady tapped Mr. Murata’s shoulder.

“But I thought this was a sumo ring-entering ceremony!” As Mr. Murata had quipped, the landlady was indeed corpulent. I remembered Miss Tatsuko mentioning she’d bumped into what felt like a wrestler on the dim veranda last night. “Now then, Madam—could you tell our guests something about Hamamatsu?” “Why certainly…” “What exactly counts as Hamamatsu’s local specialty?” “It’s really just hamanatto fermented beans and our parching winter winds.”

“Ah, right—they say the west wind is a local specialty in both Numazu and Shizuoka. It seems that very wind has made its way here too,” said Mr. Miwa, as if it had just occurred to him. “It’s blowing from this direction. Still stuck on that Gunderbi Shanghai-style method, huh?”

said Mr. Dan, nitpicking.

“The fact that there’s such a close relationship between those dry winter winds and my line of work—that’s what makes it interesting, you see? These dry winds are no match for Tokyo’s either. In winter, they’re so strong they blow horse-drawn carts—horses and all—right off bridges. That’s how much they affect people too. With every gust, more conjunctivitis patients flood into my hospital in tears. Ophthalmology patients all either redden their eyes or press handkerchiefs against them—quite commendable, really. First off during winter, it’s like the winds blow medical cases right to my doorstep.”

Mr. Murata explained.

“I see—that’s quite an intriguing effect. “Are you originally from here?” When Father asked, Mr. Murata—

“No, I’m not. “However, there’s a story worthy of an inspirational biography behind why I opened this ophthalmology practice here in Enshū Hamamatsu. “Since the rain still doesn’t seem to be letting up, shall I share it for your edification, young sir?” “My father was an upright man who considered it his ideal to die in battle before his lord—every time I hear the phrase ‘The paragon of loyal retainers is Yu Rang of Cathay,’ I picture my father’s face. “He regretted not having had the opportunity to lay down his life for the former feudal lord who had shown benevolence to our family for three generations, and saying he wanted to at least make his son of use, he urged me to study medicine. “And here I am—the very model of filial piety now—right? “And so—”

“Hmm, I wonder...” “Oh, do be quiet,” Mr. Dan cut in. “At that time, since His Lordship was suffering from an incurable case of sinusitis, I promptly went to Germany to study rhinology,” Mr. Murata continued. “After spending about a year and a half specializing in otorhinolaryngology, I received a telegram from my father: ‘Switch to ophthalmology. Details by letter.’” “Having promptly completed the transfer procedures, I waited until my father’s letter arrived.” “‘Due to years of His Lordship’s debauchery,’ it read, ‘his nose has fallen off.’” “‘As there is now a risk of His Lordship losing his sight, you must transfer to ophthalmology without delay.’” “After starting over and completing my specialization in ophthalmology, I embarked on my return journey two years later—though it seems I was born fundamentally disloyal. Before my ship even reached Kobe, the infection had spread to His Lordship’s brain, driving him mad before he passed away.” “Had this been an ancient battlefield, my failure to arrive in time for my lord’s final moments would have meant ritual suicide. But in these enlightened times, my father agreed to let me off with a brief period of seclusion before I tentatively opened this ophthalmology practice here.” “Yet thanks to these dry winds, my hospital became absurdly popular.” “In the end, I took a local wife.” “Children kept coming.” “Now we’re all thoroughly rooted here.” “I do occasionally think that if only that former lord’s nose hadn’t rotted off, I’d be running a nasal specialist practice in the capital of blossoms—but such are fate’s twists.” “When I consider how that imbecile’s nose—flatter than any commoner’s—could have shaped my entire life, I’m truly overcome with emotion.”

Mr. Murata concluded his personal story. "That's quite amusing," said Father. "So even your sitting here like this is entirely due to the former feudal lord's noble nose, I take it?"

Father said delightedly.

“Well, that’s about how it goes.” “You keep spouting nonsense. More importantly, what’s the weather like? Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”

Mr. Dan let out a big yawn. “Ken-san, 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 is.” After a little while, Miss Tatsuko, to stave off boredom, brought out a riddle.

“Well, something that walks on four legs…”

I repeated exactly what Miss Tatsuko had said, but try as I might, I couldn't think of anything that fit. Mr. Dan was also drawn in, "The very last one has three legs, right?" "Alright."

he sank into thought.

After Miss Tatsuko had thoroughly teased me, “Humans!” she told us. When crawling, they’re on four legs; when standing upright, two legs; and when aged, they use a cane for three legs—or so the explanation went.

“Hmm, indeed. That’s quite cleverly put,” Mr. Dan said in admiration.

With that, Mr. Dan slapped his thigh in admiration. Mr. Dan, while sharp with numerical matters, seemed much slower on the uptake when it came to jokes. There were often times when something he’d heard two or three days before would suddenly click, and he’d blurt out an abrupt “Hmm, that makes sense.”

“Mr. Dan, that was the Sphinx’s riddle,” said Mr. Miwa. “The Sphinx would stand in the thoroughfare and pose this riddle to passersby. And since she’d devour you if you couldn’t solve it, there was no winning against her. You’d have been eaten too if you’d been in Greece.” Mr. Dan responded, “Well, I do know the Sphinx through sculptures. Truly worthy of its name. The part about having more legs making it weaker is quite insightful,” continuing to marvel at the riddle.

“You get so full of yourself on those rare occasions when you do understand something. There’s this joke mocking Americans—when cheerful voices were occasionally heard from hell and they went to investigate, it turned out to be British people’s laughter. They say Brits only grasp the jokes they heard in this world after passing into the next. At least yours gets understood in this lifetime—that’s impressive!”

And Father also teased. "The part where morning gets compared to a baby is amusing. You—isn't the Sphinx one of the Seven Wonders of the World?" Mr. Dan had grown absurdly fond of the Sphinx. "The Seven Wonders are the pyramids."

When Father said this, “Speaking of the Seven Wonders reminded me—Enshū has its own Seven Wonders as well.”

Mr. Murata, recalling his role as a guide, “The Night-Weeping Stone you saw yesterday is also one of them.” “I would very much like to hear about that indeed.”

At this, Father immediately leaned forward.

“The Night-Weeping Stone, Sakura Pond, the roaring waves of the Enshū Coast… the One-Sided Reeds and Tengu Fire…”

But Mr. Murata trailed off, “Hey, go call the maid over here for a moment.” and asked the maid, who was wiping the veranda, “Tengu fire must be phosphorus or something like that. It’s said to rarely appear over the Ōi River. There’s also a theory that it’s dragon lanterns, but either way, they’re all rather unreliable. The One-Sided Reeds are truly mysterious—their leaves grow only on one side. I believe they grow on the northern shore of Hamana Lake. Then there’s the sound of the waves at the Enshū Coast—this too is real, and if you go to Benten Island, you can hear it clearly. The sound—like cannons or distant thunder—keeps rumbling constantly, so it has a bit of an eerie quality to it.”

The maid once again brought in her large frame and enumerated everything just as Mr. Murata had said, then— “Kyōmaru’s peonies and the well’s soil.” and she added two more wonders.

“Ah, right! The well's soil? Of course I can't recall it—this is one even I don't know the reason for.” “In Enshū here, when you dig a well and try to refill it, there's never enough soil left.” “They say it's mysterious because the dirt you dug out won't fill the hole back up.” “Who'd be fool enough to dig something just to bury it again?”

And Mr. Dan, whose business was architecture, couldn't remain silent. In reality, there shouldn't exist any fool who'd build a house only to tear it down just to see. "This holds true even without wells," "Here in Enshū during funerals, we dig graves and bury coffins, but..." "Even outside Enshū, funerals usually involve digging holes and burying—that's just the going rate," Mr. Murata quipped. "You've made quite the point. "When we bury coffins, the soil fills them up perfectly to the brim. "If the soil doesn't reduce, wouldn't there be leftover earth equal to the coffin's volume?"

“Oh ho! I’ll demonstrate this using Archimedes’ principle!” Mr. Murata blurted out impulsively. “You should remember not to use hospital jargon just because you think people won’t understand it,” the maid snapped, glaring at him. “Archimedes is all well and good,” Mr. Dan countered with unrelenting seriousness, “but your premise is flawed. There’s no logical basis for the soil decreasing at all.” “It’s precisely because they defy logic that they’re called the Seven Wonders,” Miwa retorted playfully. “What an obstinate man you are.”

“It’s precisely because they defy logic that they’re called the Seven Wonders,” said Mr. Miwa. “What a troublesome man.” “Since humans originally came from the earth,” Father interjected, “what if we interpret it as there always being an emptiness beneath the ground waiting for just a coffin? The soil wouldn’t need to decrease, and this mystery could persist with a religious tint.”

At this, Father proposed a compromise theory.

“Your discussions are so convoluted that I simply can’t keep up with you all.”

The maid began edging away. Dealing with these idlers since morning must have been terrible for business.

“Oh, come now.

“Now don’t get so prickly—just give us the explanation about Sakura Pond.” “There was a festival there where they’d put red rice in a bowl and sink it, right?”

Even when Mr. Murata tried prompting them, the maids would not bite,

“You’re planning to make me say that pond bottom connects to Lake Suwa in Shinano so you can laugh at me again, aren’t you? I’ll have none of this anymore!” “There’s also Kyōmaru’s peonies.” “I don’t know about that one either. They say Heike remnants hid there, but there’s no proof whatsoever.” And with that, they briskly concluded their explanations.

Even as noon approached, the rain did not stop. Today’s plans—Benten Island and Okazaki alike—seemed likely to be entirely washed away. According to the maids’ urging, Benten Island was said to be the only sightseeing spot between Shizuoka and Nagoya, making it worth staying another day to see. But what still piqued my interest even more than that was Okazaki’s Yahagibashi Bridge, which evoked memories of Hideyoshi’s days. But in this weather, they would have to abandon everything. “It’s a shame we won’t set foot in Mikawa at all.”

Father seemed very reluctant. “There’s really nothing to see in Mikawa anyway.” “It’s just the headquarters of superstition with Toyokawa Inari and Hatchō Miso from Okazaki being somewhat known—that’s about it.”

With that, Mr. Murata had finished guiding them through Hamamatsu from the comfort of the tatami mats and had already entered Sanshū. And then, “Since Mikawa lies within Nagoya’s sphere of influence, its people are all self-serving fiends.”

“Don’t say such awful things.” Mr. Dan protested. “Ah yes—you’re from Nagoya, aren’t you?” “Like Nagoya folk, they’re brimming with that spirit of diligent frugality.” “As for notable figures—once that great sage Lord Ieyasu emerged, they’ve only appeared as afterthoughts since. No truly impressive ones get born anymore.” “First and foremost, those *manzai* performers we see every New Year are Sanshū’s representative figures.”

“That’s right. “It was the birthplace of both Lord Gongen and *manzai*, wasn’t it?” said Father. “There’s a place called Manzai Village where everyone’s a *manzai* performer—with such numbers altogether, they must count in the hundreds of millions.” “When year-end comes, they abandon their hoes and spades to scatter across Japan.” “Then at the first sunrise, they beat their drums and mightily raise the meters for Mikawa Province!” Mr. Murata’s stories were quite entertaining. “He’s still spouting nonsense and looking pleased with himself.” “More importantly—the weather.” “Relying on provincial forecasts and waiting around won’t get us anywhere.” “Let’s accept it won’t clear up and switch to our second plan for today, shall we?”

Mr. Dan said while comparing the travel schedule and his notebook.

“Are we suddenly heading straight to Nagoya?” asked Mr. Miwa. “That’s right.” “If it’s going to rain anyway, it’s more time-efficient to get rained on while we’re on the train.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to hurry so much.” “But it’s raining.” “Why don’t we steel ourselves and stay one more night?” “It would be a pity to let such rare guests slip away like this.” “I’ll introduce you to Hamamatsu beauties!” “This house also serves as a restaurant.”

Mr. Murata attempted to tempt them. In adult society, it seemed there was an established agreement that rare guests must always be entertained by geisha. "I, this hypocrite, oppose such vulgar tastes." With that, Mr. Dan directed a retort at Father and vented his pent-up frustration that had been simmering since Numazu.

“Well, in any case, staying a bit longer wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’d weigh on me for generations if people said Murata showed you nothing at all—let me take you somewhere proper. Miss Tatsuko, you enjoy Western music, don’t you? Hamamatsu’s famous for its instruments—you must visit the Yamaha Organ factory. But Mr. Dan—what difference does it make if we get rained on here or in Nagoya? Quit your fussing already.”

With that, Mr. Murata continued his efforts to persuade them to stay.

Thank goodness! It was a perfectly clear day, completely transformed from yesterday. In Nagoya, staying at Mr. Dan’s brother’s house had been a pre-departure condition, so last night all five members of the group were kindly put up there. Mr. Dan’s brother was exactly like Mr. Dan,

“My brother is a slightly older version of me.” Just as Mr. Dan had explained, they were so alike that one might mistake them for each other if not careful. Only the brother would say, “Senkichi always looks after us... Senkichi, you should tell them to make themselves at home too...”

Thus, he addressed him by his bare name without any honorifics. “Brother, since I’ll be handling the guiding, please rest assured.”

Mr. Dan also maintained his station and observed the etiquette befitting a younger brother. Since they were brothers, there was nothing particularly strange about this exchange, but given that both were middle-aged men with slightly receding hairlines, it created a faintly peculiar impression. Miss Tatsuko had heard her mother addressed by her bare name daily, but this appeared to be the first instance of her father's name being treated likewise,

“How thrilling! Even Father, who acts all high and mighty at home, becomes just Senkichi when he comes here. It somehow feels like I’m hearing Father’s name for the first time,” Tatsuko said to me. Now that we had fulfilled the request of “When you get to Nagoya, do drop by,” Mr. Dan’s ancestral home turned out to be much farther than “three blocks from Sasadai Station, past one house, then another, then the third”—located instead along the grid-patterned Honmachi-dori where cotton wholesalers’ shops stood in rows. In the shop, apprentices swarmed about. In this large household with about ten children of mixed genders, I never felt bored thanks to the son who was my age and Miss Tatsuko’s cousin keeping me company.

“You know,” he said，“Osu Kannon is quite lively.” “In Tokyo,” he continued，“it’d be like Asakusa.” “There are so many moving picture shows—the shop apprentices go every night! It’s a real problem.” In this manner he unfailingly ended every sentence with “mo.” “Master,” he greeted，“long time no see.” “Thank you very much for your kind hospitality last time.”

Under the guidance of the clerk who had greeted Mr. Dan, we went out to tour the nearby area. Proceeding straight toward the castle and arriving at the outer moat where a streetcar ran through its interior, the clerk began: “This streetcar here will take you to Seto.” “The Seto where Seto ware is made.”

the clerk began to explain. “Mr. Toku, please use Nagoya dialect.” Mr. Dan requested. “No, I can’t understand if it’s not in standard Japanese.” “Right, right—since you ran off to Tokyo twice, I suppose you studied standard Japanese there.” “Joking like that is a problem, I tell you.”

Passing through an area with barracks, they emerged in front of the castle. In the distance, the castle keep came into view. Indeed, the golden dolphins (kinshachi) were glittering resplendently under the morning sun. As I kept stretching up on tiptoes, Mr. Toku— “We’ll be arriving there shortly.” With that, shortly after,

“This is Tokyo’s Babasakimon Gate. “In the 43rd year of Meiji, this was moved to the detached palace.” “Ah! So that’s where Babasakimon Gate went—I’d been wondering when it disappeared, and here it’s been moved?” “Indeed, this is unmistakably Babasakimon Gate.” Mr. Miwa said something as if he had met an old acquaintance. “Isn’t it Meiji 43?” When Mr. Dan displayed his usual habit, Mr. Toku— “No, it is indeed forty-three. “The first time I went to Tokyo…”

“...The year you ran away?” “The dolphins have been getting bigger and bigger, I tell you.” “They say, ‘Ise is sustained by Tsu, Tsu is sustained by Ise; Owari Nagoya is sustained by its castle,’ but it seems the entire castle is sustained by those gilded dolphins.” When Father said this, Mr. Dan again,

“If you say foolish things, people will laugh at you.” “Aren’t they gold-plated?” “No, this isn’t about the dolphins—it’s about the song. “That ditty isn’t specific to Ise or Nagoya. ‘Stones are hoisted and hauled, hoisted and hauled—the stones go to Owari Nagoya’s castle.’ It’s an old song explaining how they moved stones for construction.” “Fascinating. ‘Stones are hoisted and hauled,’ eh? You really do know the oddest things. You too.” “Don’t go summing me up now. An architect’s choice of song has its merits. Explaining crane mechanics through folk rhymes—now that’s impressive.”

“At the same time, doesn’t it depict scenes from when Nagoya Castle was built?” “No, it has nothing to do with Nagoya. The subject is stonework. Even if you changed the supplemental part to ‘carry them to Kumamoto Castle in Higo,’ it would still hold true. It’s explaining principles of physics through verse. You could substitute ‘to Wittenberg Castle in Germany’ and it’d mean the same.” “That’s an impressive stretch of interpretation. So does that mean people here don’t sing ‘Ise Stands by Tsu’?”

“No, they do sing it.” “That version is indeed the genuine article.” “In fact, just last night at the fish market—”

When Mr. Toku carelessly let something slip—

“Fish market? “This is a problem, Mr. Toku. “Didn’t I apologize on the condition that you wouldn’t set foot there again?” Mr. Dan knit his eyebrows.

Soon we arrived at a place across the moat where the castle keep came into view directly ahead. "Aren't the Golden Dolphins dazzling?" Mr. Toku pointed and said, "Long ago, there was a man named Kakinoki Kinsuke who rode a large kite and peeled off one scale from those Golden Dolphins. Since then, they've stretched metal nets over them as a precaution, and kites using over a hundred sheets of hanshi paper have been forbidden. The one Kinsuke took it from was the right female Golden Dolphin—if you look through that telescope, you can clearly see where one scale is missing."

Mr. Toku explained.

“Indeed, I can see it. It’s near the mouth of the right one.”

Father was first to peer through the teahouse telescope. While everyone else took turns viewing the Golden Dolphins, “To cast these Golden Dolphins, they crushed 1,940 Keichō Ōban coins,” Toku explained. “Even a single scale represents a fortune—no wonder Kinsuke succumbed to temptation. To this day, Nagoya folk think of these dolphins when short on funds. The eyes alone—silver-plated and one shaku in diameter—could tide one over in a pinch. And the pupils are red copper. With thirty-six daimyo appointed, two hundred thousand laborers mobilized, and Kato Kiyomasa overseeing construction, this became an impregnable fortress—not one tile has fallen in three centuries.”

Mr. Toku devoted himself wholeheartedly to guiding. They circled Nagoya Castle and climbed what was called Rempē Slope. Nagoya is said to be an entirely flat city where this spot alone has a slope worthy of the name. They entered the Gobanwari district again, but were surprised when passing through an area lined with nothing but secondhand shops. "This place would be Hikagecho or Yanagibara if it were in Tokyo." said Mr. Toku. Having run away there many times, he knew Tokyo 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 marked where Taikō first cried at birth, with a well called Sarumenkanja Birth Bath Well still remaining. The latter was a grand modern-style park where citizens would gather whenever anything occurred—much like Hibiya Park—but being in the countryside, there was no Metropolitan Police Department. Though it was said a prison lay right nearby.

“People say Nagoya residents are frivolous, but that’s just the opinion of those who don’t know the truth about Chukyo.”

Mr. Dan sat down on a bench by the pond, exhaled smoke, and began to speak. “I believe Nagoya is likely where merit-based competition unfolds most starkly across all of Japan. "In all matters, merit—that is, financial power—reigns supreme, with absolutely no room for personal connections." “Substance over appearances.” "That’s why former feudal lords and senior retainers have surprisingly little influence here, while outsiders with sufficient resources to operate end up holding sway instead." “It’s truly an exhilarating place.”

“The low prices here are another distinctive feature of this place – your esteemed brother mentioned that last night too.” Father said.

“That too comes from merit-based competition. These folks are so calculating they even celebrate a girl’s birth by cooking red rice—if they think something’s pricey, they won’t buy a single bit. Prices naturally have to stay low, don’t they? It’s nothing like Tokyo, where people keep buying things while whining ‘so expensive! so expensive!’” “What’s the reason they cook red rice when a girl is born?”

“What’s the reason they cook red rice when a girl is born?” Mr. Miwa asked. “Because they can be sold to geisha,” said Mr. Dan. “This place tops Japan as a geisha-producing region. The *Okyāse* girls and Nagoya Cochin chickens are so famous nationwide, they practically deserve entries in Japanese geography textbooks.” “What does ‘*Okyāse*’ mean?” Mr. Miwa pressed with his usual thoroughness. “It means ‘Put that down, I say,’” Mr. Dan explained. “‘Quit that, I say.’ Abbreviated, it becomes ‘*Okyā!*’ Didn’t you hear those schoolgirls rattling it off nonstop on the train earlier?”

“That’s a characteristic of the Nagoya dialect, you see.” “With all this ‘Okyāse’ here and there, you don’t end up doing any ‘Okyāse’ at all—just look at that!”

Then Mr. Toku began to sing in a low voice.

“Labor wages here are cheaper than elsewhere. That’s why factories get brought in from all over.” “Even artillery arsenals from Tokyo and Osaka set up branch offices here—until just recently, they were working right across from each other.” “With the population booming like this, you can’t just dismiss a ten-ri square urban plan as pure recklessness.”

“Your esteemed brother also held that opinion, didn’t he?”

“Don’t keep harping on about ‘esteemed brother’.” “Doesn’t it make me sound like some witless younger sibling?”

Mr. Dan became somewhat indignant but then, “The fact that Nagoya people are so calculating can be understood even from this single example: despite being such a large metropolis, it’s only recently that a flat fare system for trams has been implemented here.” “Previously, it was two sen per section, with a maximum limit of three sections.” “When riding a full three sections, they had no complaints, but in cases of around two and a half sections, it’s the Nagoya temperament to get off at two sections and walk the remaining half—so they apparently opposed the five-sen flat fare with all their might.” “They simply can’t wrap their heads around the logic of riding one section or half a section but paying for two and a half.”

“If it were three sen, they could tolerate a flat fare—that argument was widespread, you know,” “If they kept dawdling like that, the tram was about to get burned down in protest.” “When such issues of justice and humanity arise, all the people of Nagoya gather in this park.” Mr. Toku was also a true Nagoya native; he regarded the five-sen flat fare as an unconscionable injustice.

We boarded that flat-fare tram once again. Perhaps it was just our imagination, but it wasn’t too crowded. In particular, the merchant-like man sitting before me looked sullen and heaved several sighs. Whether he was scheming to peel off the golden dolphins' scales in desperation, or simply thought paying five sen for one section was absurd—I couldn't quite decide. Then at the next stop, another merchant-type man boarded. They seemed acquainted beyond mere recognition,

“Oh, where to?” When he nodded, the man I had half-suspected of being a dolphin thief,

“I went to the hospital.” “The youngest came down with swift wind, you see.” “There’s been no improvement at all, you see.” “Well, if that’s how it is...” “As for swift wind—screaming and wailing, you see.”

“Muraoka, ‘swift wind’ refers to dysentery.”

Then Mr. Dan, who was sitting next to him, translated for Father. “Does it look like dysentery is spreading around here?” “It’s a local specialty here. This is probably its main stronghold. The cases here are especially virulent and resolve quickly, so the locals call it ‘swift wind.’” “We need to promote enema syringes and castor oil, don’t we?”

When Father said that, we had already arrived at Shin'eimachi.

“Let’s wander over to Sakae-machi.” “Not like there's anything worth seeing anyway.”

At Mr. Dan’s initiative, we began walking through the bustling town streets. “At times like these, the flat fare is especially grating.” “It’s just two stops for five sen, you see.”

Mr. Toku exclaimed indignantly. “It’s fine. We’re going to Atsuta this afternoon, so it’ll balance out.” Even as Mr. Dan tried to console him, “To Atsuta would’ve been three sections before—so there’s only a one-sen difference now.” Mr. Toku seemed dissatisfied with a mere one-sen profit. The fact that they were trying to profit even from tram fares made it utterly unmanageable. “I suppose this area is Nagoya’s Ginza, isn’t it? It’s quite lively here~” Miss Tatsuko exclaimed with delight. “Sakae-machi is the Ginza, you know. And ahead is where Ito Matsuzakaya stands.”

Mr. Toku explained. "Oh, there's a Matsuzakaya in Nagoya too?" When I asked, "Matsuzakaya's main store is here."

Miss Tatsuko knew this well. "What exactly are the local specialties here?" Shortly after turning from Sakae-machi to Honmachi, Mr. Miwa asked.

“The earlier ‘Okyāse’ and Cochin…”

As Mr. Dan was in the middle of listing them— “Animals won’t do!” “...Owari Daikon and...” “Plants won’t do either. Don’t you have any sweets or something I can send home?” “For sweets, Nayabashi Manju and Shachi Okoshi are the representative ones, I’d say. Here, things that are cheap and bulky reign supreme. They insist on pure pragmatism in everything. As for Shachi Okoshi, I hear they make it from military barracks’ leftovers—so it’s highly practical indeed. By noon, my nieces are preparing to present nothing but Nagoya specialties.”

“We’re causing all sorts of trouble for your esteemed elder brother’s household, aren’t we?” When Father said that, a great noon cannon boomed. This was indeed Mr. Dan’s meticulous orchestration. Their punctual return at precisely twelve o’clock as scheduled commanded nothing but admiration.

Part Seven

“What a big river! What river is this?”

I said. “It’s the Kiso River.”

Miss Tatsuko, who had been looking at the map since earlier, told us. “Are you on a pilgrimage?”

A refined elderly man spoke to Mr. Miwa.

All interactions aboard trains began with inquiries about destinations. "Yes, you too?" Mr. Miwa responded. "Yes. Is this your first time traveling the Ise pilgrimage route?" "Yes." "Is that so. It's been forty-some years for me. You see, I was twenty-one or twenty-two then—around Meiji 14 or 15 (1881/1882). Quite an ancient tale now." "Hah—that would be right around when I was either newly born or not even born yet."

If mathematics held even a grain of truth, then this elderly man’s declaration—“I may not look it, but I’ve lived as long as anyone else. Sixty-three now!”—would mathematically necessitate Mr. Miwa’s humble response: “And I’m but a wet-behind-the-ears forty-one-year-old.” In such interactions, where one opens their heart merely because the other party has confided to that extent, one inevitably ends up letting slip their origins without quite meaning to. Then, in the spirit of single combat, the other party would inevitably announce themselves as a resident of Tokyo City’s Nihonbashi Ward in a voice loud enough to carry to distant seats.

“What part of Nihonbashi would that be?” Father leaned over from the opposite side as if he’d heard about a fire. “Honmachi 3-chome,” the old man answered. “Is that so? In fact, my wife’s family is also from Honmachi 3-chome.” “Your wife’s family is from there? Ah, and which household in 3-chome would that be?” “Kimoto,” I replied.

“Ah, Mr. Kimoto, is it?” “If it’s Mr. Kimoto, everyone there is a true native—I’ve been closely acquainted with him since his youth.” “So you are a relative of Mr. Kimoto’s, ah—” Even if a shared acquaintance suddenly emerged in conversation or they discovered matching professions or hobbies, travelers would swiftly open their hearts to each other, exchange business cards, and part ways with nothing more than handing a bag out the window—but once Father learned this old man was Kimoto’s old companion from his wife’s hometown, he had no choice but to show him exceptional respect.

“Ah, so that’s how it was.” “Mr. Kimoto’s—ah—esteemed eldest daughter’s—ah—esteemed son-in-law, ah—”

The elderly man said as he lowered the glasses from his forehead to the tip of his nose and looked at Father’s business card. “Mr. Muraoka! You’re really laying it on thick!” Mr. Dan teased him. “Miss Tatsuko, hurry up and bring out the camera!” Even Mr. Miwa joined in the teasing. “It was Mr. Kimoto who invited me on that secret pilgrimage over forty years ago.” “I was just now thinking about those times as well.” “After all, it was a time when trains only went as far as Yokohama, so we had quite a hard time.” “However, the Ise Pilgrimage truly creates profound connections indeed.” “So here I am now, bald-headed, becoming travel companions with you—the son-in-law of Mr. Kimoto’s eldest daughter, with whom I once fled long ago—in this very place!”

The old man appeared deeply moved. “Did Kimoto’s father really have such a past?” “He was quite the bad companion, luring people out like that, wasn’t he?” Father said happily. “Nay, it’s unclear which of us was the bad companion,” “We had settled the arrangement beforehand, you see.” “Our plan was that whoever first managed to pilfer travel funds would invite the other—so when Mr. Kimoto succeeded, likely while his father was away, he summoned me.”

As the old man was explaining this, we came upon another large river. “Back then, if I recall, we went down this river by boat and arrived in Kuwana.” “Yes, exactly—we boarded from Tsushima.” “This entire area had quite a bad reputation back then, you see. Whenever they spotted travelers, they’d do some truly awful things.” “The innkeepers and boatmen were in cahoots—the inns served half-cooked rice, and the boatmen would shout, ‘The boat’s leaving!” “‘The boat’s leaving! The boat’s leaving!’ they’d shout as if their lives depended on it.” “It was impossible to get it down.” “I later heard that all the inns there were set up in such a way to keep guests from eating properly.”

Before long, a castle resembling a toy came into view in the distance, and they arrived at Kuwana. Indeed, “Famous shigure clams!” the vendor had been calling out. “They say the first torii gate is in Kuwana—back then, when pilgrims dragged their lame legs all the way here, they’d finally heave a sigh of relief.” As the train began to move, the old pilgrim from that year’s pilgrimage started talking again.

“Does it really take three or even four days to get from the first torii gate to the main hall?” Father asked. We’d truly gained a most serendipitous travel companion. Thanks to this old man, we were able to learn in detail about the Ise Pilgrimage from half a century ago while viewing the actual sites right outside our train window.

“From here, it took two nights—three for those with weaker legs.” “In the old days, since the Ise Pilgrimage was considered an essential event second only to major life ceremonies like coming-of-age celebrations, weddings, funerals, and ancestral rites, men would make it a point to undertake it at least once.” “One aspect was that this system allowed young people to gain worldly experience.” “On a journey this far, they would stay at every notable spot along the Tōkaidō Road and mingle with country bumpkins from Ōshū, city slickers from Kantō, and simpletons from Hokuriku alike.” “And so beyond the barrier checkpoint, they would mingle not only with people from Kyoto and Osaka but also those from Chūgoku and Saigoku regions—this surely broadened their knowledge and experiences.” “People of old truly devised clever things.” “They were conducting a form of national education under the guise of the Ise Pilgrimage.”

“I see—that’s quite a theory,” remarked Mr. Dan. “From what I hear, these days there seem to be more people unfamiliar with Ise despite improved transportation. After all, we’re all first-timers ourselves.”

Mr. Dan remarked in partial agreement. “Indeed. Precisely because transportation systems have been perfected and newspapers have developed, the need to travel all the way out here has diminished.” “That’s absolutely right. Since we’re all neurasthenic ourselves, we ended up getting talked into coming along.”

Mr. Miwa went so far as to announce things he should have kept to himself, thereby fully confirming the old man’s theory. “Well, since things have become convenient, everyone’s gotten lazy, thinking they can come anytime they want.” “Among my friends, there are three who say that once they become ministers, they’ll just go on an official report pilgrimage anyway.” Father had formulated his opinion from his own laziness.

When they passed through Kameyama, the old man,

“Now, now, young man—this inn was your grandfather’s old battlefield.” “Young man, you know what kumosuke are, don’t you?” “In our time, the cart drivers still had that kumosuke temperament—they’d push you around quite aggressively.” “Apparently, it all started when they called Mr.Kimoto a ‘country rube,’ which led to a huge brawl with the cart driver.” The old man continued his reminiscing, which had been briefly interrupted. “What does ‘country rube’ mean?” When I asked, “It refers to people from Ōshū.” “People from there wore red blankets and carried cloth bundles on their backs, looking every bit the country bumpkins—so they’d get mocked with names like ‘country wife’ or ‘country rube.’” “After the cart driver kept pestering them, he finally said, ‘What’s with this country rube?’” “Your grandfather was from Tokyo’s Nihonbashi too, wasn’t he?” “He didn’t just stay quiet.” “‘Don’t underestimate people,’ he retorted, to which the other shot back, ‘You lot are the ones underestimating people!’” “‘Don’t you know Mr. Kanroku of Kameyama?’ he shot back.” “‘When he retorted, ‘Who’d know some country bumpkin like that?’ it’s said the other party lunged at him—but in truth, even as he said this, Mr. Kimoto struck them with his umbrella.” “‘You!’ he shouted, dropping his rickshaw to grapple with him, but Kimoto had already seized the initiative.” “I joined in and finally knocked him down, then for good measure stomped and kicked him a few times.”

“You truly showed the spirit of Edoites!” Father exclaimed joyfully. “But then matters turned sour.” “Being in the middle of town, a crowd instantly gathered, and Kanroku’s comrades came rushing over.” “Kanroku claimed his back had given out and sat cross-legged right in the street’s center, refusing to budge.” “‘Well now, what’ll you do about this injured man?’ With things at this pass, the cart drivers’ gang surrounded us this time.” “Even we Edoites lose all backbone in such situations.”

“They made you pay for the ointment expenses, didn’t they?”

“If only settling with just the ointment expenses would’ve sufficed,” Mr.Kimoto adopted a conciliatory attitude, saying, “Hey there, cart driver—are you truly unable to stand up?” “But Kanroku just hiked up his hakama and puffed out his chest, sneering, ‘After all that stomping and kicking, what’s this now? You think a busted back can just get up?’” “All the while, the cart drivers’ comrades were in a menacing uproar, so we truly grew anxious about what might happen.” Just then, a pair arrived, pushing through the crowd of onlookers while saying, “Excuse us for a moment.” “No matter what you all argue, in the end, as long as this man can stand up, there should be no complaints, right?” said one of them. “Yes, if you’ll just have someone help me stand, I’ll say no more,” said Kanroku, who seemed to think he had already achieved his aim. Then another person scooped up a shovelful of embers from a tofu shop or some such place nearby and suddenly pressed it against Kanroku’s backside. In an instant, Kanroku not only sprang up like a spring-loaded mechanism but, upon seeing the fire, leapt back several yards. “If you keep messing around, I’ll make sure your legs give out for real!” the mediator glared at the cart drivers. “In the end，Mr.Kimoto and I came out on top thanks to that scuffle.”

“That was a close call. But it turned out well thanks to a good mediator.”

Father also felt relieved, and I stroked my chest in relief.

“We visited Seki’s Jizō statue together with those two before parting ways.” “They were heading to Osaka instead of making the Ise pilgrimage.” “After 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.’” “They were gamblers, it turned out.” “Out of some odd sense of kinship, they even treated us to lunch and earnestly advised us to avoid quarrels during our journey.” “We were deeply impressed.” “Gamblers aren’t all bad people, you know.” “Ever since that incident, whenever I hear of people in that line of work, I feel this strange sense of nostalgia.”

The old man finished speaking and laughed. “It’s good to hear that Kimoto no Onigawara was lectured by gamblers.” Father also burst out laughing. And then, “That’s interesting! That’s actually quite amusing. Seki, right? And the setting was there? The fight was in Kameyama from the Kameyama story during our journey, and the lecture was at that Komatsu in Seki, right?” He seemed to have committed the scene well to memory with the intention of confronting Onigawara about it another day. “That’s right. It’s Seki, the place with the Jizō statue. There’s a song that goes, ‘Dress Seki’s Jizō in a long-sleeved kimono and take Nara’s Great Buddha as a bridegroom.’ It’s a place with a Jizō statue that’s famous for being small, just like the Kannon in Asakusa.”

“What sort of place is this here?” “Is it worth getting off to look?”

Mr. Dan asked when they arrived at Tsu. “Tsu” was written in a single character at the station. Staring at it intently, its stark simplicity felt almost mocking. Since it lacked any depth or substance, Mr. Dan naturally came to doubt its worth. “Well, we stayed there back then, but I don’t recall a thing about it.” “It was a ridiculously elongated sort of town.” “The lodgings in Tsu boasted about such trivial things as being called Seventy-Five Chō and being disproportionately long for their name.”

And the old man did not give it a very favorable recommendation. “Tsu, Tsu—it sounds like someone spitting. Even the station workers must find it awkward to call out, don’t they?” Miss Tatsuko also said. “It’s quite an unfortunate name. I hear there’s nothing to see except for a small park.” Mr.Miwa knew exactly who he had heard it from. In any case, given its poor reputation, I thought we would likely pass through Tsu without stopping on our return trip as well.

However, in Matsusaka,

“This is Matsusaka, a wealthy town famous as the birthplace of the Mitsui family.” “Since there’s a cotton wholesaler we deal with here, I also plan to stop by on my return trip.” “‘Don’t get lost in the sights of Matsusaka’s courtesans—do come back!’ they say, for this place has been thriving since ancient times.” He strained himself excessively with the explanation. “Did you stay there at that time?” When Mr. Dan said this, Miss Tatsuko—

“I hear that Mr. Suzunoya’s study has also been preserved just as it was.”

“Suzunoya? Surely it’s not some geisha teahouse, is it?” “You’re impossible, Father. Don’t you know of Motoori Norinaga?”

“I don’t know. “If it were Oda Nobunaga, I’d be somewhat acquainted with him, though.” Mr. Dan had a bad habit of invariably ridiculing literary scholars whenever they came up. “He is a famous poet. “If it’s ‘If asked about Shikishima’s Yamato spirit,’ then surely even you know that one, Father?” Miss Tatsuko also had an unfavorable tendency of thoroughly sizing up her father. “As for that one—Father knows it too.” “Hmph, that guy?” “A Monopoly Bureau contractor, isn’t he? I’ve always admired his brilliant touch in naming cheap tobacco brands.”

Mr. Dan kept needling Miss Tatsuko. "By the way, must you absolutely stay in Furuichi tonight after all?"

Father asked the old man regretfully.

“Yes. “It simply won’t do unless we stay in Furuichi and see the Ise Ondo dance performance.” “Are you all still set on staying in Toba after all?” The old man countered in a pitying tone. “I’ve heard that the morning sea in Toba is indescribably beautiful, and I was advised that if one goes to Ise, Toba is the only place to stay—so we’ve already reserved an inn there.” “As for the sea view, I hear the sunrise at Futami is splendid, so I’ve arranged for us to stay in Furuichi tonight and Futami tomorrow night.” “It would be a shame if you didn’t see the Ise Ondo dance and the sunrise.”

A sightseer’s itinerary was like articles of faith. Each individual enshrined their own Buddha, convinced theirs was the most orthodox practice—which made it all the more absurd. They made absolute judgments based on meager knowledge gleaned from their seniors and allowed others no freedom of choice—it was just like religion. As for someone like Mr. Dan’s esteemed elder brother, “Senkichi, if you complete the pilgrimage first, stay at the Kaishunrō in Toba, then visit Futami Bay the next day—that’s the most efficient approach. You’ll reach Ueno in Iga while the sun’s still up, so even with town sightseeing, you can take your time at Tomotada. For Tsukigase, there’s a motorcar departing around nine tomorrow morning...”

In this manner, he tried to make us adhere to his past schedule down to the hour, completely disregarding that the plum blossoms had long since scattered. Since all of this was governed by such logic, the old man, though delighted by this strange twist of fate, had never imagined any alteration to his plans—so when we arrived in Yamada,

“Well then, I must insist that you all accompany me from Gekū to Furuichi. Even forty years ago, this was a place I had visited before, so I must insist on serving as your guide.” With that, he was the first to board the rickshaw.

When he went to wash his face with his father， Mr.Dan was already doing his cold water rubdown. “Good morning. Still keeping up your meticulous routine， I see.” Father praised him. “Still? I’ve been keeping this up for twenty-two or twenty-three years now.” Mr.Dan answered while vigorously rubbing his back with a hand towel. “Does it actually do any good at all?” “The fact that I never catch colds is strange， don’t you think? Why don’t you give it a try yourself?” “No thanks. Rather than you putting in so much effort every morning like that， it’s easier for me to just catch the occasional cold and let things crumble.”

“You’re such a lazy man. By the way, do you know if Mr. Miwa has genuinely taken ill?” “Well, he just abruptly starts wanting to see his wife’s face.” Miss Tatsuko had long since finished dressing and was gazing at the sea from the veranda. Beside her, Mr. Miwa had stationed himself in a rattan chair and was tilting his head while counting his pulse—his usual morning routine.

“How about it? “Do you even have a pulse?” Mr. Dan came up together with Father and immediately teased him.

“To tell the truth, I’m rather impressed with myself.” “All this daily overexertion hasn’t affected me one bit.” “Given that I’m busier now than when attending school back home, my health really ought to have deteriorated by now—and yet...”

Mr. Miwa answered as if his very purpose were to ruin his health. “You don’t know your blessings,” said Mr. Dan. “Even if you’re equally busy, there’s a difference between being busy with play and busy with work. You must think you’re doing some grand work—it’s astonishing, really.” “Anyway, it’s good that your physical condition is fine,” said Father. “I don’t mind that you sometimes get homesick—it’s just your habit, after all.”

Father also seemed relieved.

After finishing their meal, the innkeeper came forward to deliver his greetings, and then— “Will you be proceeding on your pilgrimage today?” he asked. “No, we finished both Gekū-san and Naikū-san yesterday. Today will be around here and Futami.” Mr. Dan answered.

“Is that so? How efficient of you. If you would also tour the islands around Toba, it would make for a perfectly pleasant day’s diversion. There are eighty-five islands here, and those nearby like Sakate and Momodori each form a single village, complete with their own town halls and elementary schools.”

“We had quite a struggle climbing up here yesterday, but at least this height gives us such a splendid view.”

Father said while looking out over the sea dotted with islands.

“The view from Hinoyama is said to be the finest in the Orient.”

The innkeeper promptly stepped forward and declared, “Unfortunately, it’s hazy this morning, but on a clear day, Mount Fuji appears just one and a half ken away.” “How on earth was ‘one and a half ken’ measured?” Mr. Dan immediately turned logical at the mention of numbers. However, the innkeeper—

“It’s precisely one and a half ken,” he repeated as if measured with a ruler, refusing to acknowledge any need for explanation. The people of Toba remained convinced that Hinoyama Park was the Orient’s finest and Mount Fuji stood exactly one and a half ken away. “Brother,” said Mr. Dan, “knowing full well how wretched I am at mountain climbing, you went out of your way to recommend this summit-perched inn. From now on, I’ll be sure to recommend this place to every weak-legged soul I meet.”

Mr. Dan did not have much interest in the scenery. "Tokyo may be all well and good, but for a man, when all's said and done, being born on these islands here remains the greatest blessing one could ask for."

After a short while, the innkeeper began speaking in a measured tone. “Why is that?” This time, it was Mr. Miwa who engaged him. “Because all our wives are ama divers.” “The husbands don’t earn a single penny.” “If a woman can’t support her husband single-handedly, she’s considered worthless—so there’s no place more carefree for men than these islands around here.” “That sounds like welcome news.”

Mr. Dan was delighted. “While the wife is diligently earning money out at sea, all the husband needs to do is push on the oar while holding a pipe in his mouth and reciting *jōruri*—that’s already more than sufficient.” “Moreover, there’s nothing as chaste as ama divers.” “You might think working in the nude would corrupt their morals, but that’s a grave misunderstanding.” “There’s truly nothing like how they cherish their husbands.”

“They feed them and cherish them—that’s truly admirable. It’s on a completely different level from those other places where they merely feed their husbands and call them important.”

And 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 farm work themselves without ever causing their husbands any trouble. That’s why I always tell my wife—‘Look at the ama divers, learn from the ama,’ you see.” “So, how about the ama divers—are they good-looking?”

“Well, you see, since they’re constantly in the water, their skin tends to prune up, but there are some quite lovely ones now and then.” “Good-looking, they cherish their husbands, and since it’s a nude trade they naturally don’t hanker after kimonos...”

As Mr. Dan enumerated their virtues,

"In short, they possess virtues that are completely opposite to those of our own wives," Mr. Miwa said, and Father too—

“We can’t do anything about it now, but we should advise young people to come to this island as husbands.” “I’ve learned something useful.” “Do you have any other interesting stories?” “Indeed, sir. Did you have the chance to see Osugi and Otama’s dance performance at Ainoyama yesterday?”

"He saw it, but it doesn’t seem to be all that famous from way back." "That is none other than the Ise Ondo—what you’ve witnessed here."

“Speaking of the Ise Ondo, it seems that Furuichi Oil Shop they depict in plays isn’t around anymore, is it?” “It most certainly exists! When entering Furuichi from Ainoyama, there was a ryokan called Aburaya on the right side, wasn’t there?” “That’s precisely it.” “That one? Damn it.

“I ate lunch there yesterday and parted ways with my companions, but it was just an ordinary inn?” “It is indeed an inn now, but that very building was the oil shop from *Ise Ondo*, where items once used by Okon and partitions bearing sword marks from Kō still remain preserved.” “What a shame you’ve gone to the trouble of coming only to miss it, I must say.” “I just kept thinking it was merely an inn, you see.” “No wonder that old man kept insisting we had to stay at Aburaya when coming to Furuichi.” “I truly missed out on something valuable there.”

“Another one of your germ obsessions? Who cares about flaws in old tools anyway?”

Mr. Dan did not engage with this topic as enthusiastically as he had with the story about the ama divers. However, the innkeeper continued: "Mr. Shirai of Aburaya is truly an extraordinary man." "When the previous proprietor died, he immediately sent all the courtesans under his care back to their families and converted the business into an inn." "People with progressive ideas certainly handle things differently." "It's truly an achievement beyond what ordinary folks like us could ever emulate."

He continued his stories about Furuichi.

“That’s quite a heartwarming tale, isn’t it?”

And Mr.Miwa was impressed. “What’s Shirai’s full name?” And Father took out his notebook. Seeing him occasionally jotting down such things, I wondered if *The Pickwick Papers* wasn’t just all talk after all.

However, Mr. Dan— “Are you going to report this to the Salvation Army or something?” he mocked, still not believing him.

He mocked him and still didn’t believe a word. “Don’t you have any other interesting stories?” “Indeed, sir.” The innkeeper probably found such idlers rather troublesome to deal with, but— “The lumber-hauling ceremony is quite a sight to behold.” “When you say ‘lumber-hauling ceremony’…?” Father began by inquiring about the meaning of the term. With this group lacking any prior knowledge, even our expert guide couldn’t take ordinary measures. He had to explain everything from first principles. “Both the Grand Inner Shrine and Grand Outer Shrine undergo reconstruction every twenty-first year without fail,” he said. “On those occasions, all locals turn out to haul timber while parading through town singing: ‘Ise stands by Tsu, Tsu stands by Ise; Owari Nagoya stands by its castle—that’s Ise! This is Ise!’ It makes for quite a spirited spectacle.”

“Ah, I see! So they’re borrowing the song about transporting stones for Nagoya Castle’s construction?”

Mr. Miwa uncritically accepted Mr. Dan’s misinterpretation and flaunted his erudition.

“Not at all—it is the song for hauling lumber here.” The innkeeper seemed slightly taken aback, “And when they sing ‘*Are ya Ise, kore ya Ise*,’ it means ‘That is the Ise Deity’s blessing, this is the Ise Deity’s blessing—absolutely everything is the Ise Deity’s all-encompassing blessing; how grateful we are,’ you see.” He provided an interpretation that seemed perfectly reasonable. Though going up and down was such a pain, since from Mount Hii you could see everything at a glance—be it the castle ruins or Hiyoriyama—it saved you the trouble of visiting each place individually. So, considering our sightseeing done, we headed straight for the station as soon as we descended the mountain.

“Toba’s a famous pearl-producing region. Since they don’t take up much space, help yourselves to as many as you want.”

When Mr.Dan came into town, he teased Father and Mr.Miwa—both avid shoppers—in his usual manner.

“Ms. Tatsuko, you should buy some pearls.” “Since pearls are a specialty here, they’ll make a fine keepsake.” Father, perhaps intending revenge, promptly provoked Ms. Tatsuko. “I’ll buy you some.” “But pearls and talismans with grains this small make you look greedy—I can’t stand them.” “If there were ones as big as a fist, I’d buy you some.” “Ms. Tatsuko, are you listening?” “You should have him buy you a big one!” And Mr. Miwa also chimed in with his own clever idea.

Amidst this exchange of jokes, we either entered the souvenir shop or were lured inside—it’s hard to say which. The clerk eagerly laid out the goods. Ms.Tatsuko took each one in her hands and examined them. Mr.Miwa and even Father began rummaging through all sorts of items. “Tatsuko, how about these here?” Mr.Dan tried several times to gauge Ms.Tatsuko’s mood, but to no avail. As I waited, I recalled the time I had gone to Tenshodo with Mother not long ago. Whether they were a married couple or siblings—in any case, a young man and woman had come to buy a woman’s gold pocket watch. Every time the man examined an item and consulted her, the woman turned away. By the time I started counting the number of times for reference, the lady had already twisted her neck at an odd angle like a hina doll. And when the finest one was finally pressed upon her, the erstwhile twisted site of her actress-style chignon—now restored—nodded in approval for the first time. If those two were a married couple, there must have been quite a commotion once they got home. If they had been siblings, the brother must have been thoroughly fed up. Despite being a child, Ms.Tatsuko seemed to have a proper grasp of such social nuances; after turning away several times, she ended up receiving a large pearl clasp.

“I really shouldn’t speak without thinking.” “What a nightmare I’ve brought on myself.” And Mr. Dan muttered.

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

“Is this a naval port?” “This place—”

Father asked. “It’s not a naval port, but warships seem to come here frequently.” “Didn’t you see two or three of them earlier?” “Didn’t that innkeeper say this place is sustained by sailors and ironworks factory workers?” Mr. Dan replied. “Sailors seem so cheerful compared to army soldiers.” “They’re all grinning from ear to ear.” “Their uniforms look like children’s clothes, so they’re quite cute.” Mr. Miwa said this right beside the lineup. I worried whether the sailors might get angry.

“That’s different from drills or marches,” said Mr. Dan. “They’re lining up like this to go have fun, you see. Of course, the army’s conscripted while these lads all volunteered—that must factor in somehow. They do seem genuinely cheerful.” Mr. Dan also observed the blue-jacketed sailors. “Soldiers used to look like uncles back in my day,” Father remarked, “but now they’ve grown so young. When you see officers who make you wonder if mere children could wage war—well, that just shows how old I’ve become.”

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

After getting off at Futamigaura and on their way to Meoto Iwa, when they emerged onto the coast, rows of reed-screened huts housing turban shell grill stalls had been set up side by side.

“Miss, do try the grilled turban shell.” “It’s a local specialty.” “Young sir, do try the grilled turban shell. “It’ll even be educational for your science studies!” They called out to each person by name, one after another. “Both Tatsuko and Ken’ichi look quite eager to eat.” “Shall we have one before we go?”

And Mr. Dan, leaving it up to us, sat down as we came upon a relatively clean shop. "It seems rather indigestible." Even Mr. Miwa, who had hesitated, polished off his portion, "Can this tail-like bluish part also be eaten?" he pressed further,

“The tail is a remedy for stomach ailments.”

Being told by the maid, he left only the shells. The Wedded Rocks had a very poor reputation.

“This feels a bit like we’ve been scammed here. Rocks like these can be found on most coasts.”

As soon as Father said this, Mr. Dan chimed in,

“In photographs, his toy torii gate looks real, so you’re led to believe the rocks are extraordinarily large.” “The trick lies in making people assume the scale is based on a regular-sized torii gate.” “This stone wall is so vulgar too.” “It looks just like those shell craft brush stands they sell in Enoshima.” Mr.Miwa even went so far as to criticize the adjacent stone wall.

Part Eight

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 by me according to Miss Tatsuko's wording and sent from Toba last night - what could have gone wrong? "Since you never leave for school on time anyway, perhaps they thought today's first and second trains would be delayed too?"

Father said. “Don’t be ridiculous. “I’m at least punctual when it comes to school hours. “Perhaps the wording of the telegram was unclear?”

And Mr. Miwa attempted to shift the responsibility for his disciple onto Miss Tatsuko and me. “There’s no use waiting around like this.” “At any rate, why don’t we go to Ueno and get settled at an inn?”

And Mr. Dan sent a redcap to buy the tickets. "You say we're going to Ueno, but isn't this already Ueno?" "It clearly says 'Iga Ueno.'" "No, the real Ueno lies further ahead." "We have to transfer here." Before long, we were crammed into a toy-like train. It was called a light railway, but being narrow, slow, and rattling endlessly, it wasn't convenient in the least. "In English it's a light railway, you see." "There's not a speck of 'convenience' in it." "Calling this a light railway is another example of you folks' mistranslations."

And Mr. Dan made a derogatory remark. “Is this Ueno we’re at now some counterfeit version?”

And Mr. Miwa was still concerned about Ueno.

“It’s not exactly fake, but Ueno proper lies further ahead. You’ll often find stations stranded in rice paddies with towns tucked a ri or two inland. Those very regions always lag in development. Since their own pigheadedness keeps haunting them, they’ve no right to complain about it now.”

“Why?” “When railways first began, country folk apparently hesitated because they kept dwelling on oddly negative notions—like thieves coming in with the steam locomotives or having all their produce carted away. Among them, the more sensible regions—since they figured the railway would pass through anyway—successfully petitioned the government to place stations as far from their towns as possible. Seeing how far it is from the station, Ueno’s bunch must be regretting it by now.”

“I see,” said Mr. Miwa. “It must be because they’re in the mountains where human intellect doesn’t progress. That’s why they’re probably tacking on a light railway now to make a fuss.” The two continued spouting their opinions unabated, despite the local passengers sharing the carriage. “Excuse me—about Tomotada’s place,” Father began speaking to the merchant-type man beside him. “Is it far from the station?” “If it’s Tomotada you want,” the merchant advised, “you should alight at Higashi-Ōte.” “Nay,” interjected the merchant’s elderly companion. “Nishi-Ōte’s closer. ’Bout three chō.”

And the elderly retainer accompanying the merchant interjected. “There’s no such thing as three chō.” “It’s about five chō from Higashi-Ōte and seven chō from Nishi-Ōte.” “No—it’s three chō from Nishi-Ōte.” “Since I live just across the way, I’ve tested this many times—it’s faster than Higashi-Ōte by the time it takes to smoke a cigarette and have a cup of tea.”

Neither side would yield, and in the end, the elderly retainer ended up guiding us to the inn. I thought the people of Iga were both kind and stubborn. It was a trivial matter, but when I walked while measuring the distance out of curiosity, it was indeed seven chō (about 760 meters). Even so, the elderly retainer, “How about it? Isn’t it closer?” “Isn’t it closer?”

he said with conviction and parted ways. “Well now, we’ve gained enough for a smoke and tea.” Prompting Mr. Dan—who wanted to set up the portable shrine immediately—we left the inn first to finish sightseeing.

Thinking it wasn’t worth taking a rickshaw, they started strolling nonchalantly, but Iga Ueno turned out to be far more spacious than its model, Tokyo’s Ueno. It wasn’t some upstart gangly town but rather perfectly aligned with Mr. Dan’s urban definition that just as well-nourished humans invariably have width, so must a proper city. Before they could locate Master Bashō’s hometown monument and pay homage to his wooden statue, “Excuse me, will Aizen-han be coming this way?” Father had practically choked back his question in the end. Even referring to him as “Master Bashō” meant nothing to passersby. Even when they next headed to Minomushian,

“Excuse me, may I ask—is there a place called Minomushian around here?” “Don’t know nothin’ ’bout that,” “I came here after hearing this is the vicinity where Mr. Bashō stayed, but...” “Mr. Bashō? I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that person.”

That was how it went.

“That’s surprising. No one knows. Even the Master is unexpectedly unpopular here, hmm? After all, I wonder—is a prophet truly not honored in his own hometown?”

And Father kept tilting his head in puzzlement. "You're asking the wrong people," Mr. Miwa pointed out. "You've been deliberately choosing only women, children, and doddering old men to question from the start." "In short," Mr. Dan interjected, "this proves haiku has nothing to do with modern life. Ah, I'm starving." Mr. Dan appeared to know only that Bashō was a haiku poet and nothing more. When we finally found it after all that searching, the hermitage had become someone's private villa with its gate shut tight.

“No wonder the townsfolk don’t know about it—it’s become a private residence now.” “It’s been converted into a dwelling, you see.” Father defended the Master’s legacy, but since securing permission to view it took considerable time, “Really now, you’re all too nosy for your own good.” “Is this rickety shack truly worth such reverence?”

And Mr. Dan, his stomach empty, was quite discontented.

“I’m quite worn out myself,” said Mr. Miwa. “This time it’s Keya no Tsuji—without a guide, we’ll surely be lost again. I’d thought today might finally offer some respite after all this time, but thanks to that botched telegram, here we are in this predicament.” “How tiresome!” Miss Tatsuko glared at Mr. Miwa while signaling to me. “Blaming everything on us.” “Perhaps I should stop assisting you with dressing altogether,” I remarked.

And I too, out of solidarity with my companions, stubbornly held my ground. "You know, I thought Minomushian felt oddly modern in my mind, but it turns out that place was Mr. Negami's former residence." Father, paying no heed to others' ulterior motives, turned around and spoke while still fixated on the Master's historical site. "Ah yes, yes. Mr. Negami once came to a middle school around here while researching Bashō, didn't he?" Mr. Miwa answered as if dredging up old memories. "I think I'll send them a postcard. He said he first set up household at that Minomushian. And that setup wasn't exactly cheap, you know. When there was a sports day at the middle school, a young beautiful girls' school teacher apparently came to watch with her students. Then the teacher was instantly captivated, standing there dumbstruck, completely neglecting the sports day as he..."

“Which teacher was it?” “Both of them were teachers. If it were a student, they’d practically be expelled, wouldn’t they?” “Wait, which teacher are you saying was the one who got captivated?” “Obviously it was the man who got captivated by the woman. Sadly, scenes where a woman drops her fan with a clatter because she’s entranced by a man—complete with a tree appearing on cue—only happen on theater stages.” “What?! You’re saying someone photographed him while he was staring?”

And Mr. Dan approached. “No, rest assured. “It’s not that story you’re thinking of.” “However, you don’t know Mr. Negami, do you?” “Now, the principal who was nearby noticed this and said, ‘Did she catch your fancy? “Shall I take the trouble of arranging a match for you?’ it’s said he joked.” Then Mr. Negami, ever so earnest, said, “I humbly ask for your assistance.” “‘My family is now in business in Tokyo, but our ancestors were from Ōmi for generations—we are descendants of the Seiwa Genji,’ he declared, even pulling out his family tree in his agitation.” “This kind of behavior is so artlessly innocent, revealing the very essence of a haiku poet’s temperament.” That person has a haiku that goes, “A snail rests on the upper lip of the Seiwa Genji,” which likely expresses his sentiments from this occasion. “Taking a wife, composing haiku—it seems Mr. Negami was quite active here as well.”

“What does it mean? That ‘under the nose’ part—”

Mr. Miwa struggled with the interpretation. "It's an observation that in that moment, there was surely enough space beneath his nose to accommodate a snail." "Since this 'slowcoach snail' represents dull-wittedness, it creates suitable harmony in this context." "And because it isn't clinging to one spot, this shows the considerable length of that space beneath the nose."

Father became serious and explained. “You’re talking nonsense.”

And when Mr. Dan quickened his pace, “Mr. Dan, what happened to that story of yours?” And again Mr. Miwa asked.

“Since that evidence has already been made public to the world, there’s no need to hide it now. Mr. Dan, when was that incident at the Flower Day gathering?” “If you keep spouting nonsense, we’ll be here till sundown!” Having said this, Mr. Dan motioned to Miss Tatsuko. “Imagine that 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 doesn’t look composed. His wife apparently severely condemned him—‘For someone with such unremarkable looks to have flowers arranged for them and then stand there grinning smugly—that’s what we call an utter lack of discernment!’ At any rate, the pause is quite drawn out, making it a photograph that inevitably becomes a subject of controversy. I kept a clipping of it for reference—if you’d like, I’ll show it to you next time.”

“That’s something even you can’t wriggle out of, Mr. Dan. There’s a man at my school who got caught up in the exact same kind of situation.”

Though Mr. Miwa claimed to be exhausted, he showed no inclination to hurry back and rest. And then, “Since last year, they’ve allowed women to audit lectures, and there were several applicants. Because one of them was a strikingly beautiful woman, not only did she attract the students’ attention, but she also occasionally became a topic of conversation in the faculty room. Then one day, a school newspaper reporter came to capture the beauty’s commute to school on camera, but a teacher ended up in the shot as well. Since newspapers are said to be a microcosm of society, it’s truly inconvenient when something like this gets published. He insists he wasn’t captivated but was merely staring—but really, it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other. Just as expected, in true Mr. Dan-style fashion, the pause was quite drawn out. And since that man was unfortunately single, the story blossomed all the more. Some mean-spirited fellow titled that newspaper photo, saying, ‘The Sorrows of a Bachelor.’ How’s that for a masterful stroke of insight?”

“I see—that’s clever.” “That teacher, Mr. Dan, and Mr. Negami—what a bunch they are, I tell you.” “In that case, we’d have to amend Pope’s famous line to *The proper study of mankind is woman*, wouldn’t we?”

Father was delighted. When he cited Westerners’ words, he reached the very peak of satisfaction. They trudged back to the inn around dusk, bathed, and began eating dinner, but without local acquaintances, the conversation remained lifeless. Since the maids considered serving their primary duty, they seemed to believe they bore no obligation to answer every query, dismissing all inquiries with curt “Yes” or “No” replies. Father made considerable efforts, but— “Yes, this is Lord Tōdō—the master of this estate.”

“A count, eh?”

“Yes.” “Was it a viscount?” “Well…” “So it’s a count after all?” “He was a count before, but I wonder what he’s doing now.” That was about as far as it went, leaving him completely adrift with nowhere to land. Just then, a young gentleman came clattering up the stairs and entered. “Mr. Miwa, everyone, I must sincerely apologize for this sudden discourtesy.”

With this greeting, it became immediately clear that this was Mr. Matsumoto, Mr. Miwa’s belated disciple. “The telegram must’ve been a mistake, right? Because I left it to the children.”

And Mr. Miwa boldly declared. Of course, in front of his disciple, he likely found it difficult to confess that he had managed to come this far only thanks to these children taking care of his personal needs. “No, I did indeed receive the telegram last night without fail, but my attempt to be helpful by going out to meet you as far as Kameyama turned out to be the very cause of the mistake.”

Having answered, Mr. Matsumoto, “Miss, bring my meal as well. “I’ll join you for dinner. “Apologies for the rush, but do hurry.”

he ordered. His demeanor and manner of speech were far more worldly-wise than Mr. Miwa’s. “Ken'ichi, the telegram arrived safely, didn’t it?”

Miss Tatsuko deliberately looked back at me.

“Truly, it arrived without issue, didn’t it?” I too responded, catching her drift. However, Mr. Miwa, “That’s the telegram we sent—if it didn’t arrive, it’s a mistake.”

he explained belatedly. There was no response whatsoever. “This is entirely my blunder. I’ll explain the details properly later, but in short, it’s due to the wretched customs of Iga Province.” Instead, it was pitiable how his words ended up reflecting back on the disciple himself. When the meal was finished, Miss Tatsuko and I, as usual, each attended to our correspondence home. As necessity is invention’s mother, being made to write letters daily naturally led me to devise various shortcuts. Yesterday I had tried applying the phrase “beyond what pen and paper could convey.” This proved remarkably serviceable. Most fine scenery could be adequately captured thus. Today I employed the “details to follow” method. This became particularly convenient when exhausted. “Today’s sightseeing in Iga Ueno—details to follow from me” sufficed perfectly. Especially when using picture postcards, the scant blank space left no trace of labor-saving artifice. While most promises carry fulfillment’s burden, I’d never heard of anyone being sued over neglected “details to follow.” Details to follow indeed! Details to follow indeed! Having sent regards via this method to Mother, Mr. Miwa’s household, and even Kimoto of Nihonbashi—fully convinced of its superiority—I was interrupted when Mr. Matsumoto commenced his tale of urinary mishaps.

“I must apologize for bringing up such an indelicate matter, but there truly is no place under heaven where people urinate as much as in this Iga Province.” “In fact, today too, that very urination led to an unforeseen blunder.” “I came to meet you at Kameyama, but since I had some time to spare, I stopped by a relative’s place for a short while.” “I got so caught up in conversation that while rushing to the station, I felt the call of nature—thanks to Iga’s famous little necessity—and ended up dashing into an acquaintance’s house, causing quite a commotion.” “As a result, I ended up secretly seeing off from behind the scenes the gentlemen’s train I was supposed to meet, and it was so utterly ridiculous that words fail me.”

“What on earth could be causing this?” “There’s a condition called dribbling urination where one struggles to void properly, but I’ve never heard of anyone urinating so excessively.” “Still, it must be some sort of local affliction, don’t you think?” asked Mr. Miwa, his neurasthenia compelling him to medicalize every phenomenon. “No, it’s not an ailment,” “In this region, eating gruel at least once daily has been an unwritten custom since ancient times—naturally making urinary functions overly efficient.”

“Ah, so you eat gruel?”

Father prompted him to continue. “Whether morning or evening, or both morning and evening—whether poor or rich—they must eat gruel to save rice.” “This is said to be adhering to the official decree issued during the famine in the old days.” “Thus, in their households, an expression arose about eating tea gruel so watery you can see your face reflected in it—do you understand?” “So, is this like the situation with miso soup in Tokyo boarding houses?”

Mr. Dan, drawing from his student days’ experience, uncharacteristically hit the mark.

“That’s correct,” said Mr. Matsumoto. “That’s how they express that those households are poor.” “They say Bashō’s verse ‘Sleeping on horseback, lingering dreams—the distant moon, smoke of tea’ refers to the smoke from cooking that tea gruel,” said Father, laying out six varieties of gruel. “But really, what in the world is that about?” “It’s nothing special,” replied Mr. Matsumoto. “It’s just gruel made by adding tea and boiling it. The one with wheat mixed in is called wheat tea gruel. The one with azuki beans added is azuki bean tea gruel; if you add potatoes, it becomes potato tea gruel.” “Wheat tea gruel, azuki bean tea gruel, potato tea gruel, and...” Father counted off. “There are quite a variety of types, aren’t there?”

“There’s also one called rice cake tea gruel,” said Mr. Matsumoto. “This is mainly eaten in winter to endure the cold.” “Rice cake tea gruel,” Father repeated. “That makes five varieties then. Wait a moment—rice cake tea gruel for enduring the cold. Is winter particularly harsh here?” “When we say it’s cold—why, there’s an old song: ‘Iga Ueno stands on high ground, bitterly cold.’ The chill penetrates to your very marrow,” Mr. Matsumoto explained. “To make matters worse, everyone’s belly stays full of gruel so thin you could see the ceiling reflected in it. They can’t help but relieve themselves constantly. People talk of ‘group urination in Kanto,’ but the real champions are here in Iga. Even middle schoolers consider it proper etiquette to ask, ‘Hey, shall we take a leak?’ on their way to school.”

Mr. Matsumoto returned from gruel to the main topic again, but “I must apologize—what began as an excuse for my tardiness has turned into such an indelicate tale.” “From now on, I shall speak of more refined matters.” “When people leave Ise and come here, they’re all first astonished by how fair-skinned the locals are—or so I’ve heard—but in truth, Iga is renowned for its beauties.” “There are quite a few beautiful women in this town as well.”

“Is that so?” “I must’ve been too distracted to notice.” Mr. Dan remarked. “So even Mr. Negami was captivated, eh? But you hardly fit the beauty standard yourself. First off, your complexion’s dark. Are you the exception that proves the rule?”

Mr. Miwa spoke his mind as he thought. “Mine is due to Tokyo’s influence.” “Even so, mine is fairer than those from Ise.” “My brother-in-law came from Ise, but it took him five years to attain a complexion like mine.” “People over there are indeed dark because they’re exposed to the sea breeze.”

“So it’s the urinary category and the beauty category, eh?” Father noted in his notebook. “That beauty category also centers around this Ueno.” “I know I keep bringing up odd topics, but this area is famously known as a mistress district.” “In Iga, a man cannot be called a gentleman unless he keeps a mistress house in Ueno.” “I see—even in Tokyo, it all comes down to that in the end, doesn’t it?” “So you still don’t qualify as a gentleman yet?” Mr. Dan asked with a laugh. “The road ahead is long indeed.” “I’m still clinging to my father’s coattails working at the bank—it’s hopeless, really.”

“The road ahead is long indeed,” said Mr. Matsumoto in a somewhat disheartened manner.

Miss Tatsuko was still writing her letter when, “Ken'ichi-san, you’ve settled for picture postcards again today—how truly cunning of you.” “I’m still stuck at Keya no Tsuji over here—was that place called ‘Hidari Nara Road’?” she confirmed with me.

“It is Hidari Nara Road.” answered Mr. Matsumoto. And then, “That place is Ueno’s most famous landmark. "Even if one doesn’t know Hakuhō Castle, there’s no one who doesn’t know Keya no Tsuji." “The Iga Vendetta, along with Chushingura and the Tale of the Soga Brothers, forms one of Japan’s Three Great Acts of Revenge.” “Moreover, since Araki Mataemon, that great mastermind, was also from Iga, Keya no Tsuji is a purely domestic historic site that we take great pride in.”

and began to recount the course of events from three hundred years prior as if they were incidents he had witnessed in his own childhood. For example,

“While waiting for Matagorō’s group at that intersection eatery, Mataemon had Kazuma and two others prepare their stomachs—though being from Iga, he notably avoided tea gruel that day.” “He must have worried about inconvenient interruptions during the duel.” “What did they eat? They say it was soba and sardines.” “Soba phonetically hints at ‘proximity,’ while sardines echo our local dialect’s ‘to finish things off.’” “They toasted this lucky combination—‘soba for nearby victory, sardines to end it all’—meaning they’d crush their foes on the spot.” “Avoiding piss breaks showed more foresight than I’ve got, but still proves him a superstitious old codger.” “That very eatery stood there until just years back, mind you.”

Continuing in this manner added no small measure of interest. After concluding the tale of those who had been vanquished like sardines, Mr. Matsumoto moved on to introduce Hakuhō Castle. “Had it been completed,” he said, “it would assuredly have become Japan’s preeminent renowned castle.”

Mr. Matsumoto lamented. As for the festival of Lord Tenjin, “All these festival floats are from the Tokugawa period,” he said. “People gather like clouds from the surrounding villages and towns—it’s so lively that it’s probably Japan’s biggest festival after Kyoto’s Gion.” Following this logic, if you disregarded all cities bigger than Iga Ueno, it would undoubtedly become Japan’s greatest metropolis. When discussing local products, he ranked rice first. Then, “When it comes to Iga’s ‘champion product,’ Tokyo sushi shops claim they can’t open for business or close up shop without it—utterly peerless in all the land.”

And this time, along with Mataemon, it was unconditional. “Miss, a cup of tea, please.” “I talked too much and got thirsty. “I’ll have the hot one, please.”

After a short while, Mr. Matsumoto said.

“Itadakko is rather unusual, isn’t it? Is that the local dialect here?”

Father asked.

“That’s correct. “It’s also called ‘Daako’ for short. “You’d say something like, ‘Pass me that tobacco, Daako.’ “They are famous as Ise’s ‘Okaasan’ and Iga’s ‘Itadakko.’” Mr. Matsumoto even managed to make the local dialect famous.

In the morning, they awoke to the cries of swans kept in the pond. Whether due to Mr. Matsumoto's prompting, the maid served the tea gruel while smirking. Before long, Mr. Matsumoto joined us too, and we boarded the train with a clatter. Then, when parting at the main line,

“If I hadn’t taken leave yesterday, I would have arranged matters somehow to accompany you to Nara today, but...”

The banker looked truly reluctant to part ways.

“Well, well—until you obtain the qualifications of a gentleman, you must endure and study hard, you know.” And Mr. Miwa delivered a teacher-like admonition.

“Thank you very much for everything. Thanks to you, Ueno has proven remarkably rich in material.”

Father said something that genuinely seemed as if he intended to write and expressed his thanks. “Whenever I eat sushi in Tokyo, I’ll be sure to remember you.” “Please stay well.”

Mr. Dan also expressed his gratitude, and joining in harmony, Miss Tatsuko and I bowed repeatedly.

The area around Kasagi along the gentle mountain stream felt somehow serene, enhancing the feeling of a spring journey. Perhaps because mammoth-like boulders lay sprawled here and there, the riverboats floating between them and the men and women looked ridiculously small. They all appeared to be sightseers, and among them were some so inebriated they even cheered at our train. “This looks like a good spot to catch sweetfish.” Father said. The conversation about sweetfish had been initiated earlier by a pair of passengers.

“The sweetfish around here head up to Kyoto just like blind minstrels from the old days, but being fish of fine quality yet delicate, they require great effort to keep alive during transport.” “Given that, it’s only natural they’re expensive.” said Passenger A.

“Hah hah, I’ve only ever seen them dried out—are those things even alive to begin with?” Passenger B responded with a jesting retort. At times like these, conversations often grow lively. “Last summer, I went to Ise on business, and on my return trip, a man carrying buckets from Akogi boarded the train. Since he was standing at the train car’s entrance, ceaselessly shaking his carrying pole in a manner that seemed utterly mad, I asked him just to be sure—and he said it was sweetfish.”

“Did that make your heart race? “You lose all sense when it comes to sweetfish!” “They said they transport sweetfish from the Kumozu River to Kyoto.” “Those fish are as fussy as well-bred daughters.” “They refuse to cooperate unless the bucket water churns like river rapids.” “And they’ll suddenly die without warning—no ‘live or perish’ notice—making it hopeless.” “So that man keeps shaking the load until handing it to his partner waiting in Kasagi.” “From Kasagi, a fresh team shakes them all the way to Kyoto.” “In olden days, we’d call this a fast palanquin service, eh?” “They come from Akogi too, but Kasagi’s the main source.”

“If they go all the way to Kyoto like that, they must end up being quite expensive, don’t they?” “A twenty-sen sweetfish apparently becomes one yen and fifty sen by the time it reaches Kyoto.” “They absolutely have to charge that much to make it worthwhile.” “If you eat that stuff, it’ll twist your mouth out of shape.” “He said that with one bucket holding twenty-five fish, making one load fifty fish, they could transport five loads a day.” “Five loads would mean five times fifty, totaling two hundred and fifty fish—that’s a huge profit, isn’t it?” “But it takes two people, a considerable number of them die, and there’s the train fare for five round trips…”

Passenger A kept counting on his fingers and tilted his head in puzzlement. “No matter how much profit they make, it’s merely serving the whims of the nouveau riche and is by no means a legitimate occupation.”

Passenger B was not particularly impressed. "I also thought so at the time." "Standing for two or three hours straight shaking those heavy buckets—that's no ordinary job." "If this were about delivering medicine to the sick, that would be one thing, but when I considered it was entirely to satisfy wealthy appetites, I couldn't help feeling disgusted." "It's because there are so many businesses laboring in vain like that that society doesn't progress as much as you'd expect."

When Passenger A lamented, Passenger B,

“You’re absolutely right. At least one-third of Japanese people are wasting effort on fruitless labor.” He stood up and approached us. Thinking he might be coming to prompt Father’s self-reflection, I realized he had actually come to discard his cigarette butt. “But the sweetfish here truly are excellent. When it comes to this area, it’s all about the Kizu River and Yoshino River. In the Yoshino River, you can catch them starting from a foot long.” With that, Passenger A returned to the sweetfish topic. “Do such large ones really exist?”

“There certainly are! Last year I caught forty or fifty of them, each about a foot long.”

“You often boast about big catches, yet not once have you shown me actual proof.” “My apologies. This time I’ll definitely bring you some.” “Oh, I was only jesting.” Passenger B interjected as if to check him, “What exactly is the bait?” “If you need to ask about sweetfish bait, this conversation worries me. We catch sweetfish using mosquito hooks. They’re hooks concealed inside mosquito-shaped lures made of hair.” “Ah—a double deception then.”

“That’s right.” “But in regular fraud, since the mark doesn’t consent, there’s nothing to be done.” “Sweetfish are so particular that there are as many as three hundred types of mosquito hooks.”

“Three hundred types?” “Are they all different in shape?” “The shapes are largely similar, but each differs in the fur’s coloration.” “Whether one can select from these three hundred varieties—considering weather patterns and water flow conditions—the hook most likely to please the sweetfish’s mood is what separates skilled anglers from amateurs.” “When the hook matches their fancy, they bite instantly.” “Then a tingling vibration travels from the line through the rod up to your very crown.” “This sensation feels marvelous.” “It surpasses electric therapy.” “Rheumatism would be cured on the spot.” “With other fish, you’d never receive such a bone-penetrating response.”

“That’s certainly delightful when a fish bites,” Passenger B remarked. “I once hooked a scarlet carp at a fishing pond as a child—my heart raced so wildly!” “Comparing me to fishing ponds takes all the sport out of it,” Passenger A retorted. “When the hook’s right, they bite like mad, but when it’s wrong? Nothing’s more wretched. It’s like watching your neighbor haul them in nonstop while you’re just dunking your line into an empty bucket.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “In those cases, I ask, ‘What kind of hook are you using?’ But sweetfish anglers are all rivals—vicious ones. They’ll say, ‘Oh, I’m using a reddish one,’ but when I switch to red? Still nothing. Proof they’re lying through their teeth.” A sly grin spread across his face. “So I pretend to snag their line by accident—‘Terribly sorry!’—then reel it in quick to check their hook’s true color.”

“People can be quite mean, can’t they?” “No, when we’re catching fish, the others surely do the same—it’s quid pro quo. There’s nothing as exclusionary-minded as ayu fishing. It’s truly strange how others never praise you no matter how much you catch. They’ll say things like, ‘That person’s hook is oddly effective,’ or ‘That one’s got a good spot,’ shifting all credit to the gear or location. They’re all such self-important blowhards, aren’t they? They brush off days of empty buckets and prattle on about their forty or fifty foot-long catches from the Yoshino River and those rare lucky strikes.”

“You just mentioned the Yoshino River.” “Ah, that was a terrible slip-up on my part. Ha ha ha!” “Ha ha ha!”

“Ha ha ha!”

The spring light shone without shadow on every long and short face.

Before long, they arrived in Nara.

Ms. Kiyose, a friend of Ms. Tatsuko, was waiting on the platform to greet them. Ms. Tatsuko and I decided to entrust ourselves to Ms. Kiyose’s guidance until we would meet up with everyone at the hotel in the evening. The adults had no objection to temporarily escaping the children’s pressure and acting freely, and we were glad to return, after so long, to the world of our fellow youths. Ms. Kiyose had transferred from Tokyo to a local girls’ school due to her father’s job relocation and, like Ms. Tatsuko, had apparently just graduated the previous month. Both being modern young women through and through, their expressions were quite animated, and they nearly embraced each other,

“I was quite surprised,” “You’ve truly grown so tall, haven’t you?” “You’re the one who’s changed!” “I almost didn’t recognize 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, mustn’t we?” “How amusing you are, Ms. Kiyose!” “The way you say such things hasn’t changed one bit.” “But when we parted back then, I never imagined we’d meet again here like this.”

“So that’s why people live such long lives, isn’t it? I’ve never been this genuinely happy!”

“Me too.” “My heart’s so full I don’t know where to begin.” In this way, I rather thought it might have been better if I’d gone with Father and the others instead—that way I wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.

However, immediately after,

“Ken-san, shall we have you guide us one by one, then?”

And I too, finally being acknowledged by Ms. Tatsuko, began to make my way along the main street in front of the station.

“These are all sightseers.” “As long as the weather’s nice, it’s like this every day.” “The countryside isn’t something to underestimate either, wouldn’t you say?”

Ms. Kiyose pointed at the group ahead of us. From both sides, lodging touts were raising their voices and eagerly beckoning. Looking closer, an old man shouldering a bat-patterned umbrella and an old woman carrying a cloth shoulder bag had come to a stop in the middle of the street. When the tug from both sides was perfectly equal, forward progress was naturally impeded. The lodging touts, seizing their chance and bending their knees slightly,

“Excuse me! Excuuuse me…” As if to say just that, they breathlessly beckoned them closer from both sides. Their earnestness was something to behold—

“What’s going on here?” Ms. Tatsuko wondered aloud, visibly perplexed. “It’s a competition between the lodging touts,” said Ms. Kiyose, her interest piqued. “I wonder which side will win?” “Excuse me! Excuse me!” All the while, the competitors—their faces strained—steadily closed in on their targets like hunters cornering game. It seemed that unless they advanced from both sides with the measured precision of herding chickens into a coop, their quarry would flutter away at the critical moment. The elderly couple exchanged glances and wavered briefly before abruptly handing their luggage to the tout on the left just as he raised his voice a fraction louder than his rival. The contest had been decided by the slimmest margin of vigor. Still, I couldn’t help but admire how the losing side withdrew with such brisk professionalism, abandoning their efforts without a trace of resentment.

“This is the Imperial Tomb of Emperor Kaika,” Ms. Kiyose soon said, pointing with her left hand. “He reigned as the ninth human emperor.” Then she continued, “I’ll begin guiding you through Nara from here. Since this is a tourist area, visitors come nearly every month. Being assigned to give tours each time means I’ve memorized everything completely by now.” When they reached Sarusawa Pond beneath the Clothes-Hanging Willow, she added, “The court lady hung her kimono on this willow before throwing herself into the water. An act of spite, you see?”

“Who’s this court lady?”

When Tatsuko-san asked, "A beauty from ancient times. They say she ended her life because the emperor’s favor waned." "Oh, how pitiable!" "So she was a casualty of romantic troubles then?"

“That’s right. Moreover, since she was of high status and a renowned beauty, it would make for a sensational newspaper article if it happened today. She was probably a self-centered woman who flaunted her beauty. As proof of that, they later enshrined her in that shrine, but she said she hated seeing the pond and willfully turned herself completely around, they say.”

Ms. Kiyose explained. Indeed, at what they call Umenomiya Shrine, only the torii gate faced the pond, while the main deity itself had turned its back defiantly to look outward. We had come to Nara hearing there were deer, but there were indeed a great number of them. At first, we found them novel and treated them to deer crackers, but now that we encountered them everywhere like this, there was no time to attend to them all. “Are you aware of the history between the deer and the maple leaves?” Ms. Kiyose asked at the Flower Pine. “No.” and Ms. Tatsuko answered for me as well.

“In that case, let’s go see the stone burial ruins.” Ms. Kiyose guided us to the Thirteen Bells. “Long ago, a thirteen-year-old acolyte from Kōfuku-ji Temple killed one of the Kasuga Deity’s deer and was buried here alongside its carcass in a stone burial—so the story goes.” “What exactly happens in a stone burial?” I asked.

“They put you into a hole and pack it with stones.” “But that’s a lie.” “As proof of that, this hall is the Thirteen Bells.” “The child was thirteen years old, wasn’t he?” “Moreover, they say the stone-burial pit was one jō and three shaku deep, you see.” “There’s simply no reason for everything to be thirteen.” “But if you view it as a legend that expresses the spirit of animal protection by deliberately assembling all these ominous thirteens, wouldn’t that be appropriate?”

Tatsuko-san attempted her own interpretation. "It also reveals a spirit of human cruelty, don’t you think?" "I protest this interpretation," I objected. “That is indeed the case.” "In any case, they say the boy’s mother planted these maple trees here as a memorial offering—that’s supposedly how deer became linked to maples. Which only makes it more questionable, you know." In her refusal to accept legends at face value, Ms. Kiyose resembled Mr. Dan more than Tatsuko-san did. The path between Kasuga Shrine’s first and second torii gates stretched endlessly long. Since we kept bumping into deer everywhere during this walk too, Tatsuko-san declared it commemorative—though surely not meant to revisit our recent squabble—and captured Ms. Kiyose, me, and several deer together in her camera with impartial grace. Just then, a rickshaw carrying tourists halted nearby,

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

he began to explain.

“Every year from Saturday to Sunday in mid-October, the Deer Antler-Cutting Festival is held. “This is truly a rare spectacle, and it draws an enormous crowd.” “The cut antlers are sold off to Kasuga Shrine’s authorized merchants after a week-long Antler Festival, then become souvenir antler crafts to serve everyone’s convenience.” “As you may well know, deer have remarkably easy deliveries—when labor begins, they simply lie down by the roadside here and give birth.” “And then, within scarcely an hour passing, both parent and child will have toddled off on their way.” “They required neither midwives nor anything of the sort.” “Moreover, since they remain in the mother's womb for ten months just like humans, deer antlers are prized as talismans for safe childbirth.” “In this region, girls are often given the name ‘Deer,’ and there’s also a custom of changing all hair ornaments to ones made from deer antler crafts when they reach their final month of pregnancy.”

Whether it was because the rickshaw driver’s explanations about safe childbirth had resonated with me, the Yoriki Shrine within the Kasuga Shrine grounds particularly caught my attention. Oak, wisteria, camellia, nandina, elderberry, cherry, and maple—all seven species fused into a single trunk and grew precariously. It was said that even Sekifu Sekirō would grant children to those who tied a paper cord to this tree’s branch and prayed. However, since divine benefits would not be bestowed unless one tied it with one hand, this constituted a minor ascetic practice. Moreover, it was not uncommon to find meticulous individuals who had patiently completed this ritual yet still included address-bearing business cards to prevent delivery errors. Such people must surely have been eager enough to purchase deer antler crafts on the spot as well. In any case, I thought Nara was remarkably convenient. A place where all needs could be fully met in one spot was reminiscent of department stores.

Here and there stood large cedar trees not inferior to those of the Inner Shrine of Ise. Known as Kasugasugi, the cedars from this mountain were said to be particularly renowned lumber. In fact, regarding the one that had been felled a few years back, the people who had been passing before and behind us since earlier were discussing how an Osaka merchant had bid forty-six thousand five hundred twelve yen for it. As for its value as lumber—be that as it may—as a standing tree, it was truly sublime. Because Mr. Miwa was a tree worshipper, he had been overjoyed in Ise and even interpreted the phrase “tears of gratitude welled up” as a hypnotic suggestion received from these thousand-year-old sacred cedars. While recalling these things, I arrived at Tamuke-yama Hachiman Shrine to find a crowd had gathered there for some reason.

“A fight!” The people ahead of us broke into a run. True enough—this was no mere scuffle. Against the backdrop of a vermilion-lacquered shrine hall, a lone samurai crossed blades with two women while two more swordsmen stood by with drawn weapons. “It’s a moving picture shoot,” Ms. Kiyose reassured us. The samurai fought valiantly at first, but when his opponents’ reinforcements joined the fray, he switched to defensive maneuvers. Soon felled by a single stroke from the younger sister, he collapsed—only for the older sister to dash forward and finish him off. She might’ve been crying something like “Taste vengeance for our parents!”, but her moving lips produced no audible words. Lines didn’t register on film anyway, so there was no need to voice them. The camera required only visible actions. It struck me that moving pictures found such eager acceptance here precisely because this approach—the notion that color alone sufficed without needing “shirts”—aligned so neatly with modern intellectual currents.

Part Nine

Somewhat tired, we arrived at Ms. Kiyose’s house around three o’clock.

“You two must be quite hungry by now, being dragged around without a thought for the time like this.” The mother, who had been waiting impatiently, gave Ms. Kiyose a mild 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 tea gruel 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 sights like Nigatsudo Hall, Sangatsudo Hall, and the Great Buddha afterward, and were fully prepared to hear the local stories.

After finishing the meal, Ms. Kiyose’s father soon returned from his office and,

“So, did you manage to visit the park as well?” her father asked. “It’s hardly just the park! Apparently Tsuneko has been guiding them nonstop since eleven o’clock,” her mother answered with a laugh.

“You two must be quite hungry by now, being dragged around without a thought for the time like this.” Her mother answered with a laugh. “That’s… “You must be exhausted.” “Tsuneko is rather impatient, you see.” “Most guests end up quite overwhelmed, you see.” Father also burst out laughing.

Ms. Tsuneko was an only child. She could monopolize everything and act spoiled as she pleased—which might seem ideal—but apparently found it unbearable to be without someone to quarrel with. When her mother heard that both Tatsuko-san and I had many younger siblings, “How truly splendid,” she said. “Only the older brothers and sisters seem so properly composed wherever they go.” Her mother voiced this envy. “Even I can behave properly for an hour or two when visiting others’ homes!” Ms. Kiyose refused to let this pass unchallenged.

“You see how it is,” her father jested. “Parents of an only child lose all sense of moderation.” “In our family, it’s been only children for generations,” her mother mused. “Could it be hereditary?”

“Could it be hereditary?” Mother asked.

“People everywhere pin their faults on heredity. Even the Yoshidas next door are blaming it on heredity.”

Father said. "But the neighbors don't have any only children at all, do they? If having no only children were hereditary, then you yourselves couldn't have been born!" When Ms. Tsuneko pounced on his words, "That's it. That's what's funny, I tell you."

And her father burst out laughing.

An only daughter seemed different from those of us who were merely part of an indiscriminate lot. Even if I said something like this, Father would laugh at it. Was it because she was an only child that her existence was all the more acknowledged? It seemed she fully held her rights and respect as a family member, which made me, conversely, envious.

The conversation naturally progressed from our personal circumstances to matters concerning Nara. Ms. Tsuneko’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 mentioned being from Komaba, just as we had surmised that he must be an engineer in the industrial sector, “The countryside everywhere is generally like that, but here, the adherence to old customs seems particularly strong.” “They insist that everything must remain exactly as it was in the past.” “That’s why when you go to the countryside, the farmers call us leafhoppers in suits and shoes and treat us as nothing but nuisances.”

His remarks would turn into complaints from time to time. "What does 'leafhopper' mean here?"

So I tried asking, thinking I should remember anything that might be even slightly useful to Father. “Well then, coming from Tokyo, we’d have to start by explaining leafhoppers, wouldn’t we?” “Leafhoppers are pests that infest rice plants.” “Since we agricultural officials make all sorts of troublesome demands about farming methods, the farmers get fed up and badmouth us.”

“So agricultural scholars are all leafhoppers, then?”

“Well, that’s right—if you ask the farmers,” he said. “And so our stubbornly pursued studies end up backfiring, actually producing results akin to those of leafhoppers. Farmers—farmers—they’re never fools. Take this domestic rice consumption reduction they’ve been promoting so vigorously lately. The farmers in this region have been practicing that since ages past. Far from being old-fashioned, in this regard, it’s safe to say they’re quite ahead of the times.”

“Around here, everyone eats porridge, you know.”

Ms. Tsuneko explained. “You mean tea gruel?” Tatsuko expounded the knowledge she had just acquired the night before.

“That’s correct. Tea gruel too…” “Would it be bean tea gruel, perhaps?” “You’re quite knowledgeable, aren’t you?”

The bespectacled leafhopper was somewhat surprised,

“The farmers here slurp down that thin bean tea gruel four or even five times a day. As they say, too much of a good thing is worse than none at all—after generations of systematically conserving domestic rice consumption, Nara Prefecture’s young men have gained quite the reputation for poor physiques. Honestly, people here are strangely reserved to a fault. Since it’s rice they’ve sweated over themselves, they should eat as much as they need for nutrition without holding back. When you’ve got a region that values rice bales over people like this, even we leafhoppers ought to switch tactics and start promoting wasteful rice consumption instead!”

Amidst this conversation, Ms. Tsuneko suddenly shifted the topic back over a thousand years. “Tatsuko-san, you’re gravely mistaken if you imagine present-day Nara City as the capital of those days.” “I shall give you a proper lecture.” “Ancient Nara stretched from beyond what is now the train station to part of Kōriyama—a grand metropolis that rivaled Kyoto itself.” She unfolded a map and began her explanation. “Tsuneko speaks as though she witnessed it all firsthand,” Father remarked with a smirk.

And Father smirked. “I certainly did see it! Back then, this entire area was nothing but rice fields stretching on and on. Come early spring, people from the capital would come out to the suburbs in small groups—some to pick herbs on Wakakusayama, which I mentioned earlier, others on pilgrimages to Kōfukuji and Tōdaiji Temples—all while enjoying leisurely strolls. Even after the capital was relocated to Kyoto and its former site turned into fields, the temples in this area alone remained as they were. So from Sunday to Saturday—oh, I misspoke—from Saturday to Sunday, officials and company workers from Kyoto would come for a breather, and girls’ school excursions from Osaka and Kobe would also visit—that’s how it was.”

“Tsuneko-san, you mustn’t commit anachronisms!” Tatsuko-san objected. The doll-like young bride would occasionally speak in such a cutting manner. However, Ms. Kiyose remained unperturbed, “Thus when the capital relocated and villagers lost their livelihoods—though being that era, they didn’t face unemployment problems—they settled around Kōfukuji and Tōdaiji Temples aiming for visitors, which gradually developed into today’s Nara City.” “Having made their living for generations off tourist offerings’ spillover like this, Nara people are thoroughly passive.” “Those with any enterprise all followed Kyoto when the capital moved.” “Even now proactive folks eventually leave for Kyoto-Osaka belatedly if they want to do something, so naturally they say only cripples carving Nara dolls under Kasuga Deity’s ridgepoles remain.” “Is that supposed to be good?” “This is all teacher’s peddling.”

She even went so far as to reveal the secrets behind magic tricks. “What a terrible thing for a teacher to teach!” “He isn’t from around here, is he?”

And Mother was surprised. "He mentioned something about Miyazaki Prefecture."

“If you come from somewhere like Miyazaki, prices here are high, you see.” “The charcoal-burning teacher from Hyuga probably holds a grudge against this land.”

And Father sympathized.

All those in nomadic classes like government officials and teachers had a vindictive tendency to pass moral judgments on a region's popularity based on whether its prices were high or low. "Miss Tatsuko, are you studying the tea ceremony?"

And Mother asked during a brief lull in the conversation.

“Yes… At school… Just a very little bit.”

Seeing how Miss Tatsuko answered in halting increments, stitching her words together bit by bit, it seemed she feared being asked to demonstrate her tea ceremony skills. I’d heard that when beginners start learning the tea ceremony, they indiscriminately make people drink tea whenever they see a face, so I was thinking it would be fine if I didn’t end up in such a situation, but— “Nara—perhaps because it’s as timid and inactive as I slandered—is where the tea ceremony originated.” “Rikyū’s teacher was Jōō, Jōō’s teacher was Jukō, and that Jukō opened the Way of Tea here in this very place.” “He was a priest from here, but later he was summoned by Lord Yoshimasa and went up to Kyoto.” “And there at Ginkaku-ji, he established that renowned Way of Tea, so it is said.”

Since the explanation had reached that point, he felt relieved despite not understanding. "That 'renowned' thing—I don't know about it. If you've got a mouth, you can drink it as is—yet those monks had to go inventing something that doesn't even come with a medicine bag." And Father agreed with me too.

“Exactly. Someone like you could never grasp the essence of chanoyu.” “You think of tea as nothing more than something to gulp down like beer.” “Miss Tatsuko and the young master will laugh at you.” “Since ancient times, we speak of the Three Ways—the Way of Buddha, the Way of Poetry, and the Way of Tea—as sharing one essence; three flavors converging into a single path…” “The Trinity doctrine?” “I yield, I yield!”

“Miss Tatsuko, can’t you extend your stay by one more day? There remain so many places you must see—Sakurai, Unebi, Yoshino and others. It would be truly regrettable to have come all this way only to see this place!”

Tsuneko-san began her persuasive efforts. “If you venture further inland to Totsukawa—a realm of endless mountains—you’ll discover what feels like another world entirely.” “After all, it’s where doctors still make house calls wearing straw sandals.” “The mountain forests there are exceptional.” “The cedars of Mount Tamaki outshine even those at Kasuga.” “You can’t grasp Yamato and Kishū’s true customs without seeing their forests.” “Since forests equate to wealth here, we say ‘mountain owner’ rather than ‘rich.’” “And as proof they treat mountains like currency—they tally them in sheets.” “There’s even a saying: ‘She wed into seventy sheets of timbered hills from a sheetless home—all for her pretty face.’” “‘Timber’ means standing trees ready for felling.”

Like leafhoppers, she would readily steer the conversation back to her own field.

"When we get to Nara, let's play a trick on Minami."

This was precisely what Father and Mr. Miwa had prearranged. Since they hadn’t met at all in seventeen or eighteen years, they had been racking their brains, thinking that if they caught him off guard, he’d surely be astonished; but this morning, before departing for Kyoto, they finally put that ingenious scheme into action. Mr. Dan, perhaps because he was unacquainted with Mr. Minami, “Since I’m not descended from palanquin bearers or porters, I must decline to assist in your trickery.” “Let’s go see the museum or something and meet up at the station.”

And Mr.Dan comported himself in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly manner. Miss Tatsuko had already been met by Ms.Kiyose, who had come to pick her up under their prior arrangement from the previous night, “I will certainly have you at the station by eleven o’clock.”

And she whisked her away as if snatching her.

Thus, the three of us left the hotel and immediately parted ways with Mr. Dan.

The direction was different from yesterday's. Just as we thought we'd get to see both sides of Nara this way, the rickshaw entered an outskirt town with crumbling earthen walls scattered here and there. "This earthen wall looks quite old—is this an original one that's survived from long ago?"

Father asked.

“Yes.” “It is an ancient earthen wall.” “This one has stood for a thousand years.”

The rickshaw driver explained. And then, “Did you say Dr. Minami?” “Yes. A doctor named Minami. Since it’s listed as Takabatake, it must be around here, right?” “If you’re looking for Dr. Minami, he’s at the edge of this area.”

And my rickshaw driver knew. Before long, “Ah, right—there’s the Minami Clinic.” “Here it is.” “It’s surprisingly big, isn’t it?” When Father said this, Mr. Miwa stared at the signboard, “Internal Medicine, Gynecology, Pediatrics... They do everything, huh?” “They do everything, huh?” “They’ve written down all the notable departments. They must be trying to catch people’s attention.” “They must be trying to catch people’s attention.”

We promptly entered the front entrance. Not a single patient had come. "I would like to request an examination." Mr. Miwa stated to the student who had come out.

“Please wait a moment.” After the young man said this and withdrew, “The doctor doesn’t seem very popular, does he?” Father remarked in a low voice. “But there’s quite a lot of footwear here—he must be seeing patients.” Mr.Miwa stretched up to survey the earthen entryway. “About that footwear—the geta are what students wear nowadays, and those shoes are all ours.” Father too peered into the earthen entryway as he pointed out the other’s mistake.

“I see, you’re right. Or perhaps it’s still too early.”

Mr.Miwa took out his watch and checked it. He had forgotten to wind it, so as usual, it had stopped. "Have your wife get you a weekly winder," was the admonition we had received from Mr.Dan the other day. In any case, for this absent-minded person—who had already mistaken his own recently removed shoes for someone else's—to now be venturing deep into enemy territory to capture the general was rather presumptuous.

Father and Mr.Miwa began peering into the examination room through the gap in the glass-paneled door.

“He isn’t here.” “Is he still asleep?” “Not a soul in sight.” “You could leave a bomb here without causing any harm.” Despite having no patients, they kept us waiting like fools. It was utterly pointless. Just as I grew exasperated—thinking Mr. Miwa and Father had dragged us all the way from Tokyo to this backwater Takabatake in Nara just to sit uselessly in some doctor’s entryway—the student reappeared.

“Please come this way.” Following this guidance, Mr. Miwa entered the examination room. For those who habitually left the shoji slightly ajar, this proved an ideal chance to peek through the gap. The substitute doctor, pen in hand, commenced asking routine questions—name, address, symptoms—as per standard procedure. Just then, the head doctor made his stately entrance. Though ostensibly of similar age to Mr. Miwa and Father, he presented as an elderly gentleman with a polished bald pate. Caught off guard, Mr. Miwa abandoned his scheme to dramatically announce himself and instead meekly offered his wrist for pulse-taking.

“This is bad. It's the old man. Ken’ichi, were there two nameplates on the gate?” Father whispered to me. “No, there seemed to be only one.” “I’ll just go check.”

And I, my curiosity piqued enough to feel compelled to verify it, stealthily made my way to the gate. When I peered into the examination room again, Mr.Miwa was taking off his white shirt like a trussed-up turtle. Once he’d gone this far, he couldn’t very well claim it was a case of mistaken identity now. Summoning his resolve like a man committed to the ship he’d boarded, he seemed to have decided to go ahead and get a full examination while he was at it. The elderly physician pressed the stethoscope to the patient’s chest and back for a brief period, and then, “There are no abnormalities anywhere. You are perfectly healthy.”

concluded the diagnosis. "I've had neurasthenia since I was young, but…"

Mr. Miwa seemed dissatisfied. "No, you're a picture of health. If I had to put a name to it, it's feigned illness. Since this is a chronic condition from your student days, there's no hope of recovery now." the eminent physician declared decisively, "Heh-heh-heh, what do you say to that? Mr. Miwa!" "Oh, so it's Minami after all?"

Mr. Miwa, who had been poised to make them gasp "Ah!" in surprise, found himself utterly outmaneuvered and left fumbling for which way to put his shirt back on. “Meeting after seventeen years, greeting me in the nude remains as careless as ever, doesn’t it? Hey, hey, Mr. Muraoka! Stop peeking over there and do come in.” Having had his secret exposed, Father too, “Oh, we’ve been completely outmaneuvered.” “But it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He resolutely walked in.

We were promoted from mere clinic visitors to honored guests and shown into the parlor. The doctor— “Well now, you’ve actually come all this way!” Despite the impromptu nature of this visit, he was thoroughly delighted. “You’ve aged.”

Father tapped Dr. Minami’s head lightly. “You’ve come a long way.” The doctor stroked his head.

“Your face is yours, but with that head of yours, I thought your father had come out here, and there was simply nothing I could do about it. But looking just at your face like this, you don’t seem that old after all, do you?”

Father now gazed solely at the face. “Don’t talk nonsense. You’re just as bad as I am! You’ve all aged just as much!” “You’ve really changed, you know. When you meet someone again after parting ways as youths, your hair’s all gone, you know.” Mr. Miwa, too, made use of the protagonist’s head in his narrative of their long-separated reunion.

“There’s nothing strange about it,” said Dr.Minami. “In our class alone, there have been quite a few who’ve died over these past seventeen years, haven’t there? It’s only natural for one’s hair to thin out a bit.” Having thus dismissed the hair matter, he added triumphantly, “But managing to strip you naked after you sneaked in was rather deft work, don’t you think?”

“I naturally assumed you were your father, so I couldn’t very well refuse the examination at that point,” said Miwa. “I was genuinely impressed by how much parent and child could resemble each other—but of course they would, being one and the same!” “Coming all this way to my home and still failing to recognize your host—that’s quintessential Miwa-style behavior,” retorted Dr.Minami.

“If we met out on the street, I’d recognize you properly then. Since you’d be wearing your hat and all.” “Well regardless, today’s been most gratifying!” “But pronouncing me perfectly healthy is a misdiagnosis!” “Nonsense! Your ‘neurasthenia’ is pure malingering!”

“But seeing how even I—who was hiding—got found out, there must truly be a powerful informant behind this.”

Father began to suspect.

“Actually, a tip came from a certain source that you all were plotting a surprise attack,” “so I was lying in wait, all prepared.” “Who could it be?” “That’s a celestial secret not to be divulged, you know.” “Could it be Mr.Dan?” “I don’t know any such person.”

After that, our conversation shifted to events since our last parting and grew endlessly animated, but as our departure time gradually approached, we had to bid our farewells.

Dr. Minami expressed great regret, “You all will never grow up, will you? If you’d just told me about this nonsensical farce beforehand instead of writing it out, I could’ve arranged to show you around properly,” he grumbled resentfully. “Actually, we were planning to come yesterday afternoon and even called from the hotel,” Father explained apologetically, “but since you were out on a house call to Kyoto and returned home late, we ended up leaving at the very last minute.”

Father explained. “We went to Kyoto to see the Miyako Odori Dance Performance. Of course, no matter what business takes us to Kyoto or Osaka, we announce it as a house call to a patient’s home. A prosperity strategy, you know.” “Is it catching on?” “It doesn’t catch on. It’s deserted as a sparrow’s nest at the gate. You could set a bomb there and it wouldn’t be dangerous.”

“Oh, were you listening?” “I was listening, of course—from behind the sliding door.” “We’ve completely bungled it! It’s like the mummy becoming the mummy hunter!” When Mr.Miwa said this, Dr.Minami retorted: “It’s the mummy hunter who becomes the mummy, you know. As usual, you’re completely off the mark. Be careful on your journey and make sure you don’t get run over by an automobile.” He scolded them, then added: “By the way, I’d like to give young master a souvenir—what do you think of something like this?”

he pointed to the roof tiles placed in the tokonoma. “Is this from Daigokuden Hall?”

When Father asked, “That’s right—authentic excavated items!” Dr. Minami pulled out a large number from the cupboard. “Young master, these are just fragments, but if you take them back to Tokyo and show them to specialists, they’ll salivate with envy.” “‘Roof tiles as souvenirs’ has a certain flair, don’t you think?” “Like in The Tongue-Cut Sparrow tale.” “They’re quite heavy.” Just then came word from the carriage company that time was running short. A few patients appeared to have gathered as well.

"Such troublesome things must truly be such a bother for you." While Mrs.Minami was wrapping the tile fragments in newspaper, Dr.Minami— “I’d like to guide you all the way to Kyoto, but unfortunately there happens to be a critical patient tonight.”

he said, seeming quite reluctant.

“We’ll meet again. When you come to Tokyo for a checkup, please be sure to visit.” Father retaliated with a verbal jab, but it didn’t pierce the scarlet-laced armor.

According to our itinerary, we were supposed to visit Uji, but with our two secretaries absent and circumstances having shifted somehow in their absence, we abruptly decided to head for Kyoto instead. "If you've seen the Miyako Odori Dance Performance, things like the Ise Ondo don't really matter—that's what Dr.Minami said, right?" Father said with unusual enthusiasm. "But will we make it in time if we visit so many places first?" Mr. Miwa fretted. "If we're late and find it already crowded when we arrive, that'll be a problem!" And indeed, Mr. Miwa's spirit was already soaring through Gion's skies. "It'll be fine," Mr. Dan reassured them. "Isn't that why we're sacrificing Uji? Though I'll tell you plainly—it's not worth going out of our way to see anyway."

And Mr. Dan wasn’t particularly expecting much. When they approached the Uji River, Father—

“It’s unexpectedly small. People in the old days actually boasted about being first across this Uji River?”

he disparaged. Then Mr. Miwa also— “Byodoin Temple, was it? “What about Ogi no Shiba? “‘Passing my days gathering oak leaves’—even Yorimasa was a bit of a philistine, don’t you think? Angling for a promotion while still alive—how vulgar.”

Mr. Miwa spoke ill. When circumstances forced them to pass by sights they actually wanted to see, they probably couldn't rest until they'd found some pretext to disparage them. Both Takatsuna and Minamoto no Sanmi were caught in the spray of the Miyako Odori.

When they arrived in Kyoto—a car was waiting—they rode straight to Hiiragiya; ate the prepared lunch; and immediately set out sightseeing. That everything proceeded so briskly without a moment wasted was entirely due to Mr.Shiba’s arrangements. Since Kyoto was a major metropolis here too—it seemed they still had other mutual friends besides Mr.Shiba. The Kamo River—which they had only imagined as beautiful—turned out quite different from expectations. Moreover its water volume proved extremely meager. "But it’s nothing like the Sumida River."

Tatsuko rose on her tiptoes nostalgically. "But it can't possibly compare to Fuji's white snow, can it?" When I said this, "But this river here isn't merely clean and famous. Its essence is superior."

Soon they arrived at Chion-in. The main hall was so large you had to crane your neck to see the top. A group of pious men and women, apparently from the countryside, stood gaping up in awe. “It’s early spring, so there are lots of country visitors.” Mr. Shiba said. “Madmen?” Mr. Miwa jumped to a conclusion upon hearing “early spring.” The one who most looked like a leader was wearing a military uniform from the First Sino-Japanese War era with two or three medals pinned on. “It refers to people who come from the countryside to sightsee. In Tokyo, they’d mock them as country bumpkins, but Kyoto people are pragmatic, so they value them. Country visitors are a big moneymaker, you see. Even looking as they do, I hear some of them make offerings of five or ten yen at Hongan-ji Temple.”

Mr. Shiba explained. “What are they looking at, I wonder?” “They’re still gaping, I tell you.” “It’s Hidari Jingoro’s umbrella, you know. Look, it says right here—‘The umbrella lies above’—you see? When this building was completed, Hidari Jingoro left his umbrella there, you know.”

“Why on earth would he leave it behind?” Once Mr.Miwa began asking questions, he kept pressing relentlessly. “I don’t know that far,” “There’s a legend they deliberately added a small flaw because it was made too perfectly—to ward off evil spirits.”

And Mr. Dan, owing to his trade, knew about this. And then,

“Master craftsmen truly have something magnificent about them as human beings,” I said. “They must’ve thought it wouldn’t do to surpass divine craftsmanship. They know their place as humans—they’ve realized themselves that God is strong and people are weak. Whether that umbrella story’s true or not, all true masters are genuine human beings.” Then, uncharacteristically, I grew serious. “Come to think of it, you don’t see umbrellas placed in modern buildings anymore. Dan—those new constructions warp so much during completion that there’s no need to deliberately add flaws, eh?”

And Father reverted to form.

When we went inside and were handed over to the guide wearing hakama trousers, we truly felt like country bumpkins. "All corridors here are nightingale floors!" The old man had an extraordinarily loud voice. Indeed, every time someone stepped on them, the corridor floorboards would sing out "ho-ho-ke-kyo, ke-kyo-kyo-kyo" like a Lotus Sutra chant. Though somewhat incongruous for the head temple of the Jōdo sect, even the most tone-deaf ear would recognize these as nightingale cries. "This is Kitsu no Matahei's work—depicting the Nara Imperial Palace!" "Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!"

“Plum Room!” “Kano Sadanobu’s brushwork!” “Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!”

“Pine Room!” “Kano Naonobu’s brushwork!” “Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!”

“Crane Room!” “Kano Naonobu’s brushwork!” “Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!”

As for the guide—like all guides everywhere—he perhaps intended to finish quickly, never allowing any time for thorough inspection. When they came to a spot within where the garden was visible, he raised his voice a notch higher, “This mountain is Mount Kachōzan! A Kobori Enshū-style garden! The pine planted by the third shogun himself! A young pine tree!” “Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!”

No matter where we went, it was all nightingale floors. And then, before long, “Total temple area: 73,142 tsubo. Total buildings: 106. Total tatami mats: 5,800. Total length of nightingale corridors: 300 ken. Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!”

With that, we were all dismissed.

“They say that no matter how much people today try to devise them, they can’t recreate nightingale floors—what’s the architect’s opinion on that?” “So has the technique vanished like Egyptian mummies, I wonder?”

As they walked through the long corridor, Mr. Shiba asked.

“Not at all. “Unfortunately, Japan hadn’t progressed enough for techniques to go extinct. “When you botch installing a veranda, it makes exactly that sort of noise. “If people want to hear nightingales in it, that’s their business.” Mr. Dan answered.

“But the parts they’ve fixed recently don’t make a sound.”

And Mr. Shiba stepped on the new board to demonstrate. Indeed, it didn’t make a sound.

“That’s because those scheming monks’ cleverness is no ordinary feat. They deliberately prepare silent spots for contrast to have country visitors marvel at it.”

And Father offered his uncharitable interpretation. After emerging into Maruyama Park to view the famous shidarezakura cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom and then taking a short ride in an automobile, we began climbing Kiyomizu’s Dararazaka slope. Kyoto's famous places all felt like old acquaintances even upon first encounter. When we found ourselves strangely unable to shake the image of this Kiyomizu Kannon from our minds, “Ken-san, this is where Issun-bōshi from the nursery rhyme made his pilgrimage with the princess, right?”

When Miss Tatsuko said that, it all made sense. “A parasol climbing up Kiyomizu slope—ah! Shiki really did find an inspired spot there!” Father too seemed pleased by some association. Rows of shops sold Kiyomizu-yaki pottery. Those that looked like they might become my sisters’ mealtime dishes particularly caught my eye. “Mr. Miwa, why not buy that teacup with the golden family crest?”

Mr. Shiba said with a laugh.

“I’ll buy it and take it along. I wonder if there’s one with my family crest.” Mr. Miwa, ever the shopping enthusiast, was already browsing left and right without needing any prompting. “However, when I first arrived here, I made a blunder with that teacup.” “Why?” “Because it had my family crest, I bought it and was using it when one day a friend came over and said, ‘You know, this is a Buddhist ritual teacup.’” “Is that it? If you hadn’t told me that, I would’ve bought it.”

“Mr. Dan, how about that tiger?” “Mr. Taguchi would probably like that, I bet.” “No, no! That’s way too big and heavy!” Mr. Dan, as was his wont, feared the luggage.

Having climbed to the top and arrived at the main hall, “This is what they call Kiyomizu’s stage. You can get a rough view of the town from here, can’t you?” Mr. Shiba explained. “It is indeed high. I can’t quite bring myself to jump down.” Father said.

“Next up are Momoyama’s Blood Ceiling, the Great Buddha, and Sanjūsangendō.” “You both must know about the Great Buddha’s bell, young master and young lady—it’s the very one that Ieyasu took issue with over the ‘National Peace and Tranquility’ inscription.” “Living in Kyoto, I’ve grown so accustomed to hosting visitors like this that I’ve completely memorized the tour sequence.” “Come now, country visitors—let’s all head out now, one after another.”

Mr. Shiba urged.

At Sanjūsangendō Temple, they were astonished by the number of Thousand-Armed Kannon statues standing in numerous rows, golden and radiant in the dim light. “There’s quite a lot of them. But claiming there’s a thousand 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, there really aren’t that many arms,” Miss Tatsuko remarked. She counted them just to be sure and found forty-two arms. “Only forty-two?” Mr. Dan said. “Still far more than any living person has.” “The ‘thousand statues’ count follows that numerical style,” Mr. Shiba explained. “The numbers ‘hundred’ and ‘thousand’ signify ‘a great many’ in every culture.” He provided an explanation worthy of a language teacher.

“Quit blowing such hot air—even if you call it the Forty-Two-Armed Kannon, it doesn’t make its nonexistent divine benefits any more real, does it? I can’t stand religion and literature—they’re always fudging numbers.”

“You’re as stubborn as ever. In any case, there’s this legend that every pilgrim will inevitably find one among these thousand Kannon statues resembling a deceased parent or sibling. Rather than mere superstition, it’s a poetic fantasy pulsing with a sort of anguished human pathos.” “That ‘poetic fantasy’ nonsense is precisely what I can’t stand.” “You’re utterly incorrigible. Fine then—let me swiftly guide you to the Miyako Odori that might please you. If I’m being honest, I too would rather appreciate a living bodhisattva.”

“Let’s hope for that—so Mr. Dan’s mood improves.” Father had left it to others to voice such sentiments, but Mr. Miwa— “At last, the Miyako Odori!” —exclaimed with barely contained excitement. As the appointed hour had arrived, they rushed straight to their inn without further detours. While at home they might skip bathing for a day or two, not once had they missed their nightly soak since embarking on this journey. Father, despite his general indolence and occasional tendency to forgo bathing altogether— “Ken’ichi, go take your bath.” —issued this command to me with characteristic abruptness. Through daily repetition, I’d come to assess an inn’s standing by the sophistication of its bathhouse. Hiiragiya’s proved magnificent—all marble and stained glass.

“How’s Kyoto? What’s it like living there?” Father asked while eating his meal. “They say it’s quite pleasant,” Mr. Shiba answered. “You talk about it like it’s someone else’s business. What about you?” “Since I was born and raised in Tokyo, life anywhere else feels like an imitation of real life—it doesn’t resonate with me at all.” “You’re being extreme. If you mean places like Korea or Manchuria, that’s one thing—but anywhere in mainland Japan is essentially the same, isn’t it?”

“It’s the same thing—if it’s outside Tokyo, that is.” “If you feel that strongly about it, then you should hurry back to Tokyo.”

“I’ll be returning soon. And wash my hands of teaching.” “What’s all this? Are you complaining?”

Mr. Dan set down his cup and leaned forward.

“Complaints certainly play a significant role—but these aren’t personal grievances; they’re complaints on behalf of an entire class.” “I sympathize. I too was dissatisfied with the disparity in treatment between administrative and technical officials—that’s why I resigned from my post. I was waiting to qualify for my pension and ended up having a huge fight with the director. ‘If I’d studied law, I’d have become a director ages ago! And then he has the nerve to put on such airs!’” “I absolutely can’t wait until my pension.”

“What in the world happened to you? Don’t they say high school teachers get excellent treatment?”

“Well, let’s discuss it in detail later.” Mr. Shiba apparently thought mealtime was no occasion for airing grievances. “The storefronts aren’t different from Tokyo’s, but the houses are peculiar, aren’t they? The entrances are ridiculously small. Is your house also built with that narrow latticework like a cricket cage?” Father was still concerned about the living comfort in Kyoto. “Here, they’re all like that. They say that if the gaps under doors or the spaces between lattices are too large, money will escape, so they make them recklessly small.” When Mr. Shiba said this,

“Oh, that isn’t the case at all,” explained the serving maid. “If the lattices are large, plenty of sunlight comes in and wears out the tatami mats quickly, you see.” “In any case, it’s a passive approach—and surely unhygienic, no?” “Tatami matters more than hygiene,” she replied. “As they say, ‘Where sunlight doesn’t reach, doctors will follow.’ Kyoto has many tuberculosis cases.”

After the meal, Mr. Dan,

“Well then, let’s hear Mr. Shiba’s grievances.” Mr. Dan made grievances the sole topic of discussion. Mr. Shiba’s argument essentially boiled down to the claim that the entire education system was a government fraud. “You—engineers have people in the first-class salary grade, don’t they?!” Mr. Shiba asked.

“Of course they do—most of my peers have already reached the first-class salary grade by now.” Mr. Dan answered. “However, across all high schools—from First Higher to Eighth Higher, and even the recent imitations—there isn’t a single person in the first-class salary grade." “They’re listed in the salary grades table, but in reality, they’re completely nonexistent.” “That’s outrageous! “It’s a bait and switch!”

“Since Emperor Jimmu’s time, only one person has ever been promoted to first-class posthumously. In reality, third-class is an extraordinary exception, and fourth-class is the dead end.” “The first-class salary grade is Senior First Rank. You can’t receive it while you’re alive.” said Mr. Miwa. “They only show it but never give it. Is it a lottery cabinet?”

Father said. “They do hand out lottery chests. “Last December, the maid at my place actually won one. “So you see, high school teachers get treated with more contempt than maids from Tanba-Sasayama!”

Mr. Shiba was indignant. “What grade are you in now?”

“What grade are you in now?” asked Mr. Dan. “Just when I thought I’d finally made it to fifth grade the other day, look here—white hairs are sprouting out one after another like this!”

Mr. Shiba pointed to his head and, “Just to be thorough, I checked vocational schools as well, but first-class salaries are indeed nonexistent there too. Of course, principals everywhere are idly doing nothing and greedily taking first-class salaries merely as the Fraud Ministry’s frontmen.” “That’s quite harsh, isn’t it?”

“Then I met with as many middle and elementary school teachers as opportunity allowed to investigate their actual conditions, but this lot has an oddly good sense of resignation.” “They’ve settled into thinking first-class salaries are just ideals—utterly divorced from real-world concerns.” “They’re being conned yet don’t notice a whit—downright pitiful.” “Now you’re really laying into them.”

“It’s exactly a swindle.” “It’s a grand national swindle.” “I will return to Tokyo and join a newspaper company.” “And I intend to widely expose this swindle to society at large.” “Until I see living first-class salaries being created one after another, I will go around persuading promising youths to never become teachers.” “Because there are quite a lot of people now who, precisely because they became educators, are hindering their own children’s education.” “You should absolutely do it.” “It’s for society’s sake.”

“I wonder if I’m being swindled too?”

Likewise, Mr. Miwa, the teacher, sank into thought.

“Indeed. Private schools only adopt public standards where it suits them, so it’s still an indirect swindle, don’t you think?”

Mr. Shiba declared conclusively, “It’s still early, but why don’t we go out for a stroll while looking around Shin-Kyogoku?” From Fuyachō to Shin-Kyogoku was a stone’s throw away. If you weren’t careful, you’d immediately get your feet stepped on in the crowd—apparently, this place was like this every night.

In front of the moving picture hall, Mr. Shiba encountered a white-bearded old gentleman leading his grandchild by the hand and exchanged greetings.

“A colleague of yours?”

“A colleague of yours?” asked Mr. Dan.

“That’s right. That person continued working until the pigment in his hair was gone and only recently finally reached third-class. Even so，he became the envy of others as an exceptional promotion，I tell you.”

Mr. Shiba was still making an issue of the Ministry of Education’s fraud.

I turned around and watched the old gentleman leave while resolving never to become a teacher.

They emerged onto Shijō—resembling Nihonbashi-dori Street—crossed Ōhashi Bridge, turned toward Gion, and entered the Kaburenjō Theater. While they waited, a maiko with white makeup caked thickly on her face and her hair styled in a rounded chignon brought pale green tea and sweets.

“The pattern on these skewered dumplings symbolizes Gion. “You may take this one home.” With that, Mr. Shiba pointed to the earthenware confectionery plate and explained. Indeed, there was a depiction of dumplings. “I’ll take this with me.”

And Miss Tatsuko wrapped the modest dish along with the sweets in paper. Before long, the dance began. With over thirty young women dressed in finery dancing, it was undoubtedly beautiful, but since they merely repeated the same motions, I soon grew bored. The backgrounds alone had no equal elsewhere. No matter what scenery they depicted, they evoked a vivid sense of encountering the real thing. I had heard it was Japan’s foremost beauty market, but no matter how many times the musicians flanking the sides and dancers at the front were cycled through, not a single one resembling a "living bodhisattva" could be found.

“It’s unexpectedly dull, isn’t it?”

Father also seemed bored. "It's perfectly fine! Isn't it beautiful?" And Mr.Miwa was delighted.

“They need to have bigger ones dancing nude.”

And Mr. Dan yawned.

Part Ten

Part of it was that they had gotten up late in the morning, but as they waited for the rain to stop while deep in conversation, noon had drawn near.

Last night, when they were on their way back from the Miyako Odori Dance Performance—or perhaps not even quite back yet—the rain came down in torrents,

“That was a close call. The world’s got to keep up appearances, hasn’t it?”

Even Mr. Dan, who had been acting so complacent, found no mercy from the wholesalers today, so he turned back to check the weather forecast reading "Rain" once more while remarking, "In short, it's a matter of degree. Even if it clears up, there's no escaping humidity entirely. Especially when a low-pressure system's hovering—even without rain falling from above, you're surrounded by a kind of dampness on all sides."

he said, though he wasn't particularly enthusiastic. Bringing up matters of degree usually signals unfavorable circumstances. "I don't mind if it rains—it's not like we're made of papier-mâché." Father, too, remained stubborn in defeat. Though utterly troubled, he never once said he was troubled. Only Mr. Miwa—

“What a bother… I had my umbrella stolen!”

he sighed openly. “Stubborn, aren’t you? No matter how much I tell you, you don’t get it. Who in the world would steal an umbrella? You left that one behind in the waiting room at Nara Station.” Mr. Dan admonished. “You knew exactly where it was all along and kept quiet?”

And Mr. Miwa retorted. “You’re just splitting hairs. It’s not like I kept quiet on purpose—truth is, I’ve been thoroughly sick of that umbrella since Tokyo Station. You’ve got this country bumpkin habit of slinging it over your shoulder. Then at every ticket gate, you shove past me like your life depends on it—nearly pokes my eye out each time. Been wondering why things felt oddly smooth since Nara—turns out the damn thing went missing.”

“You were satisfied with just the result and didn’t bother to investigate the cause. You’re spacing out!”

“You win,” said Mr. Dan. “I can’t possibly compete with a teacher like you.” With that, Mr. Dan refused to engage further. “Umbrellas get stolen,” continued Mr. Miwa. “Fountain pens get stolen. The dozen handkerchiefs I brought have dwindled to just this one. Travel truly demands constant vigilance.”

And Mr. Miwa attributed all the things he had forgotten or dropped and lost to pickpockets. “What should we do? “Shall we brave the rain and head to Arashiyama? “Even if we wait, it’s not going to stop anyway.” And today’s guide, Pastor Hoshino, yawned. “That’s right. “It’s really pouring, isn’t it?” And Father remained indecisive.

“It’s all well and good that you adults keep spouting nonsense, but the kids are getting bored here!” “If you like, why don’t you tell us a story about Moses or something?” “Look, there’s no prospect of it clearing up—why don’t we change our plans and go see a play or something? Pastor Hoshino, even a pastor wouldn’t mind going to see a play or something, would he?” said Mr. Miwa. “I’ll go to a play or moving pictures. In fact, given my profession, I make a conscious effort not to distance myself from worldly affairs. Ganjirō is performing at Minami-za now.”

And Pastor Hoshino turned out to be surprisingly conversational. “I’m not impressed with plays. Everything they do is rigged from start to finish—it just bores me.”

And Mr. Dan immediately voiced an objection. “Mr. Dan is hopeless when it comes to plays. I once dragged him along to one, but honestly, I think he’d actually be bored by that sort of thing. Because he approaches it with the mindset of watching sumo, he doesn’t understand a thing. He’s constantly preoccupied with how the large stage props are arranged. However, he was thoroughly impressed by the palace scene or whatever in *Senda Hagi*. ‘Those young women lined up in great numbers—they’re men, of course, but what exactly are they supposed to be?’ he asks. I reply, ‘Palace maids,’ and he says, ‘Hmm, so they’re all maids? Indeed, even in feudal times, there wasn’t a shortage of palace maids, huh?’ ‘I’m impressed,’ he said, holding his breath in awe. Somehow, he’s putting his effort into all the wrong places. He must have been thoroughly impressed, for even after the curtain fell and we began eating our boxed meals, he kept going on about the palace maids. I was getting embarrassed by the bad reputation and kept thinking, ‘I’m never coming to a play with this man again.’”

And Father proceeded to explain. “Just when I was struggling because the maids kept quitting, I couldn’t help but feel it hit close to home.” When Mr. Dan said this defensively, Miss Tatsuko also— “Seeing how thoroughly impressed he was back then, Mother said that since it’s such an educational play, it’d be fine to bring children along—so I should go see it too.” And she recalled that time. “That’s impressive. “Even if you pleaded with Keian to send someone over, they wouldn’t send a single person—yet there they were, eighteen of them lined up in a row, each one a perfect beauty. “Not a single one seemed to have trachoma or body odor. “Such a sight is truly a balm for the eyes of modern people suffering from a servant shortage. “At least while watching that play, you can forget about the servant problem—isn’t that something to be grateful for? “When you think about it this way, maybe plays and such aren’t such useless white elephants after all.”

“I’m in awe of your eloquent discourse. But if he hears that what hits closest to home is the number of palace maids, the author of *Senda Hagi* would surely weep. Mr. Hoshino, since there are teachers like this in the world, you must have quite a hard time with your sermons, no?” “Not at all—Mr. Dan’s inability to understand plays is precisely his strength. Darwin said that from middle age onward, he became completely unable to understand music. As for practical people—well, they’re another matter—but those who dwell in the world of ideas must become somewhat lopsided to a certain extent.”

And Mr. Hoshino argued in defense of Mr. Dan.

“I completely agree. If you can travel for ten days without losing a single belonging, you’re being far too practical and lacking in the human touch.”

And Mr. Miwa was still lamenting the loss of his umbrella. “We’re hearing quite a few brilliant opinions from all sides today, aren’t we? But you’re feeling pretty pleased with yourselves, aren’t you? You’ve been smoking Mr. Dan’s cigarettes since earlier!” Father pointed out. “If it’s Shikishima, it’s all the same no matter whose they are. I don’t draw much distinction between what’s mine and others’.”

Mr. Miwa said nonchalantly. “There’s certainly a lingering charm to that.”

Mr. Dan laughed.

In the midst of their lighthearted banter, “Young master, that’s Kyoto’s Don.”

Pastor Hoshino informed him. Indeed, a shrill whistle rose in pitch and resounded noisily.

“Is that it? The interval until Don has stretched out, hasn’t it?” Mr. Dan disparaged it. “Hmm.” “It’s still going.” “Ah, even after listening to that drawn-out thing, I still don’t feel particularly hungry.” Father also said. “The pitiful thing is how people assume ‘Don’ must exclusively refer to cannons.” “The problem is you people never think.” “Even if they denounce militarism in words, if the entire nation sets their clocks by the army’s cannons, foreigners won’t take them seriously.” “But as expected, Heian-kyoto’s Don is different, wouldn’t you say?” “It’s entirely a sound of peace, you see.”

“When you put it that way, there’s nothing more to say. As expected, the Pastor’s perspective is quite different, isn’t it?”

And Mr. Miwa was impressed.

“In Japan’s great cities, Kyoto alone remains untouched by military control of time.” “In this single aspect alone, Saikyo has every reason to take pride!”

Mr. Hoshino’s fervent partiality toward Saikyo was evident precisely because he spoke as if he had practically assimilated himself into Kyoto.

“I can’t stand how religious people twist interpretations to suit their own ends.” “Does that Don really have any sort of international humanitarian significance?” “Suppose they fired cannons daily around Higashiyama—just imagine that!” “All those carefully preserved buildings would get rattled completely out of alignment.” “That’s why the desperate measures of antiquarian preservation are letting out such strange screams.” “The interval has stretched out, and while appearing leisurely on the surface regarding practical matters, it thoroughly manifests the characteristic of Saikyo residents—outwardly composed yet inwardly scheming.”

And Mr. Dan remarked bluntly. "As expected of someone in your trade—you immediately grasp building preservation." "Precisely so." "Though it's a matter of convenience, in practical terms one might say Kyoto's artistic authority holds military force at bay." Pastor Hoshino asserted.

Soon, the maid brought in the tray of food. “Even with that Don, they still serve lunch here, huh?” Miss Tatsuko said confidentially to me. This was exactly why proper upbringing mattered. Children imitated their parents in everything. “It seems Kyoto’s specialty is hamo, huh? They make us eat nothing but hamo.”

Mr. Dan paid no heed to such circumstances and took up his chopsticks while sitting cross-legged. To be fair, not a single one of them was sitting properly. Even Pastor Hoshino sat with one knee raised and performed the so-called "poverty shake" with his toes. Etiquette was an unfair institution. It demanded proper seated posture only from women and children. “Because fish spoil easily, they stockpile hamo as a precaution for poor catches.” “They say this creature’s bony structure is precisely why it lives so long.”

Pastor Hoshino answered. “Since they say hamo was offered to Mount Hiei, Kyoto people must’ve been using this fish since ancient times.” When Father said this, Mr. Dan— “Do monks actually eat hamo?” “No, it’s an example phrase people use when complaining about how hard kanji are to remember.” “‘Offer hamo to Mount Hiei’—hardly anyone can write that correctly on the spot.” “I see. For my part, the only character I’m sure of is ‘mountain.’” “Only an idler like you would know such odd things.” “But this hamo really is quite good.” “So what exactly is Kyoto’s specialty anyway?”

asked Mr. Miwa. “Well,there aren’t many specialties here.” “They say ‘Kyoto ruins you with finery and Osaka with feasting,’ so once you come here,might as well resign yourself about food.” “Yatsuhashi cinnamon sweets,five-colored beans,turnip thousand-slice pickles,sugukizuke pickles—that’s about it.”

Pastor Hoshino, who dealt in spiritual nourishment, seemed to have no interest in physical sustenance. He had simply relayed the station vendors’ calls verbatim for us.

The weather we had given up on began to clear from noon onward, which was our greatest stroke of luck. There’s nothing that lays bare human fickleness quite like the whims of the sky. When you go out without an umbrella and the weather turns suspicious, you feel as though you’ve made an irreparable blunder; then, when it looks like it’ll clear up, you suddenly feel as if you’d had foresight all along. We who had until moments ago resigned ourselves to a completely wasted day now found our greedy hides swelling terribly at the sight of a few feet of blue sky peeking through the clouds. With the determination to make up for even the morning’s losses, Mr. Dan urged the automobile driver to hurry! Even as we reached Kitano Tenmangu Shrine,

“If we were to pay respects to every shrine we come across in Kyoto, even a month wouldn’t suffice,” he declared, and they passed right by.

Soon they arrived at Kinkaku-ji Temple. Mr. Miwa—a lover of large trees—was so taken with what was called an ichii tree that even after we had climbed up to join him, he remained gazing skyward. The guide promptly began reciting the names of garden stones and antique implements, but as usual, since our purpose was to pass through rather than view them, only the Boat-shaped Pine and what was said to be a phoenix statue that once stood atop the pagoda remained in our memory.

The only part of the garden they took their time viewing from the pavilion’s second floor was the pond-filled expanse that formed its entirety. The rain-freshened young leaves glittered so brilliantly it verged on dazzling.

“What a lovely spot. Oh, look at that big carp!” Miss Tatsuko exclaimed. By the time she said this, Mr. Miwa had already bought fu crackers and was tossing them in. Scarlet carp 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 came and took ’em all away.” The caretaker too joined our group and leaned on the railing. Even the Golden Pavilion would become tedious if one had to sit here from morning onward, I supposed. “So ‘carp takers’ means thieves, huh?” Father asked. I understood that 'monotori' meant thieves, 'kyuuyotori' meant the proletariat, and 'chiritori' meant kitchen utensils, but I still had some doubts about which category of 'tori' I belonged to. “They’re thieves since they take others’ belongings.”

“So they really were carp thieves, huh? This one’s amusing.”

“There’s nothing even slightly amusing about it.” “Still, letting all the creatures in the pond get completely taken like that was rather careless of you, wasn’t it?” “Carelessness? You see, we never imagined there’d be folks stealing carp.” “Plus, unlike things kept inside a house, they’re left out in the open—so if someone wants to take ’em, it isn’t hard at all.” “This side over here leads straight to the main road.” “They’d come in from over there at night and spread some poison.” “And then they’d scoop up the weakened carp and make off with them.” “Fish can’t talk, you see.” “They don’t say ‘thief’ or anything like that.” “Easy pickings, that’s what it was.”

“So did they catch those carp thieves?” “They caught ’em.” “Three men working together took two cartloads.” “They were all three shaku or longer.” “Quite the business they had going, eh?” “Being live creatures, they couldn’t keep ’em long—had to sell ’em off quick. That’s how they got caught…” The caretaker kept talking to the pond even after we’d started walking. On the way to Arashiyama, we stopped at a place called Taizan-ji Temple.

“This gate here is designated as a protected structure, you see.” Pastor Hoshino pointed at the old temple gate and said. “Is this the Silkworm Shrine?” Miss Tatsuko inquired. Having just heard that visiting the Silkworm Shrine would ensure no shortage of silk goods, she seemed intent on offering coins. Even if women eagerly read mistranslations of continental literature in their pursuit of novelty, when it comes to matters of beauty, they lose all composure. Like foxes made to smell the aroma of tempura-fried mice, they would instantly lose all reason.

“No, this is Kōryū-ji Temple in Uzumasa—it’s connected to naturalized immigrants from China, you see.” “Long ago, great numbers of craftsmen crossed over from China and settled in this area.” “The name Uzumasa doesn’t quite sound Japanese, does it?” “Indeed, it does seem that way.” “It’s not entirely un-Japanese.”

Mr. Dan interjected, "But this character here reads 'Qin.' A man named Qin once told me his surname came from China. Since he's an engineer after all, I wonder if that fellow might be descended from those Chinese craftsmen?" "That could well be," "But what if I told you there were Israelites mixed among those Chinese immigrants? Wouldn't that surprise you?" "I'll play shocked then." "So what's your next move?"

“There’s nothing particularly special about it，but right here remains the well that those Israelites dug．Since we’re here，let’s take a look．” Pastor Hoshino guided us to a nearby farmhouse and introduced a large well．Good water was welling up． “This certainly seems like a well with a storied past，” Father said． On the square stone well curb，“Well-Dredging Well” was deeply carved． “As a name，‘Well-Dredging Well’ simply doesn’t make sense．People in the past didn’t know proper nouns like Israel，so in desperation they used these phonetic substitutes．”

Pastor Hoshino thus endeavored to promote the idea of Israelites.

“That’s interesting! What a find!”

Mr. Miwa echoed in agreement, but Mr. Dan— “So ‘well-dredging’ is Israel? “In Tokyo, there’s a place called Igarako, you know.” “As one would expect from someone who’s always preaching sermons, I’m amazed at how skillfully you can twist things!” Dan feigned surprise as promised.

The distance from Uzumasa to Arashiyama was not long. Along the way,

“Even in Kyoto, this area feels quite rural, huh?” “Isn’t it all just bamboo thickets?”

Mr. Miwa said while looking out. “This area is already the countryside, you see. There should be many bamboo thickets—Kyoto produces the most fans and folding fans in Japan, after all. Because bamboo groves are a major source of income, they’ve stationed bamboo-specialized industrial technicians to prevent them from withering.”

Pastor Hoshino explained.

“Now this is what they mean by a quack doctor. A descendant of the Bamboo Cutter’s younger brother – some fellow called Takeuchi Naotarou, I suppose?” Father shot back. “No, it’s factual,” Pastor Hoshino insisted earnestly. “They say he’s a world-renowned bamboo scholar.”

“It’s not global. Oriental. Bamboo doesn’t exist in the West.” Mr. Dan interjected with a correction.

Guiding such bluntly outspoken company proved no easy task even for an experienced guide. Despite the rain having just let up, Arashiyama already teemed with visitors. As they approached Togetsukyo Bridge, Pastor Hoshino—

“This won’t do—the water is muddy. Normally it’s a clear stream where you can see straight to the bottom,” he said preemptively to forestall complaints. Even after reaching the opposite bank, he continued setting expectations: “The cherry blossoms here bloom late—they’ve only just begun to open. When these reach full bloom though—ah!—it’s truly splendid.” With this caveat still hanging in the air as they strolled along the riverside path, he lamented further: “You can’t truly appreciate Arashiyama Gorge’s essence unless you take a boat upstream—but alas! With today’s swollen waters that’s quite impossible.”

Pastor Hoshino lamented. “It’s a dead end on all fronts,” Father muttered under his breath. “The cherry blossoms in full bloom must be lovely, but autumn foliage here is truly exceptional,” said Mr. Dan. “They say the snowscape is unparalleled, and when it rains, it has its own unique charm. Universal ointment only fails to cure one’s own ailments. Still—not a bad view, huh?” He delivered this praise in his peculiar way.

Mr. Dan praised in a peculiar way.

“It’s a nice spot. There’s absolutely nowhere like this in all of Tokyo. But it’s awfully cold, isn’t it? They say Kyoto’s chill seeps into your bones—how true that rings!” Mr. Miwa said. They went as far as Tonase Waterfall before turning back, then stopped at a place called Kogo’s Mound per Miss Tatsuko’s request. To those who stake everything on their appearance, death must seem the absolute end of all things. Pitifully, only three or four stone blocks lay piled beneath lush stands of trees. They say this place suits both moon-viewing and flowers, but clearly banking on floral appeal, vendors at Arashiyama were selling salt-preserved cherry blossoms. When Mr. Miwa purchased a substantial quantity, Pastor Hoshino—

“What on earth are you going to do with so much?” “I’m taking them to Osaka as souvenirs.” “That’s just a spur-of-the-moment idea.” And Father bought some too. “I once had a mishap with these salt-preserved cherries. When I first arrived here, a young man from the church gave me some, but not knowing they were meant to be drunk, I ended up munching away on every last bit of them.” Pastor Hoshino climbed into the automobile and began chuckling quietly. Then, “He could’ve just kept quiet about it, but in the course of thanking them, he had to honestly say, ‘But that’s surprisingly salty, isn’t it?’—which is why the anecdote lives on to this day.”

"Well," "You'd need that kind of resolve to preach Christianity right under both Honganji Temples' noses." Father said.

Because yesterday’s rain had wasted nearly half the day, today was quite busy as they tried to make up for lost time. Having checked out of the inn early in the morning and intending to use their time as effectively as possible until departing for Osaka that afternoon, their guides were both Pastor Hoshino and Professor Shiba. First, starting with what was close at hand, they passed through the Imperial Palace from Sakaichimon Gate to Nanuka Gate.

While they were waiting for the tram at the stop,

“Doshisha University, famous for its campus unrest and financial troubles, is right over there next to Shokoku-ji Temple.” Professor Shiba specifically explained to me.

“This guide never has anything worthwhile to say.”

As Pastor Hoshino laughed, a young couple approached and bowed politely before moving on. As Pastor Hoshino watched their retreating figures while tilting his head repeatedly,

“What would you like to do?” Father asked. “I’m surprised! Those guys were making a huge fuss just a couple of days ago about breaking up after their fight, but it seems they’ve already made up and are off to see the cherry blossoms together or something.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?” “Of course it is.” “But it’s rather inconvenient that they haven’t said a word to me about it.”

“Are they members of your church? Is there some rule that couples must report every detail of their marital squabbles to the Pastor?” “Not exactly, but you’d be hard-pressed to find another couple who fight as much as those two do. Half the year they’re at each other’s throats over something or other. And whenever it escalates, they always drag it to me—what a nuisance! Once, the husband absolutely insisted on getting a divorce. I was so fed up I told him, ‘Fine! Give her a divorce then! I can’t stand such a vain woman either—I’ll negotiate with the matchmaker myself!’ But that very evening they came back grinning—‘Pastor, we’ve decided to put off the divorce after all!’ Even when I snapped, ‘I knew it’d come to this,’ he had the gall to say, ‘But Pastor, isn’t a young wife’s repentance truly beautiful?’ I shoved him down yelling, ‘You spineless fool—that’s your problem!’ but he just kept smirking even as he lay there! That idiot’s hopeless!”

“What a rough pastor we’ve got here! But handling not just sermons but even domestic problems like that must be quite exhausting, huh?” “It’s exhausting. And there’s nothing more perilous than mediating marital disputes. If you say something careless, you’ll be left with lingering responsibility. Even with this couple here—if they make up, the husband will tell his wife, ‘The pastor said he dislikes you because you’re so vain.’ When she asks, ‘Didn’t you say the same thing too?’ he’ll reply, ‘No way! What kind of man badmouths his wife to others?’ Then she’ll retort, ‘Is there some rule letting pastors gossip about church members behind their backs?’ ‘Of course not!’ he’ll say. ‘That pastor’s just plain indiscreet.’ That’s how they end up concluding things. Putting in all that effort only to be resented—it’s downright foolish.”

“Even believers have marital quarrels, I wonder. But Kyoto’s trams sure are taking their time, aren’t they?” Mr. Dan grew impatient waiting. “Here it cooomes! It’s packed!” Almost simultaneously, Mr. Miwa said. “It’s just like Tokyo. They aren’t paying the employees decent salaries.”

Professor Shiba seemed intent on expounding upon the first-class salary issue again today.

Contrary to how unexpectedly extensive the Imperial Palace grounds were, Okazaki Park—which we had thought would be much farther—was reached shortly after boarding. We had a map, but neither Miss Tatsuko nor I felt inclined to spread it out publicly and deliberately advertise ourselves as country bumpkins, making things inconvenient. We immediately entered the product exhibition hall, though Mr. Dan—having learned his lesson from the Toba pearls incident—walked briskly through sections displaying Nishijin brocade and Yuzen-dyed fabrics, “In Kyoto there’s someone just like Mr. Miwa who apparently read ‘Safety Zone’ as ‘Zone: Safe Tea.’ Now Tatsuko here looks ready to make that same sort of reading.”

Ken'ichi whispered privately to his father. Instead, he meticulously examined items that wouldn’t invite haggling, like Buddhist altar fittings, “This Buddhist altar at 950 yen is cheap. It read, 'Manjuji-dori, Butsuya-machi Corner, Crafted by Butsuya Zen'emon.' Whether it's Zen'emon or Akuemon, it's cheap either way.” he praised with great relief. “Butsuya Zen’emon is amusing.” “It harmonizes well with such an incense-laden trade.” “And having a Buddhist implement shop district is something to be grateful for.” Father, impressed by such trivialities, jotted it down in his notebook.

“How about the zoo? The one here has better facilities than Tokyo’s, and the lions even bear cubs.” Mr. Hoshino had kindly recommended it, but thinking it was rather too late to go see monkeys now, we declined.

Along the canal, when we arrived at the Incline, “This is where ‘the boatman doesn’t move, yet the boat climbs the mountain,’ you see.” Professor Shiba said. “Look here. “The boat is climbing up the slope via steel cables, right?” “There are also ones coming down.” “That’s how they transfer them to the river beyond the slope.” “When you imagine boats crossing mountains to travel between Yamashiro and Ōmi, isn’t it fascinating?”

Mr. Hoshino took the trouble to provide a concrete explanation.

They took a brief look at Nanzen-ji Temple and walked to Kurodani. Due to the legend of his having hidden in that temple gate, Ishikawa Goemon dominated their conversation topics along the way.

“In any case, they say he had the strength of thirty men—just his physique alone makes him one hell of a guy,” said Professor Shiba nostalgically. “When you speak of Ishikawa Goemon, even knowing he was a bandit, you somehow don’t get an entirely wicked impression. He’s Japan’s Robin Hood, isn’t he?” “It seems the likes of righteous bandits, gallant outlaws, and rebels have a certain appeal to your rubbernecking tendencies, doesn’t it, Mr. Shiba?” Muraoka retorted. “You’re the type who finds fires fascinating as long as your own house isn’t burning, aren’t you?” True to form, Pastor Hoshino showed no sympathy for Goemon. He had made it a rule not to acknowledge the value of any person not written in the Bible.

In Kurodani, the "Kumagai's Armor-Hanging Pine" had withered. Something strangely powerful came into conflict there. I don't know how many men's strength Naozane possessed, but even after taking monastic vows and becoming "Venerable Priest Renshō Hōriki-bō of Kumagai," he still seemed capable of swinging an iron staff about. "He looks like a formidable monk," Father remarked, gazing up at the stone monument. "In that case, the story about him being so entranced by warhorses' hoofbeats that he absentmindedly smashed his wooden fish drum might actually be true."

Father looked up at the stone pagoda. Across the road, facing each other, A stone marker reading “Taifu Atsumori Kūgan Rinshō Daikoji” stood there.

Before long, Pastor Hoshino said, “How about climbing Yoshidayama next? That should make for a good stopping point.”

As he muttered to himself, Mr. Dan said, “Who cares about Daimonji or whatever. Even if you leave this lot to their own devices, they’re insatiably nosy sightseers—and since they’ve got absolutely no concept of time or space, there’s no point in bothering with half-baked clever ideas. It’s not like we’re ants on a Kannon pilgrimage—if we stop at every single place like that, it’ll never end.” he cautioned. Upon hearing “mountain,” they seemed to react with their usual apprehension. “What’s Daimonji?” When Miss Tatsuko asked me,

“That’s not what we’re talking about now.” Pastor Hoshino, who also appeared to dislike mountain climbing, explained vaguely: “It refers to the farewell fires shaped like the character ‘Dai’ burned on Nyoigatake during Obon—they say you can see their remnants if you climb Yoshidayama.” When ablaze, the “Dai” character would seem to float vividly in midair as a magnificent spectacle—though someone had earlier been enthusiastically carrying lanterns for this very purpose. “By the way,” Professor Shiba abruptly invited them, “since my model home is just ahead, please do me the favor of stopping by briefly.”

Professor Shiba suddenly invited us.

This area appeared to be a residential district, with rows of identical black-gated entrances lining the streets. We all filed into one of those houses. Given our large numbers, “Miss Tatsuko and young master, please do have a seat. “Please use the model futon.” Professor Shiba worked hard to settle everyone in and introduced his wife. “At least the wife isn’t a model one. "She’s your beloved wife, I tell you!” Pastor Hoshino interjected. “Mr. Hoshino may constantly laugh at me, but it truly is a model lifestyle. “Since I keep thinking about returning to Tokyo, I don’t feel like buying anything permanent for household items either.”

Professor Shiba said while stroking a large Chinese-style Seto brazier. "That must certainly be true. Friends who've gone to Korea and Taiwan keep saying the same sort of things all the time." Father sympathized. No matter how much one favored Tokyo, lumping Kyoto together with colonies was too harsh. "If you complain twice as much as anyone else while maintaining such a stopgap approach, wouldn't the school have trouble with you?"

With that, Mr. Dan expressed sympathy for the school. "It seems that a clinging approach causes more trouble than a stopgap one." "But it’s strange though." “Even in this model household with this model life, they’ve already managed to have four children.” “At least this much isn’t a model.” "As proof it's real, the youngest has been sick since the day before yesterday, so they've had a model nurse come in."

“Jokes aside – is the situation truly improving?”

Pastor Hoshino inquired. “Thank you. There seems to be no danger—we just panicked a bit too much.” “I envy you having four children. They say even zoo lions have cubs—maybe I should move to Kyoto too.”

After a short while, Mr.Miwa said in a pleased manner. "In Kyoto, children truly do come about readily. At Pastor Hoshino's household—well,there may be years without converts,but never years without children." When Professor Shiba laid bare this observation,Pastor Hoshino—

“You’re coming on rather strong there. Not a word to say in my defense, I tell you. Actually, the eighth one will be born soon.”

he proceeded to confess. “Congratulations! Then doesn’t that mean you’ve converted at least eight followers? It’s by no means a bad record.”

Mr. Miwa had become serious in his consoling, which even made the wife burst into laughter. Feeling it would be inconsiderate given there was a patient, we left Professor Shiba in that model home and soon took our leave.

Having just tasted them and confirmed that fresh Yatsuhashi were truly best, we bought a large quantity of those fresh ones, and when we came to the tram stop in front of Kumano Shrine, a crowd had gathered.

“It’s a fight between the conductor and a student.” “This is amusing.”

Pastor Hoshino said as if he had unearthed a rare find. Even as a dignified pastor, he occasionally revealed his feral instincts. What astonished us more was how Mr. Dan—the least likely to meddle—immediately shoved through the crowd and forced his way into the dispute. Just then, a gentleman— “This person definitely handed it over by reaching past my shoulder without alighting.” —stepped in to mediate. “No, I didn’t receive it,” the conductor retorted, brushing aside the third party. “Got any proof you handed it over?”

and relentlessly pursued him, grabbing his arm. If this had happened in Tokyo, not only the person involved but even bystanders wouldn't have stayed silent. Yet while wearing a hostile expression, the student resolved the matter peacefully by paying for the ticket twice. Just as I thought Kyoto truly lived up to its reputation for patience, I was shocked when the conductor was knocked to the ground with an earth-shaking thud. "Why did you hit me?" The conductor staggered unsteadily and lunged at him—but the student—

“Do you have any proof that I hit you?”

retorted and walked away nonchalantly. "That was invigorating." With that, Mr.Dan let out a sigh.

“Kyoto students are rather rough, aren’t they?”

Mr. Miwa was not pleased. "They're rough. It's not just students—even conductors are like that. At speech meetings too, there's no place with as many hecklers as Kyoto." Pastor Hoshino said. "Anyway, that conductor just now got rather carried away," This was his father, "There's nothing more inconvenient than conductors."

Still indignant was Mr. Dan.

At Shinkyogoku, they got off the tram and entered a beef restaurant. Given that eating lunch here had been planned since yesterday, sukiyaki must be a Kyoto specialty. When one considered that such elaborate shop structures had been built here in great numbers solely for eating beef, one couldn’t help but feel sorry for the cows who remained blissfully unaware. “What do you do with this egg?” As Father asked—uncharacteristically taking charge of the pot— “Like this—crack it into the dish, dip the meat in it, and eat.”

Pastor Hoshino picked up a piece that still seemed undercooked with his chopsticks and demonstrated by example.

“In Kansai, everyone does it like this. If only they’d copy just this much in Tokyo.”

“In Kansai, everyone does it like this. Just this much—it’d be good if you copied this even in Tokyo,” said Mr. Dan, who was handling the neighboring pot. “By the way, you really threw yourself into that earlier fight, didn’t you? I was worried you might get physical,” Pastor Hoshino remarked. “I didn’t lay a hand on anyone,” Mr. Dan replied, “but since I couldn’t make heads or tails of what started it all, I felt helpless not being able to speak up. There’s nothing more infuriating than train conductors.”

Mr. Dan seemed to dislike conductors quite a bit. "You have an odd grudge against conductors, don't you?" "Actually, my assistant was beaten by a conductor the other day." "Though I promptly settled the score, strangely enough, ever since then I can't keep silent when conductors are involved—even in others' affairs." "Hmm, that's quite thorough." "What happened?" "What on earth—" "So my assistant had struck the other party in exactly the same kind of situation as before." "Since he threw the first punch, he was clearly in the wrong—but it happened right by the terminal depot, so he got surrounded by fellow conductors." "Poor fellow ended up getting ganged up on." "I was furious, I tell you."

“Given your personality, 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 boat team member? Aren’t you ashamed to be knocked down by some country bumpkin of a conductor?’ I said.” “That was quite the lecture you gave him!” “Then my assistant said, ‘I was outnumbered and caught off guard,’ so I imparted a certain strategy to him. Hoshino—do you know the secret to fighting many opponents alone?”

“What does a pastor know about secret fighting techniques?” Father interjected from the side. “Because you’re a pastor, you especially need to have studied such things a bit,” said Mr. Dan. “After all, you’re constantly dealing with crowds at church.” Mr. Dan seemed to regard the church as being on par with the Diet,

“We cannot occupy two spaces simultaneously. “When you consider it, this principle forms a far more fundamental basis for social life than notions like freedom or equality. “The day this breaks down, this boiling beef hotpot might somersault over our heads at any moment. “From the principle that one cannot occupy two spaces at once, we can deduce that in close-quarters combat—where there’s extensive mutual contact—it becomes utterly impossible for three or more people to effectively overpower a single individual simultaneously. “That’s why there’s absolutely no need to fear them just because they outnumber you. “No matter how many there are, fight with the mindset of facing one opponent at a time. “Even ten opponents are momentarily just one—so you eliminate them sequentially, starting with whoever’s nearest. “The saying ‘the few cannot withstand the many’ isn’t about numerical superiority but rather the smaller side’s physical endurance. “This might sound like I’m disparaging theater, but that Marubashi Chuya fight scene we saw the other day completely defies this doctrine. “With dozens of pursuers trying to occupy the same space simultaneously, all they achieve is making a ruckus without accomplishing anything. “As for Chuya—flustered beyond measure, he failed to recognize that those dozens were effectively one opponent at any given instant. This miscalculation left him exhausted from futile exertions until he could no longer move.”

“I see—there’s some logic to that. You should write theater reviews, you know.”

Father interjected again. “By the way, my assistant took my advice to heart and scored a great success.” “Did he do it again?” Pastor Hoshino brightened up.

“He sure did! The next day, at nearly the same time at the same terminal, he smacked the head of a conductor who wasn’t doing anything, got off, and when he gave chase, tripped him over. The other conductors, assuming it was the same guy from yesterday, immediately tried to surround him again, but since today he hadn’t come to get beaten, he braced himself with his back against a wall to minimize the contact area as much as possible. No matter how many there are, if you treat each as a one-on-one duel, our side here has arms strengthened by rowing, you see. He quickly knocked down six people, which was all well and good, but he ended up getting caught by the police. He’s an idiot. In short—since he can’t even handle a simple brawl properly, I can’t feel at ease leaving any work in his hands.”

Having finished speaking, Mr. Dan began eating voraciously. “With a boss like this, the assistant must really be having a tough time of it.”

After a short while, Mr. Hoshino said. "He’s a surprisingly simple and decent man, you know." "He’s utterly convinced that making money through architecture, losing it in stocks, and going by the name Dan Senkichi is the most proper way to live." “If you just understand how to handle this part of him, it’s actually easier to keep him in a good mood.” said Mr. Miwa. “To put it simply, he’s like a laborer boss—so fond of his underlings that after just one fight, every conductor comes to detest them.” “With this, he does have at least some redeeming qualities.”

Father said. “Hey—don’t go undermining me where the kids can hear! That’s why Tatsuko stops listening to her parents.”

Mr. Dan was laughing. Since they had arrived at the station a full hour early, they doubled back and stopped by Higashi Honganji Temple. To think they came all the way from distant lands specifically for pilgrimage, yet entered the temple merely because they happened to have spare time—it was quite something how this motley crew managed to assemble. “Are you all with the West or the East, I wonder?”

Pastor Hoshino began an inquisition into their religious sects, perhaps as material for a sermon. Mr. Miwa fundamentally couldn’t grasp the distinction between West and East. “When Obon comes around, monks visit us for New Year’s with chopsticks in hand, so at any rate, it’s definitely Buddhism.”

he said as if it were someone else’s affair. “I tend to lean your way, but I did say our family sect is Jōdo Shinshū.” “Does ‘Jōdo Shinshū’ refer to Higashi Honganji or Nishi Honganji, I wonder?”

Father also utterly missed the point. As for Mr. Dan,

“My household is non-religious—we don’t let Jesus or monks anywhere near us. If they carelessly come around, we’ll knock them flat!”

His position was declared with crystal clarity.

In any case, the following Sunday, Pastor Hoshino would—

*Japanese Religious Sentiment*

Titled *Japanese Religious Sentiment*, there was no doubt he would lament the trio's apathy and extol the tenacious hold of Christianity.

After they viewed the main hall and stepped out into the corridor,

“Miss Tatsuko, do look at this.” Mr. Hoshino drew Miss Tatsuko’s attention. “Goodness me—it’s hair!”

Miss Tatsuko made a horrified expression. Indeed, a thick rope fashioned from hair was coiled in a spiral. “Donated by devotees of Niigata, Echigo Province: Length 22 jō 8 shaku (approx. 68.8 meters), Circumference 1 shaku 1 sun (approx. 33.3 cm). In addition, there are fifty-two strands,” stated an erected sign. “How about it? Isn’t the power of religion truly profound?” Pastor Hoshino remained smoothly persuasive. He never missed an opportunity to wrestle using someone else’s loincloth. “In Niigata, have so many women become nuns like this?”

Miss Tatsuko asked worriedly. “No, this hair was donated by female devotees as ropes for hauling timber during this place’s construction,” said Pastor Hoshino. “They say even an elephant could be tethered with women’s hair—ropes twisted from hair are apparently extremely sturdy things.” “Religion has its limits,” said Mr. Dan disapprovingly. “When it reaches this scale, it requires police oversight.” “Among the pious folks coming from the provinces, some will skip out on lodging fees yet insist on giving extra offerings. If you tell them monks squander their alms on indulgences, they’ll open their purses wider still—thinking it’s all the better if the Living Buddha himself gets to enjoy luxuries. It’s beyond saving.” He paused. “Still, there must be something to it if generations of Japanese have thrown themselves into this so completely. Even we laymen feel a certain... nostalgia.”

“There’s nothing to it! It’s just a shirking mentality—trying to warp natural law to suit themselves through measly offerings.”

Part Eleven

Crowded trains blared their loud horns as they passed by frequently. Mr. Ogawa had emphatically stated that suburban living had developed earlier in Osaka than in Tokyo, and indeed it was thriving. As for the nearly fully developed Hanshin area, there was no need to discuss it further; even on this side alone, he said there were three or four railway lines connecting the countryside and the city in this manner. Now this hectic, bustling crowd too was a microcosm of Osaka’s development. They all nested in the suburbs as if every place were Sumiyoshi as long as they had money, and at the break of dawn, jostling and clamoring, they would push their way into the city in search of bargains.

“How about it? Ain’t there any bargain deals?” “Lately, there ain’t any at all. If you find any bargain deals, won’t ya let me in on ’em too?”

“Lovely weather we’re havin’, ain’t it?” “You’re up early this mornin’, ain’t ya?”

“Oh my, you’re up mighty early, ain’t ya?” “With the sun shinin’ this bright, must be a proper ‘Japan-clear’ day, eh?” “How’s everyone keepin’ over your way?” “Oh, we’re all fit as fiddles, thanks for askin’.” “Your lot doin’ alright too?” “If you catch wind of any bargain deals, you’ll give me the nod, won’tcha?” “Cross my heart!” “Eh, nothin’ doin’ lately.” “But if somethin’ turns up, I’ll ring you quick as spit.”

In this way, the Osaka Conversation Chapter invariably began with talk of bargains and ended with talk of bargains. Therefore, people who did not desire money at all could not remain in Osaka. However, since such philanthropists were currently few and far between, this metropolis fixated on bargain deals attracted a motley crowd beyond what the city could contain. Mr. Ogawa too was one such member of this motley crowd.

Now then, upon arriving at Umeda yesterday evening, the group dispersed as planned. Mr. Dan had an honorable younger brother in Dōshōmachi, so he took Miss Tatsuko with him and withdrew there. Mr. Miwa’s uncle, who was a lawyer, had a house that served as his lodging, “It’s quite close—if you look at the map, it’s not even an inch and a half away.” “Don’t worry.”

And with that, he left without even saying "Goodbye." He couldn't feel satisfied unless he'd forgotten something. As for Father and me—who had few connections in the Kansai region—we found ourselves under Mr. Ogawa's guidance being jostled aboard a train, transferring to a streetcar, and ultimately imposing upon this Higashitenjaya household.

After having breakfast, while sitting on the second-floor veranda gauging the prosperity of suburban life by counting the number of bustling commuter trains, “Young Master, there’s a telephone call for you. “It is Miss Tatsuko.” Mrs. Ogawa relayed the message for him. He immediately went downstairs and, “Hello? Miss Tatsuko?” When he did so, “Oh, “Ken’ichi-san?” “Good mornin’.”

Miss Tatsuko laughed. There was no particular reason for her call. It had merely been to fulfill their promise to exchange morning greetings over the phone since they wouldn’t be meeting tomorrow, but still, “A house with children?” “No. Instead of children, there are animals. Can you guess?”

“Is it a cat?” “It’s a Chin! A Chin!” “Yes. It’s quite hectic over here.” “What’s there?” “It’s the children. It’s exactly like a toy box that’s been overturned. This morning I’ve already gotten used to it, but yesterday I had such a headache!” “Are they being that rowdy?” “No. Because wherever I go, there’s the scent of medicine. Even though our house is a medicinal herb shop, the three houses across the street and both neighbors are all medicinal herb shops too. It’s even more intense than Kanda’s used bookstores. It’s a solid row of them. Dōshōmachi is such a peculiar place, isn’t it?”

“Even if you get a headache, you can rest easy since your house is a medicinal herb shop.”

“But that’s not how it works at all,” Tatsuko replied. “Father said—the medicines in this house aren’t for drinking but for selling. If you feel unwell, he said you ought to see a doctor instead. For the first time, I truly understood what ‘selling medicine’ really means.”

Such was the exchange that took place.

When I returned to the second floor, Father was vigorously demonstrating his clumsy social skills with Mr. Ogawa. “Is that so?” “If you insist on having no holidays except Sundays, you can’t possibly manage.” “You’re remarkably greedy.” “Is working that hard really enjoyable?”

“It’s not interesting, but there’s no helping it,” “It’s business, after all.” “Seeing how you address wealthy men like Mr. Sumitomo and Mr. Konoike with such reverence, I take it your enterprise has already become quite successful?” “No—just when things start taking shape, we have to begin sowing anew.” “Hasn’t business been profitable lately?” “There are profitable ventures and unprofitable ones.” “We’ve returned to an age of chaos.” “I suppose you made good profits during the war?” “About that—” “We made gains, but ended up disgorging just as much—so it’s back to square one.”

“Actually, business hasn’t been good lately, has it?”

It took on the exact form of an interrogation. “By the way, what do you think of my wife’s eyes? They’re quite protruding, aren’t they?” After a short while, Mr. Ogawa changed the topic and shifted to questioning.

“Huh?”

Father couldn’t comprehend. “My wife’s eyes, you know.”

“Your wife’s eyes?” “Yes. “Truth is, she’s caught this blasted Basedow’s disease—hadn’t you noticed? “Like some goggle-eyed goldfish, eh?”

“Now that you mention it, I did think her eyes were rather protruding, but it’s an illness?” “It’s called goiter—the thyroid swells up and makes the eyes bulge right out. Seeing how it mostly affects women, I suppose it’s a disease for chronic worriers. And my wife’s hysteria amplifies it considerably. She’s become terribly difficult to handle.” “That’s unfortunate. Aren’t you the one causing her excessive strain?”

“Thinking that might be the case, I’ve been behaving with the utmost prudence lately.” “And so I’m catering to her preferences in everything to keep her happy.” “That wife of mine has grown utterly full of herself—she’s like a veritable queen now.” “With those big eyes and parts that smack of an old woman, she probably bears a striking resemblance to the Queen of Spades.”

Mr. Ogawa tried hard to belittle his wife. I thought her face looked familiar somehow—it was from the Queen of Spades. Now that you mention it, she does look a bit like that. "It seems she resents being pressured quite fiercely."

Father also smiled at the Queen of Spades.

“I’m being pressured.” “With those eyes…” “If they bulge out any further, it’ll be unbearable—so without hesitation, I’m worshipping her like a queen.”

Just then, the wife in question came upstairs, "I must sincerely apologize for my earlier discourtesy," she said with a modesty unbefitting the Queen of Spades. "You didn't sneeze just now, did you? We were talking about you this whole time," Mr. Ogawa said, though his words

“Speaking ill of others may be all very well, but might I suggest you first finish attending to your own affairs so I may properly escort you?”

“Yes, yes, let’s be off right away. But what on earth could it be about? What on earth…” “It’s nothing good anyway, with the police involved.” “Are you going to the police?”

Father was surprised.

“We’ve been receiving frequent summonses from the police lately.” “We were too busy to address them properly, but yesterday another officer came and insisted repeatedly that we must appear at the station without fail after nine this morning.” “What on earth could it be about?”

Even Mrs. Ogawa looked genuinely worried.

“You’re treating me like a criminal by asking if I’ve done something wrong, but even I haven’t done anything that would get me dragged to the police yet. Since I’ve been so excessively upright, maybe they’ll commend me as a model husband.” “What could it be? Honestly. Do you think some stolen goods resurfaced?”

Father fell into thought. “Recently, no break-ins have occurred at my place, I certainly haven’t broken into anywhere myself, I haven’t found anything, nor have I lost anything… I’m a perfectly upstanding citizen, so I haven’t the faintest idea.”

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 away and inquire what you’ve done.”

And Mrs. Ogawa urged once more. “Are you going to the police to inquire about your conduct record?” The boy was laughing. Things had taken a strange turn. “This is a bit of a Tennoji-bound situation, huh?” “What’s this ‘Tennoji-bound’ business?” “There’s an insane asylum in Tennoji.” “Hmm, in Tokyo, it’d be Matsuzawa-bound, huh.” “Right, right—Kyoto would be Iwakura-bound.” “Osaka would be Tennoji-bound?” “This is hilarious.”

Father promptly took out his notebook and wrote it down. He seemed to have a considerable interest in lunatics. “What’s so funny about that? When you occasionally come to visit, it’d be a problem if you used something like me being called to the police as material.”

And Mr. Ogawa soon left to take care of his business. Afterwards, Mrs. Ogawa, “Thank you very much．Thanks to electrotherapy and such,I’ve nearly regained my health lately,” and in response to Father’s words of concern,

“It’s quite strange. At first, my husband kept saying I was glaring at him. But I wasn’t glaring at him or anything of the sort.”

She began recounting from the very onset of her illness. "I see, so the General did have a somewhat shady side to him after all."

Father laughed while responding.

“That’s precisely how it was,” she said. “The very next night, he again claimed I was glaring. He said, ‘I was in the wrong last night, but since I’ve come home late tonight due to social obligations, don’t make such a frightening face at me.’ But in truth, I wasn’t glaring or in a bad mood at all.” “How amusing,” Muraoka remarked. “Now that I think about it, my eyes had already become quite prominent by that time. But since neither I noticed nor my husband realized anything, he kept insisting I was glaring and said, ‘You’ve been in a bad mood since morning lately. If there’s something that doesn’t sit right with you, please speak your mind without reservation.’ Eventually, he began returning home immediately after closing the shop. Thanks to that, without me voicing a single opinion, my husband’s conduct improved.”

“A great success, wasn’t it?”

"But at the same time, I became so short of breath that I couldn't even go up to the second floor. When the doctor examined me because it was too painful, he said it was indeed this illness and that it had already progressed considerably." "Well now, but Mr. Ogawa's hasty reformation turned out to be quite an unexpected by-product, didn't it?" "A fortunate mistake, if I may say so. However, since it's quite a dangerous illness, there would be no making up for it without something that significant. Though Ogawa seems to find that galling - lately, whenever he says anything, he acts as if his newfound propriety were some great favor he's bestowing."

“In any case, it was good that matters were settled quickly.” “Even so, a complete cure still seems difficult, and if there’s even the slightest thing to worry about, my countenance changes immediately, and I end up making such a frightening face that even I find it terrifying.” “With such a reliable barometer in place, even Ogawa won’t be able to cause me nothing but trouble, will he?”

With that，Mrs.Ogawa laughed. A virtuous wife，it seems，does not mind a minor illness so long as her husband’s conduct remains proper. “Tennoji seems to be right near here，doesn’t it?” After a short while，Father asked.

“It is quite nearby. That park, Shinsekai, the castle, and Sennichimae would be the most suitable places to take the young master.”

Then Mrs. Ogawa began talking about Tennoji’s Seven Wonders—such as the upside-down bamboo and the flightless sparrow—and moved on to the round stone at the bottom of the castle moat. “...That large round stone contains the spirit of Yodo-dono, and even now, from time to time, it lures people in.” “Being the beautiful lady she was, they say that when someone is called by her, even a man of considerable spiritual resolve finds himself unable to resist—such a gentle voice does she use.” “Someone like Mr. Ogawa nowadays would probably be safe, though.”

Father humored her. “Not at all. Someone like Ogawa would be the type to plunge headlong into it at the first call. However, that executive had already been aware of this story beforehand. Therefore, whenever he returned home late, he made it a rule not to pass by that place and instead take a detour—yet such things are not uncommon even for my husband. That so-called socializing was indeed the cause of his ruin. One evening, due to that socializing, he stayed out late and, emboldened by drink, ended up approaching that very spot.”

“So he just jumped right in at the first call, then?”

“No, he immediately fled.” “However, Yodo-dono’s voice had seeped deep into his mind, and from the next morning onward, he developed a fever.” “The doctor merely states that he seems to have been frightened by something, so we cannot establish a treatment plan.” “Gradually, as he was on the verge of breathing his last, he realized he had been called by the moatside.” “Furthermore, following his final wishes expressed at that time to relocate to a place unconnected to the moat, it is said that the bereaved family subsequently moved to Shimanochi.”

That being said, Mr. Ogawa had kept them waiting for quite some time. Just as Mrs. Ogawa was beginning to feel slightly anxious on her own account—wondering if he might have been detained outright—he came back in high spirits,

“Oh, terribly sorry! What nonsense, I tell you.” “What happened?”

Mrs. Ogawa promptly inquired. "But it's a relief you made it back safely!" Father remarked jokingly.

“I should’ve known better than to order literary books that don’t suit my style.” “They really wrung me dry.” “Is that bastard even a proper sergeant?” “Strutting around like he owns the place.” “‘Hey, you!’—treating me like some common criminal!”

With that, Mr. Ogawa was indignant. "How strange. Is it wrong for a businessman to order literary books?"

Mrs. Ogawa interrogated.

“Well, you see, I ordered what I thought was Tokugawa-period literature, but the books turned out to be surprisingly bad—so I guess you could say I got swindled.” as Mr. Ogawa was frantically making excuses,

“What exactly from the Tokugawa period—the item?”

But Father remained completely oblivious. “I’ve already forgotten the name—it was something from last year.” “Smooth talker.” “So you ordered them to corrupt public morals? I always thought your so-called integrity was unreliable.” “Oh, don’t be so hard on me.” “But you’re not very clever, are you? You should’ve said it was for academic research and turned the tables on them.” “But since it was so sudden and I went without thinking anything through, they tore into me.” “It’s so damn irritating—I can’t stand it.”

“You’re truly an imprudent person.” “It’s precisely because your usual self remains your usual self that such things happen, I must say.”

Mrs. Ogawa was in her element and had indeed already begun to glare. "Yes, yes—I've nothing to say." "So they arrested the publisher and got my name from the subscription list, eh?" "What a fine pickle." "That damned officer swelled up self-importantly and started lecturing me at length. When I turned my face away, he barked, 'Hey! You listening?'" "'At your age with that balding pate, you oughtn't be buying such trash,' he says while shoving the subscription money back at me." "I'll grant they did well retrieving cash from swindlers for honest folk—but commenting on my head? That's crossing a line!" "The man's downright impertinent!"

With that, Mr. Ogawa became indignant once more and carelessly pulled out two bills from his sleeve. And then, "When I said I didn't have a registered seal to receive this money, they told me to just put my thumbprint and go." "I've never pressed a thumbprint before." "They took my fingerprints for future reference—slyly, you know." Father never had anything good to say. "Let this be a lesson—do take some care from now on. "If you behave like this, you won't set a proper example for the shop staff." "And I will take custody of this impure money."

Mrs. Ogawa swiftly tucked the two ten-yen bills into her obi and glared sharply at her husband. Mrs. Basedow was thoroughly severe. "You see how it is—this is truly troublesome."

And soon after, Mr. Ogawa muttered this as he guided Father and me out of the house. "If you're complaining, isn't it your own fault? I've heard all sorts of things from your wife." But Father showed no sympathy. "She bribes the maids and clerks to keep an eye on me, so there's no winning. Today, since you were here, things were settled with just a fine. The other day, it was a huge uproar." "So even an upright gentleman ends up showing his tail now and then, eh?"

“No, this wasn’t like today’s unavoidable trouble.” “It was pure suspicion.” “They accused me of taking a ‘two-companion trip’ to worship at Ikoma’s Venerable Shōten.” “What do you mean by ‘two-companion trip’?” “Women other than my wife—geisha, mainly.” “Taking them along for a day of refined leisure is what we call a ‘two-companion trip.’” “Whereas dragging my wife around with me is called a ‘tinker’s outing.’” “What peculiar slang.” “A ‘tinker’s outing’ can also mean ‘patching your way through.’” “The term comes from happily married tinkers—essentially the ‘two-pole approach.’” “Piously trailing after one’s wife like that is the pinnacle of being a tasteless clod without an ounce of flair.” “But a two-companion trip? That’s a mark of social standing—no exaggeration to call it the Osaka gentleman’s ideal.”

“You’re really straining yourself over nonsense.” “That’s precisely the issue.” “Without children, one can’t stay complacent forever—not at your age with that thinning scalp.” “Why must every conversation circle back to my head?” “Has it truly receded so much?” Mr. Ogawa sighed heavily, “So where exactly are we going?” He proved a thoroughly unreliable guide. “Anywhere suits us. So long as we soak in Osaka’s true essence.” We ourselves voiced no particular preferences.

After getting off at Saimon-mae, they immediately turned into Tennōji.

As befitted its certification as the origin of Japanese Buddhism, even on ordinary days it bustled like a festival day. A man from Kawakita in Nomi District, Ishikawa Prefecture, wearing a dragonfly-patterned straw hat, “In our hometown, if you pay a prefectural tax of one yen and thirteen sen, you can fish all you want—so I’m giving you a huge discount!" “Normally forty-eight sen each, now thirty sen!” “It’s truly effective, I tell you!” “Now then!” “Slice it into shreds and put it in miso soup.” “The flesh melts away, leaving nothing but oil.”

If you thought they were selling lampreys as medicine for night blindness, then across from them— “…The next meal will go right down.” “For coughs, it stops by the second day.” “For women’s ailments, a monkey’s head works—but this works too.” “At other places it’s two yen fifty sen, but here it’s one yen fifty sen…” And the viper vendor twisted himself into coils. In Osaka, anything cheap and fast-acting—like dried snakes and eels—would sell even in holy places like this.

Since it was customary to climb the five-story pagoda upon visiting here, they squeezed through dust-covered timbers until breathless, finally surveying from the summit a metropolis that appeared sullen beneath hazy spring clouds and soot. “Ken’ichi, that’s dangerous!”

The cantankerous father cautioned. “It’s okay—there’s a wire net. Folks who don’t value their lives sometimes jump off here to commit suicide, you see.” Mr. Ogawa explained. After seeing sights such as Turtle Pond and the Great Bell, when they returned to the West Gate,

“Is Gappō-tsuji around here?”

the father asked.

“It’s just over there. But you sure know some peculiar spots, huh?”

“Along Saemon-dori Street… I remembered a line from gidayū.” “Do you understand gidayū? This I can perform.” Mr. Ogawa said cheerfully, “Unfortunately, since the Bunrakuza 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 Tsudayū style—it’s got that refined edge!”

“We’ve been told to be especially cautious about unripe fruits and untreated water during our journey, you see.” “You say such awful things. However, shall we go see Gappō-tsuji? ※(The gate
And Father was solely afraid of Mr. Ogawa’s jōruri recitation.

When they boarded the tram again and headed toward the castle, “There’s Takatsu Shrine along the way, but since we’ve just seen the people’s hearths from the tower top, I suppose we can skip it now?” Mr. Ogawa said idly. “Absolutely. However, it’s crowded—this tram too.”

“It is crowded indeed,” said Mr. Ogawa. “More crowded than Tokyo’s. It might sound odd to call it livelier than Tokyo, but in reality, this area is more densely populated, you see. Since the streets are so packed, even the city trams can’t make people move aside with just a bell like in Tokyo—that’s why they use those honk-honk air horns instead.” “Humans really must be that insensitive after all, huh?” Father began muttering complaints under his breath. Their visit to Osaka Castle amounted to little more than looking at stones. Most of the notable structures had burned down long ago, leaving even those stones charred in some places. As they positioned themselves at the gate,

“It’s big, isn’t it?” As Mr. Ogawa introduced the stones of the stone wall as if they were his own,

“It’s a big one, isn’t it? Honestly. How on earth did they manage to bring it here? —Something this enormous.” And Father was impressed. Before long, they came across another impressive one, “This one is the Furisode Stone, shaped like a long-sleeved kimono. “That one over there is the Octopus Stone. “See, there are spots shaped like an octopus in the lower corner, right?” Mr. Ogawa explained.

“Indeed, it states that the Furisode Stone is about 2.5 ken in height and 7.5 ken in width, while the Octopus Stone is 4.5 ken in height and 6 ken in width.”

And Father read the signboard,

“Old-time military men were unexpectedly eloquent, weren’t they? When you say ‘Octopus Stone,’ it feels rather whimsical. Isn’t ‘Furisode Stone’ such an elegant name?” “Yodo-dono must’ve named it, eh? ‘My good sir, doesn’t this stone resemble a long-sleeved kimono? Oh how I wish to drink Korean ginseng and revert to an age where I could wear furisode again! You’re likely off conquering Korea now. Oh sir… that’s how it went, see?’” “You’re no ‘sir.’” “Then perhaps Your Excellency? Oh Your Excellency, how utterly disagreeable! Are these spots meant to be a monk? Why, it’s an octopus! Now really, Your Excellency… don’t you agree?”

"I'm not Your Excellency." “Your Highness? Or Taikō? Hey there, Your Highness…” He had just started to say when—Boom!—a tremendous noise resounded. “Huh—I’m startled! It’s the noon cannon—!”

They walked from Osaka Castle to Tenjinbashi Bridge and descended midway across to Nakanoshima Park. This place hadn't been created from readily available land but by filling in a river's midstream, so even if it wasn't spacious, people said one couldn't really complain about its scale. Moreover, Mr. Ogawa,

“Young master, this park has come quite a long way. The areas where boys play and where girls play are kept separate, you see.” and kindly guided them to both areas. “In places with poor morals, I suppose they need to be this strict with children from the start.”

“How can you be so sure about the poor morals?” Mr. Ogawa challenged. “Didn’t you say going out in pairs was ideal?” Father retorted. “That’s for gentlemen,” he qualified. “Osaka has educators too, I’ll have you know.”

Mr. Ogawa seemed to think educators weren't gentlemen. "So you're saying we should leave morals entirely to educators while gentlemen single-mindedly pursue shady deals, eh?" "Well, that's about right." "In this place, everything's divided into specialized roles." "The Tanimachi we passed earlier handles tailors, Matsuya-machi snack shops, company banks go over there on Kōraibashi-dōri, and kimono fabrics belong to Honmachi-dōri—that's how it works here."

“So beauties are in Sōemonchō, and the wealthy are in Senba and the island area, eh?”

“Exactly!” “But there are surprisingly few beauties here.” “And I’d heard there are many bucktoothed women here—but it’s true.”

Father, clearly exhausted, showed no sign of getting up. “Who did you hear that from? Your wife, I suppose?” “That’s right. But I told them it was a dentist’s explanation.” “If I keep mentioning my wife, you might think I’m afraid of her—but actually, last month someone moved into the house two doors down. She’s a genuine Osaka beauty through and through. When I kept praising her like that, my wife got frantic and started picking flaws—‘She may be pretty, but she’s bucktoothed!’ Women don’t show much sympathy for a good-looking neighbor, you know.”

“Isn’t it contradictory to call someone a beauty yet say she’s bucktoothed?” “That’s not a contradiction at all. All women are convinced they’re beauties first and foremost anyway. Take my wife—she thinks of herself as a beauty too, albeit one with slightly bulging eyes who’s getting on in years. That’s why you can call someone a beauty but still say she’s bucktoothed without feeling any contradiction whatsoever.”

“That’s an interesting observation.” “There’s peace of mind in thinking, ‘I may be a beauty, but I’m slightly plain.’” “That’s precisely why mirror shops stay in business.” “The lady bringing her children there must fancy herself a beauty too, I suppose?” “Exactly.” “She’s likely convinced she’s a beauty—if with a low nose, then compensated by a high forehead.” “Otherwise, why would she slather on that white powder so thick?”

Their act of appraising the women passing through the park in this manner marked them as true middle-aged delinquents.

Well, in Nakanoshima, they viewed the much-vaunted Public Hall and City Office, then alighted at Yotsubashi. It is said that Osaka is a city of rivers and bridges, but especially here, where rivers intersect at right angles and four bridges face each other, its distinctive features were on full display. “What’s this? ‘Coolness—crossing Yotsubashi four times…’ perhaps? Was there really such a thing here?”

Mr. Ogawa stared intently at Raizan's haiku monument, "If you take 'four' for Yotsubashi, that'd make it four times four—sixteen crossings in total." “Sixteen crossings altogether.” “No, it merely means we crossed all four bridges—nothing more than that.” Father interpreted it as such. “In that case, it’s too obvious to merit being composed as a haiku.” “I simply don’t understand haiku at all.”

“If it were ‘Both have whiskers… a cat’s love,’ you’d understand, wouldn’t you? It’s Raizan after all.” “Then I get it. ‘Both have whiskers…’ huh? Ah, clever indeed. Even female cats have whiskers, after all.”

“If you can understand that much, you’re not so dim-witted after all.” “I’m flattered.”

Before long, they arrived at Shinsaibashi and began walking along the bustling street.

“It’s actually quite densely populated, isn’t it? This street represents Osaka through and through. Kept just as it was in the old days—though that does make it rather narrow.”

Mr. Ogawa explained as he introduced the area. “I see, the crowds here surpass those in Ginza and Nihonbashi. This area, right? Where Sakakibara-kun’s father bought a summer hat in his youth and suddenly converted to Christianity?” Father said. “What happened to Sakakibara’s old man?” “It seems he had considerable time on his hands, for when buying a single summer hat, he reportedly went from one end of Shinsaibashi Street’s curio shops to the other, browsing through them all. He asked at several shops, and while the prices were all much the same, the first shop’s hat seemed the best after all, so he turned back and bought it there, or so the story goes. And during that time, he had already managed to neatly resolve his longstanding matter of faith in his mind—isn’t that amusing?”

“Does a hat have anything to do with religion?” “A great deal.” “In essence, all religions are much the same—he’d reached a profound realization that even with curio shops lining the streets, their wholesalers all come from the same source.” “Given that, Christianity—which he’d had some prior familiarity with—seemed the most straightforward path, so he applied for baptism, you see.” “Hmm, quite the witty old man.” “So Sakakibara-kun heading all the way to America to study theology was also influenced by that summer hat, then?”

“That’s precisely why I say there’s a significant connection,” Muraoka continued. “As a matter of fact, that man’s doing missionary work now all thanks to that straw hat.” Ogawa chuckled. “If there had been a discount shop, the old man might’ve bought his hat there and declared that Japanese people are better off with Buddhism after all. That was a close call.” “Exactly.” Muraoka nodded. “I’m sure Sakakibara-kun remains grateful to this day that not a single curio shop on Shinsaibashi Street offered discounts or tried to overcharge him.” “Religion and business transactions are much the same, aren’t they?” Ogawa mused. “It’s funny how the oddest things become fateful connections.”

The two of them continued endlessly discussing trivial matters. According to further accounts, this old man was said to be currently counted among Sakai City’s foremost successful individuals. 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 labor rather than manual work," and by persuading the boy accordingly, made him resolve to become a missionary as he was today—so the account went. Since he had devoted himself to missionary work, it was not impossible that he might end up enlightening society to some degree. When one considered this, even a single straw hat’s sphere of influence was indeed vast.

They hadn't walked all that much, but having been on their feet the entire time nonetheless, they relaxed when they took a break in Dotonbori.

“Young master, you must be hungry, right? However, when it comes to river cuisine, Shibafuji here is the only place to go.”

Mr. Ogawa said to each of us—Father and me. “This room’s half boat, half house, isn’t it? The only shame is the water’s dirty.” Father showed his face.

Father showed his face.

“Rather than elegance, practical benefit is the main point here. “Especially around here, where a scoop of soil equals a scoop of gold, you have to make use of even the river.” “After all, across the street lies Sōemonchō, with Kurōemonchō and Namba Shinchi at our backs.” “You must immerse yourself in these night views to grasp Osaka’s sophisticated tastes.”

Mr. Ogawa asserted emphatically.

“And what counts as low-class?” “If low-class entertainment satisfies you, there are theaters lining this Dotonbori area, and right across in Sennichimae, there’s a department store of shows called Rakutenchi.” “Both low-class and high-class—this area is the heart of Osaka’s cultural essence, you know?” “Which one are you?” “Seems you’re the high-class type, huh?” “I make it seem low-class to my wife, then take the initiative to suggest going to plays and such and take her along.” “I can’t stand that bumpkin Totsusuke Ganjiro, but I’ll play along and say things like ‘Kamiji of Daimonjiya is truly peerless!’” “But this is a strategy.” “When you’re in business, if you profit, you get motivated, and if you lose, you turn reckless—it can’t be helped.” “Naturally, I end up stepping into high-class circles too.”

“So you are at least being monitored as expected.” “You’ve had a fondness for tippling since your youth, after all.”

Father said this, but after a short while—being urged to partake of that tipple—he began sipping it little by little while

“Ah, there’s an abacus here. Because the people here are so calculating, they use it even while eating to check their sums and calmly brace themselves for the bill, or so I’ve heard?” he asked, as if suddenly remembering.

“That’s slanderous talk!” “Around here, business deals are generally handled in places like this or even higher-class establishments.” “When I’m stone-cold sober, I can’t speak my mind properly.” “That’s where tippling shows its merits—truly a godsend.” “Business dealings are like brawls—they mostly get settled over drinks.” “Hence why ‘abacus’ is my personal motto.” “The tragedy is my wife remains clueless about such realities—here’s her husband diligently sliding abacus beads through fair-and-square transactions, yet she grows horns of suspicion.” “Women and children truly are impossible to handle!”

Mr. Ogawa explained the abacus while justifying his position in the same breath. “Your wife seems quite formidable, I see.” When Father laughed, “No, she’s not difficult at all,” Mr. Ogava said emphatically, “It’s just those eyes that terrify me. “I’ve been wearing myself out trying not to aggravate her condition. “Even tonight, tricking her wouldn’t be hard. “For instance, you’d take your son home now. “Then say, ‘When Mr. Ogawa stopped by the shop, a client from Wakamatsu had come, so he’ll be late tonight.’ “Still feels a bit crude. “Let’s adjust. “I’ll call my shop from here to send an errand boy to escort you. “Having him deliver the message would be safer.” Yet Mr. Ogawa himself had no business there at all, idly sipping his drink while waiting. “With the boy present, you’d suddenly get an idea and say, ‘While the master’s away, I’ll visit a friend or two.’ “‘Wouldn’t want them resenting us later if they find out we came,’ you’d add. “You wouldn’t bring your child on a formal call, see? “Then my wife—never dreaming you’d lie—would fret, ‘Will you manage alone?’ and say, ‘Perfect timing. Seikichi, show them the way.’ “Slick, eh?”

“In this manner, you’ll leave the young master at home and come back here escorted by the errand boy.” “The rest is already in the bag.” “Since I know a good spot, we’ll hunker down there right away—whether we make a racket or slip around quietly, everything’ll go off without a hitch.” “You’ve got quite the scheming mind.” “If we don’t work things this way, we’ll never get a moment’s respite. “Even if we carouse till midnight, we’ll be fine.” “If we dash home by automobile, we’ll make it in ten minutes flat.” “But the real test comes after reaching home.” “If we both go in together, she’ll sniff us out straightaway.” “You enter first while I wait outside.” “No, better I go in ahead of you.”

“It’s like we’re about to commit burglary.” “Since we’re lying, it’s undoubtedly a kind of theft. My wife is sure to glare and say, ‘Good evening, wasn’t it?’ I’ll avoid looking because it’s scary and say, ‘What time is it? I was kept out late, and ah, my shoulders are stiff.’ ‘It’s already half past twelve,’ she says. ‘Then Mr. Muraoka must have already gone to bed, I suppose?’ I smoothly deflect. Because he’s waiting outside, there’s no way he’s sleeping inside. Then I continue, ‘Is that so? Still, it’s quite late, isn’t it? He’s a philosopher, you see—I wonder if he got lost on the way?’ I say 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, don’t you think? Right then, you come in calmly, saying something like, ‘Oh, I’m home.’ ‘What took you so long? Getting back this late?’ I reproached. ‘I forgot 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 so late. It must be about nine o’clock by now, right?’ you answered. ‘This is hilarious.”

“Even if it’s nine o’clock, that’s just fine, isn’t it? What do you think, Miyoko? As expected, philosophers must transcend time and space!” I roared with laughter. “You laugh too. My wife can’t help but laugh too, don’t you think? I end up making her laugh whether she wants to or not. Of course, this requires us to bribe the young master and the errand boy beforehand. I have considerable expenses every month for bribing the errand boy.”

“You seem to have quite a few hidden hardships, don’t you?”

When Father laughed, "The more hardship there is, the more enjoyment you get." "Jokes aside—shall we try putting this plan into action?" "Since we hardly ever come here, it should be fine."

And Mr. Ogawa seemed prepared to apply his theory depending on the response. “No thanks. I don’t understand high-class tastes.” “Can’t argue with that.” By the time the meal was served, Mr. Ogawa had ordered alcohol multiple times and had turned quite red. As he grew drunker, his fervor only intensified. By now, his wife was no longer in his thoughts.

“By the way—is it really okay for you to drink that much?” Father began to worry quietly to himself. “It’s fine.” “As long as it’s just alcohol, I don’t face any restrictions.” “Well, your speech is getting a bit slurred, you know.”

“It’s fine. I can speak more eloquently when slightly inebriated, so rest assured.” Mr. Ogawa appeared determined to return home and subject them to a Gidayu performance. Sennichimae—true to its legacy as an entertainment district since olden days—surpassed Kyoto’s Shinkyogoku in liveliness, yet their refined guide caused them to pass through every attraction without pause. Before Harishiza Theater, Father came to a standstill. “What a pity to visit Osaka and leave without hearing Gidayu.”

Muraoka said.

However, Mr. Ogawa, "The ones here are all female Gidayu performers, you see," he merely answered and did not pursue the matter further.

This time, I stopped in front of Rakutenchi. Mr. Ogawa, being a gentleman of gentle disposition, never ignored my presence. Earlier—though only theoretically—he had even announced research findings about methods for disposing of me; that was how much importance he placed on my existence. So he promptly slid closer to me and, "Young master, Shinsekai is grander in scale than this place. There's a splendid tower called Tsutenkaku where you can see all of Osaka. My wife said she'd show you around tonight, Young master."

he urged, adding a condition.

“It’s fine. If we go to Takarazuka, we’ll see the Takarazuka Revue.” Father also said.

On their way back riding the train again, “You—this is the place.” “It says ‘Gappō at Tsuji※ (the character for ‘madō’ written with 門 instead of 火) Temple’.” Mr. Ogawa pointed out the window and, “Which do you prefer—Gappō or Terakoya?” “You’re really piling on the pressure here. “Which one’s shorter?” “Well, let’s just listen to whichever one you’re better at.”

Father resigned himself. "I'm good at both." "You've got me there."

Shortly after arriving home, Father said to me, “Ken’ichi, why don’t you try calling Mr. Miwa?” He might have suddenly felt uneasy about listening to Mr. Ogawa’s Gidayu performance. “How do I make the call?”

When I played the part of Tarōkaja, “I don’t have any particular business, but there was someone who got hit by a car around noon at some place or other. You saw it too from the train, right? I just can’t stop worrying because his appearance resembled Mr. Miwa’s.” Ken’ichi flipped through his notebook, promptly stood by the telephone, dialed the number, and inquired. “Oh, Mr. Miwa from Tokyo?” “That’s correct. Are you all right?” “Huh? Hello? Hello?”

“Is everything all right?” “Nothin’s changed here. “You mean Mr. Miwa from Tokyo?” “Wasn’t he run over by a car?” “Just who the hell are you?” came a voice tinged with slight anger.

Part Twelve

Upon hearing that they would soon arrive at Shimonoseki, Mr. Miwa had quickly swapped his hunting cap for a straw hat—a prudent move—but it was promptly blown out the window. “What a shame! After all that effort with the Tuscan!”

Father sympathized. At the same time, he half-rose, apparently concerned that Mr. Miwa might forget himself and leap out. However, the man himself, "No, it's no loss at all. Thanks to that, it's as if my lifespan has been extended another year."

he replied with perfect composure.

“You’re still blurting out such nonsense, aren’t you?”

Mr. Dan teased him half out of boredom.

"But I only wear one summer hat each year." "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 right. Then you should’ve said so clearly from the start." "You’re such a stickler for logic. That’s why every time I buy a summer hat, I feel endless emotions welling up." "Every time someone else buys one for you, you mean?" "You always nitpick like this. Even if my wife buys it, I’m the one paying—it comes to the same thing either way. If I set a rule of one per year, then the number of summer hats I’ll wear equals the years I have left to live."

“You’re supposed to have no sense of numbers, but surprisingly, you do.” “Plenty. If we go by the old saying that life ends at fifty, I’ve calculated that by proper terms I can only wear nine more summer hats. When you think about it, isn’t nine more rather bleak? But this year, since I bought a second one for this trip and now lost it, I can buy another. So at least where summer hats are concerned, it’s as if I’ve extended my lifespan by two years, don’t you think? Your theory that travel’s the best way to stay young might actually hold water after all.”

“I’m impressed. If having your hat blown off made you vent your anger, that’d be a real problem.” “That’s amusing. Your summer hats are numbered. I have ten left. This isn’t a joke, I tell ya!” Father sighed as he listened to this exchange.

Though our journey from Osaka to Shimonoseki—along with Mr. Miwa’s hat—might have seemed to leap abruptly, we were not the same group as before; we had started afresh from Tokyo. The spring trip had fallen into disarray in Osaka due to my carelessness. It wasn’t as if I’d been struck by Mr. Ogawa’s Gidayu narrative performance or anything, but right from that evening, I had come down with a fever and been bedridden for several days. Far from being able to look after Mr. Miwa, I had ended up having Mr. Miwa meet me at Tokyo Station. I had caused no small trouble to Mr. and Mrs. Ogawa in particular. Thus, though my accompanying them on this Kyushu trip was not done out of obligation—since the root cause being my hypertrophic tonsils had been removed with medical clearance—I took it upon myself to once again serve as Miss Tatsuko’s fellow attendant. We had departed Tokyo on the morning limited express, passing through only the familiar lands from our spring trip while daylight remained, and after dozing off around Kobe, awoke to find Shimonoseki already near. The plan had been to traverse the Chūgoku region in darkness—first circling Kyushu before leisurely taking in sights on the return journey. Mr. Dan’s itinerary was, as usual, free of waste. This time, it was quite the long journey. Therefore, since Mr. Miwa might develop homesickness as each day took us farther from home, the itinerary incorporated a design where we would first charge toward our destination so that after a few nights’ stay, each day would bring us closer to home.

“Last time, likely because you all were gawking around like tourists, we got fleeced quite a bit by rickshaw pullers and taxi drivers.” “This time, at any rate, be careful not to come off as too much of country bumpkins.” Mr. Dan took the opportunity to caution them. “Coming all the way to Chūgoku and Kyushu, there’s no way we’d be treated as country bumpkins here, is there?” Father would not yield.

“No, that’s not quite how it is. “You know what they say—where you live becomes the capital.” “In both Chūgoku and Kyushu, everyone thinks their own place is the center of the world.” “Even some farmer pulling weeds over there believes the sun rises in the east each morning just to shine on his back door.” “And I suppose you believe it sets in the west just so you can have your evening drink?” Mr. Miwa snapped back with the same barb he’d just received. “Exactly. “There are men who believe only their own wives count as women.” “Since everyone’s own backyard is the center of creation, outsiders get treated like country bumpkins who don’t know what’s happening in the capital.” "For instance, try saying you don’t know Osaka-ya in Shimonoseki—even if they don’t thrash you, you’ll never pass for civilized."

“What’s this Osaka-ya?” “It’s the center of cultural life in Shimonoseki.” “Mr. Miwa, you mustn’t carelessly get on them.”

Father warned. “At any rate, if you think they’re fleecing us out of respect just because we’re from Tokyo, you’re dead wrong.” “If we get fleeced or made fools of, it just doesn’t add up.” Mr.Miwa echoed in agreement. “However, rest assured. This time, whether it’s automobiles or rickshaws, I’ll have us ride at local rates. I don’t mind spending money, but being taken advantage of by country bumpkins just galls me.”

Mr. Dan said this as if he had some scheme in mind.

When we finally arrived in Shimonoseki, Miss Tatsuko and I, as was our custom, completed our correspondence home. Since we hadn't visited anywhere yet, it was extremely straightforward. Even so, in Miss Tatsuko's: "...After riding for twenty-four hours straight, ladies and gentlemen reveal their animalistic nature unreservedly. Some sleep the entire time while others eat nonstop. The entire train becomes a zoo, with each passenger car resembling an individual cage. Because they're cages, every time the attendant comes to clean, they're inevitably filled with food scraps. And since they're animals, if you don't make them move aside properly for cleaning convenience, some growl when you accidentally touch their feet."

She had written such things.

After boarding a rickshaw in front of the station and riding for a short while, Mr.Dan addressed the rickshaw driver: “This area hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”

addressed the rickshaw driver.

“Right, hasn’t changed a bit.” the rickshaw driver answered. “Is the mayor well-regarded?”

“Huh? Mr. Rika?” “Exactly. Mr. Rika.” “Whether it’s good or bad, we humble folks wouldn’t know about Mr. Mayor’s reputation.” “If we pass by without stopping, someone might get angry later, but since we have company like this, there’s no helping it. And the police chief—I suppose the same man as before is still serving?”

“Yes, he is still serving.”

“That man must’ve gotten older too, I suppose?” “Yes, he’s gotten older.”

It was a perfectly innocuous exchange. There’s no such thing as a person who doesn’t age.

Moreover, to those listening nearby, Mr. Dan came across as if he had lived in this area before. Amidst all this, the rickshaw driver,

“As you are no doubt aware, this is the Shunpanrō, where the Sino-Japanese Peace Treaty was negotiated.”

The rickshaw driver pointed to the left side of the narrow road. The gate structure on the stone steps had a severity unbefitting an inn and restaurant. “Ah, right—this was the place. I often came here to eat pufferfish.”

Mr.Dan said nostalgically. "This here is the Shunpanrō," Muraoka said. "The fact that they held peace negotiations at a restaurant is what they call 'barrel-and-cutting-board diplomacy' - so quintessentially Eastern-style."

Father introduced [it] to Mr. Miwa in the rear rickshaw.

“When it comes to pufferfish, it’s got to be Shimonoseki. When you have a cup with the fins, there’s just no resisting it.”

Mr. Dan continued his performance as a local expert. "It’s indeed an excellent establishment. "For one thing, their sake service stands in a class of its own." the rickshaw driver responded.

“Since it’s hard to forget one’s hometown, I think I’ll have a bite here—it’s been a while.”

“I’m afraid it’s not possible at the moment.”

“Are you closed?” “No, we don’t serve pufferfish in summer—they’re prohibited during this season.” “Is that so? “Ah, right, of course.” “That’s how it was.” “It’s been so long since I last visited that I just…” Mr. Dan had nearly revealed his true intentions.

When they got off at Akama Shrine, Miss Tatsuko,

“Mr. Ken, would you like me to show you something nice?”

and said, pulling out a small crab that had been dried and hardened from her pocket. "Is this a Heike crab? What did you do?" "Did you buy it?"

When I looked like I wanted it, “You should buy yours too.” and she gave me one. Since they had come riding in a haphazard way—like names jotted down in no particular order—Miss Tatsuko, who had been bringing up the rear, had somehow found time to stop her rickshaw and make a purchase.

"They look just like them! Exactly like them! Two crabs." "Who are you talking about?" "My student supervisors back home." "Oh my! You're giving two crabs to the teachers? Ken, you're really quite cheeky!"

“But they have the nickname ‘Heike crabs,’ you know. I’ll definitely take this back for reference.”

“Yours is male.”

“Yours is female?” “Even if it’s female, yours still has a scary face, huh?” “It’s not the face. It’s the shell.” Within the shrine grounds stood the grave of the Heike clan who had perished at Dan-no-ura. The small natural stones arranged beneath a great tree truly resembled the final resting place of fallen people, somehow evoking a sense of pathos. “Even Tomomori—the one who jumped into the sea with an anchor on his back—is here.” “Apparently when they searched for bodies, miraculously only the general’s remains were recovered.”

Father said while looking up at the sign. "The common soldiers all stayed at the bottom of the sea and turned into crabs, you know. In a losing battle, you really shouldn't go out as a common soldier now should you?"

Mr. Dan sympathized with the Heike crabs. “Those without graves must be the common soldiers’ lot, huh? Miss Tatsuko, please show me that crab once more.”

said Mr. Miwa. “When was the festival here held? It was really bustling back then—still thriving nowadays, I wonder?”

Mr. Dan, aiming to restore his reputation, asked a safe question. At shrines, there are always festivals. And so festivals are generally lively affairs by tradition.

“It falls on April 23rd. There’s what we call the courtesans’ visit—people come to see it not just from around Fukuoka, but naturally from Kyoto and Osaka too,” the rickshaw driver answered. Mr. Dan’s rickshaw puller was the most talkative of them all, while the others wore expressions that practically declared their legs to be their main trade. “Ah yes, that truly has no equal.”

“Truly, this is the only place where that exists.”

“Do all the people of Shimonoseki go on the pilgrimage?”

Father asked.

“No, only five people. The most fashionable young men are selected to parade all the way here. You see, the young men hold up parasols from behind like this. Beautiful young attendants accompany them, you see. Since a single costume costs thousands of yen, it’s truly a spectacle!” “It’s like a courtesan procession, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s nothing of that sort.” “It remains the courtesans’ pilgrimage through and through.” “They say the Heike women who survived founded what’s now Inari Town—it’s been our custom since olden times.” Soon they passed through the town and came out to Dan-no-ura. There was nothing but the sea.

“This very place hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”

Mr. Dan was able to say with relief.

“There isn’t much here, but this is the Mimosusogawa River.” Dan’s rickshaw driver pointed to a small river no wider than a ditch.

“I see.” “You must know the legend of the Heike’s Final Cup of Water, sir?” “Well, I might have heard something about it, but after being abroad so long, I’ve forgotten even how to hold chopsticks here in Japan.” “At the boundary between this river and the sea lies a well where each Heike nobleman drank his final cup of water.” “Then something strange began happening to its waters.” “No matter who drinks it, they say only the first sip stays fresh—from the second sip onward, it turns salty as seawater.”

“Ah, the Heike’s One-Cup Water. Now that you mention it, I think I have heard of that. After all, since everyone sank here, they can’t rest in peace. I bet your grandpas used to say that will-o’-the-wisps would appear around here on rainy nights in the old days.”

“As expected, you knew about it,” said Mr. Dan. And the rickshaw driver unwittingly fell for the smooth talk, but asked, “Are you from Hiroshima, sir?”

“Well, around there.”

“Are you heading back to Chōsen now, sir?” “That’s another bullseye.”

They arrived at Moji at the scheduled time. Being separated by just one narrow strait, there was absolutely no difference from the mainland, but a man resembling a hotel tout sidled up to them,

“Are you going to Dalian?” Being asked this, they truly felt that they had come a long way. They had lunch on the second floor of the station.

“How was it? Was the rickshaw fare cheap?” Father asked as if he had just remembered while eating.

“No, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s simply the local rate.” Mr. Dan answered. “That was somewhat effective, wasn’t it?” “After telling so many lies, it barely matches the local rate—hardly worth the effort.” Mr. Miwa seemed to have intended to ride for free. “Whether it was expensive or cheap, at least we weren’t treated like country bumpkins.” Mr. Dan insisted. “Being treated like country bumpkins. That’s what it was. “Isn’t that the same as labeling us Hiroshima Prefecture people? “Hey, Mr.Muraoka.” “Absolutely. “And so they come to Chōsen as migrant workers. “What a delightful turn of fate. “With this, even if you ride for free and get a little extra change, it doesn’t feel all that great, does it?”

“You’re just spouting nonsense. Because their own land is the center of the world, you know—the fact that they considered us from a neighboring prefecture was an immense act of goodwill. You all don’t know the ways of the world, so you probably wouldn’t understand, but those who go to Chōsen to make their fortunes are mainly Yamaguchi Prefecture people and Tsushima people. Thus, when they ask in Shimonoseki if you’re ‘returning to Chōsen,’ it means you’ve succeeded there—and that too is the highest form of respect. If you receive this much preferential treatment at local rates, shouldn’t that suffice to rest content?”

“I can’t deal with someone like you. Because your own head’s the center of the world. If you put in all that effort to get treated like country bumpkins and still think you’ve received such grand preferential treatment—well then, I guess all’s right with the world.”

Father laughed.

In Moji, they saw nothing. In front of the station, five or six temporary fruit stalls arranged in a row caught their attention with their faintly exotic style. When they boarded the train, a gentleman shaped like a beer keg stood up and called out, “Hey!”

“Hey!”

Father responded and moved closer. “This is quite a rare occurrence. Where on earth are you headed?” “I wouldn’t dare cause any trouble. Since I thought I couldn’t drop by anyway, I was planning to proceed without asking…” “That’s terrible! Oh, do sit down.” “Oh, well...”

The two moved on to exchanging greetings.

This beer barrel was the spouse of Father’s female cousin, a coal merchant from Wakamatsu named Mr. Kawashima. After Father had properly introduced everyone, “When coincidences reach this point, they belong to the realm of mystery. In all of Kyushu, you’re our only relative—yet here we are, bumping into you right at the gateway.” “I rarely come to Moji myself, but today was entirely a coincidence. This is indeed divine arrangement. If you don’t stop by now, divine punishment will befall you! Enough joking—what do you say?”

Mr. Kawashima promptly extended an invitation. However, Father couldn’t free up his schedule no matter what, so he apologized profusely and promised to make arrangements without fail on their return journey. Mr. Kawashima accepted this and, calmly stating that he fortunately had business to attend to in the mountains today, began to talk. “What is that…?” Ms. Tatsuko pointed at an unfamiliar-shaped freight train. “It’s a coal transport train.”

Mr. Dan turned around.

“Ah, so it’s coal. Those things standing on each car look like memorial tablets, don’t they?” “Those are called coal tickets—they show what’s inside the cars. That one was short, but trains hauling fifty or sixty coal cars come to Wakamatsu countless times a day.”

Mr. Kawashima explained. “Coal is the local specialty here. Tatsuko and Ken’ichi, you should ask Uncle about coal.” Father said.

“When it comes to coal, that’s my specialty. “Coal means Fukuoka Prefecture. “Fukuoka Prefecture means industrial power itself. “Japan’s commercial center will shift to Moji within the next ten years. “It’s absolutely incredible! “The fifty-mile stretch from Moji to Hakata has practically become one continuous town.”

And Mr. Kawashima raised the banner for Fukuoka Prefecture.

“It’s that ‘center theory’ after all, right?”

whispered Mr. Dan, “I see—the center theory does have some unexpected roots after all.” Even when Mr. Miwa laughed, Mr. Kawashima misinterpreted it and declared, “Since the foundation is coal, it’s naturally the center! And so the center of commerce and industry becomes the center of the nation—the center of the nation becomes the center of the world! The trains and ferries that brought the young lady and young master here? All thanks to coal! From telegraphs and telephones to trains and electric lights—every last manufacturing industry owes its existence to coal! Coal powers Japan! And that coal is Fukuoka Prefecture—in short, this is how it all comes together!”

“So that settles it—coal merchants are the most impressive of all, eh?” Father told a joke.

“That’s right. And this uncle here is that coal merchant. Take a look! Look how fat I am!”

And Mr. Kawashima slapped his Hotei-like belly to demonstrate. After passing Kokura, the right side stretched on as a forest of chimneys. The sky was clouded with soot. “My, it’s truly thriving!” Mr. Dan exclaimed in admiration. “This place has the reputation of being number one in the Orient as an industrial area. “On the other hand, the houses end up completely black from the soot. “In Yawata, they say even the sparrows are black. “Even the cherry blossoms don’t bloom in satisfactory colors. “Even women—while they’re applying their white powder, they get covered in soot, so by the time their carefully done makeup is finished, it’s said to turn gray.”

Mr.Kawashima’s explanations, with their humorously exaggerated descriptions, left a deep impression. “He’s a big-hearted man.” “That’s just how he is—whether he gains or loses, he stays completely unfazed.” “You can’t tell if he’s succeeding or failing.”

Father offered his critique after Mr. Kawashima got off at Orio.

“He’s cheerful and likable. Complaints and grievances are what thin people say,” said Mr. Dan. “You’re picking an odd moment to snipe, aren’t you?” Mr. Miwa did not let it pass.

“There it goes—it’s already started.” In Kyushu, the largest was Fukuoka; the most beautiful town was Nagasaki; the liveliest was Hakata—and as Mr. Miwa’s nephew, the university student, had definitively explained to us last night during our stroll, Hakata was indeed bustling. “Are Fukuoka and Hakata different?” Father asked at that moment. “Well, they’re more or less the same. To be precise, Fukuoka City consists of both the Fukuoka and Hakata wards. Therefore, Hakata is part of Fukuoka City. Now, as you know, the station is located in Hakata, so from the railway’s perspective, Hakata is Fukuoka City.”

Ko-Miwa-san explained even trivial matters in needlessly convoluted terms. Since he was in medical school, he seemed to be practicing the proper approach for taking pulses after graduation. That said, Hakata too—particularly around our inn with its theaters—appeared to be the city’s vibrant center. They went as far as Kofukumachi in what passed for a rural Ginza district, and though they took the tram back under pretense of research purposes, Mr.Dan had actually been keeping watch because Hakata-ori textiles and Hakata-shibori dye works kept making Miss Tatsuko stop in her tracks.

“It would be nice to buy Hakata dolls to take along, but don’t you think they’ll get broken?” Mr. Dan even tried bargaining with his own daughter. However, Miss Tatsuko, “I’ll have the store send them straight home, so it’ll be fine.” And going one better, she made him buy only large dolls.

After finishing breakfast, they immediately went out sightseeing by rickshaw. Ko-Miwa-san handled all the guiding arrangements. Following the tramway straight ahead while admiring the lotus flowers in the moat to their left, “Coachman, which regiment was stationed here? This place—” Mr. Dan began pressing further.

“That would be the 24th Regiment, sir.”

the rickshaw driver answered. “Is that colonel still serving as the regiment commander?” “He’s still at it. You’re well-informed, aren’t you, sir?”

They soon arrived at Nishi Park. “Mr. Muraoka, this is such a high place that a fat person would probably complain about it.” As Mr. Miwa had delightedly noted, this park wasn’t flat ground. “It’s a high place, see? That’s why the view’s so good.” With that, the rickshaw drivers followed along. “This place is the only renowned cherry blossom spot in the area. When spring comes, they hold Dontaku festivities here every day, you know.” Ko-Miwa-san explained. There was a shrine enshrining a feudal lord, but they were not the sort to care about such things. The hilltop indeed offered a splendid view of the sea. A charming little island—what’s-its-name—could also be seen. The group, not overly invested in the scenery, came down immediately.

“Coachman, I hear you all gamble, don’t you?” Mr. Dan stopped before Hirano Jiro’s statue. “Not at all! You must be joking, sir!” The rickshaw driver was surprised. “No, no—it’s genuine concern. “But do take care. “Last night when I met the police chief, he said they’d be cracking down soon because the rickshaw drivers here are causing trouble with their gambling.”

They turned back and headed toward Higashi Park. Being Kyushu's foremost metropolis, traversing it from end to end did require transportation. "Oh my, the pine trees have withered, haven't they?"

As they approached Chiyonosumatsubara, Mr. Miwa muttered.

“For some years now, a blight has been affecting them, and though they’ve tried all sorts of treatments, this area’s already completely devastated.” “For humans, internal medication works, but for plants, it’s limited to external application.” “When treatments have such narrow application ranges, you must consider that recovery becomes proportionally harder.”

Ko-Miwa-san answered. The group at the front had already descended and begun walking through the pine grove.

The bronze statue of Nichiren Shonin was magnificent.

“What a big monk!” Tatsuko marveled. “Both the statue and pedestal measure thirty-five shaku each, so I reckon it’s fine to call ’em the best in Japan,” the rickshaw driver explained.

“Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō, Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō…” Five or six old women were fervently chanting the invocation. They circled around behind it; even at this spot—striking their fists against pedestal stones— “Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō, Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō…” they were completely absorbed. The pedestal stones had turned black from the grime of countless hands.

Hakozaki Hachimangu Shrine was just a stone’s throw away from Higashi Park. Upon entering, there was a large camphor tree on the right side. While reading the sign that said, “Protect the trees,” “They might as well have written ‘Worship the trees’ here. “It’s truly enormous.” “It’s probably the largest in Japan.” The tree-loving Mr. Miwa continued to gaze up at it endlessly. “What with Lord Hachiman and Emperor Kameyama, coming here makes me feel as though I’m recalling the distant days of the Mongol Invasions. “It would be more interesting if I were more knowledgeable about history, though.”

And Father, too, seemed somewhat moved with emotion.

“That’s right. This entire area is filled with historical sites from the Mongol Invasions. Since Tatara Beach lies along this coastline, this area might indeed have been an ancient battlefield as well, don’t you think?”

Ko-Miwa-san responded. "What do you think? Do the students here carouse like the folks in Kyoto?"

And Mr. Dan was only interested in the modern. "They don’t pawn their notebooks and use those pawn tickets as collateral again like Kyoto folks do, but they certainly carouse quite a bit." "Especially the Medical Department students are quite wild." "There are plenty of them groaning under debts of five or six thousand yen." "I can’t have you associating with that crowd!" "You take after your brother, being just as fond of drink."

Mr. Miwa showed his uncle-like demeanor.

“I’m perfectly fine. Borrowing money to drink alcohol doesn’t lead to anything sweet, you know.” “Ah—you call it shakusen here? Here, they do. People in Keihan and Chūgoku say shakingin. Tokyo absolutely uses shakkin. The way shakkin, shakingin, shakusen—their standing declines the further you get from the center—it’s a perfect indicator of each region’s cultural level, isn’t that fascinating?” Father declared this as though he’d made some grand discovery.

The coast presented a fine view with a pine grove behind it. At the tall lighthouse, “Tatara Beach is around there. Since they were hit by the 210th-day typhoon at sea, even an enemy force of over a hundred thousand cavalry couldn’t hold out. Even so, having only three survivors—that’s a terrible mortality rate.”

Ko-Miwa-san delivered his scientific explanation. On our return route, before we reached the front of the Medical University, we repeatedly spotted people carrying what resembled straw-wrapped nattō bundles.

“What could that be, I wonder?” Miss Tatsuko looked back at me from atop the rickshaw. “That is sand from Hakozaki Beach. Since it’s fresh sand from Hakozaki Beach, they take it back with great care.” And my rickshaw driver kindly explained. When they returned to the inn and ate lunch, it was already time to prepare for departure. They were quite busy. “Uncle, are you familiar with ‘Washikoku’—also known by its alternate name ‘Miyako Meisho’?”

Ko-Miwa-san asked. “I don’t know. Is it some famous local sweet here?” Mr. Miwa had to admit his ignorance. “No, it’s a song. The one here goes like this: ‘In the famous places of Fukuoka and Hakata, what I want to show you is…’” Perhaps tipsy from the beer, Ko-Miwa-san began to sing softly: “‘…Kyushu University Chōyō Seishinkan, Tekikoku Kōfuku Hakozaki Hachiman, Mongol Invasion Memorial Nichiren Statue—from Aratsuyama you gaze out at Genkai… gaze out at Genkai…’ Ah, I’ve forgotten! ‘Something something—there’s nothing else out there! Chiyo no Matsubara, what a pain!’ Ugh, this is exhausting.”

“It’s genuine. This must have had considerable capital invested in it.”

Mr. Dan praised, “That’s quite interesting. Please look up those lyrics later.” And Father had requested, “Mr. Hideo, if you can sing such a song so well, I can’t really trust you, you know.”

And Mr. Miwa was in a somewhat sour mood. “It’s alright. In any case, all the famous spots mentioned in that song just now have been shown to you. By the way, it’s nearly time now, isn’t it?”

Ko-Miwa-san looked at his wristwatch.

They say summer rain splits along a horse’s back, and this one truly lived up to the saying. “We’ll meet again in Kumamoto.”

When we parted with Mr. Hideo at Hakata Station—it had seemed clear then—but once we passed one station, a heavy rain began pouring down. Given that there would be no point in stopping by Dazaifu, we decided to omit it from our itinerary and, prepared to be caught in the rain, ended up arriving in Saga much earlier than planned. However, Saga was clear and sunny, so much so that dust was swirling up. We couldn’t help feeling as if we’d been tricked by a fox. That sudden evening shower could only be seen as divine intervention to remove Sugawara no Michizane’s place of exile from our itinerary.

“Of all people to gather—a group with such poor handwriting—Lord Tenjin must have taken offense and deliberately sent this rain upon us.” Even Miss Tatsuko made such a blunt remark and laughed.

I had heard about horse-drawn railways in my father and mother’s old tales and wondered what they were like, but in Saga, the real thing was clattering along. Travel truly broadens one’s horizons.

“What a grand place!” Father was astonished. “Don’t speak ill of it. This place has a flourishing spirit of national isolation and expulsion of foreigners, so if you’re not careful, they’ll beat you up.” And Mr. Miwa cautioned. “Rickshaw driver, is that man still serving as police chief?” And Mr. Dan started up again.

“Nope!”

the rickshaw driver answered. "That man must have aged by now, don't you think?" “Nope!”

“Since they’ve built a high school, I suppose more money will be flowing around here than before!” “No way! No!”

“This is astonishing. We can’t understand a word they’re saying.”

Mr. Dan said.

Before long, they arrived at a place called Matsumotoya in Shinmabashi that had been arranged from Mizuno Ryokan in Hakata.

Miss Tatsuko and I quickly took a bath and used the time until dinner to write home. The adults, having no responsibilities, were as usual spouting nonsense. “You said she’s a true Saga native, but if they’re all like that, then Saga women are quite something.”

And Mr. Dan praised the maid Miss O-Yoshi. "Since you're shedding that astringent skin of yours, I can't help but throw some muscle into it." Father teased. "No, looks aside—I've never met anyone so efficient." Just then, two maids brought in meal trays. "Both Miss O-Yoshi and Miss O-Mine are quite renowned." "Their looks are one thing, but they're sharp as tacks." Mr. Miwa said. "Oh my stars!"

O-Yoshi-san laughed. “Jokes aside, we’ve come all the way from Tokyo specifically to research Saga. While you’re serving us, take your time and tell us everything properly.”

“Mr. Dan requested.” “Certainly.” “In Saga dialect now.” “That’s just fine by us!” “You must be busy every day?” After the meal began, Father said sympathetically.

“We’re so busy it’s like a war, you see!” “Everything’s ‘you see’ with you!” “There’s no one with stronger local pride than Saga folks.” “You know Kitakoga, don’t you?”

Mr. Miwa seemed to recall something. "I know him," Father responded. "Ah, so that fellow was from here after all." "That man there embodies the quintessential Saga native, wouldn't you agree?" he continued. "He still walks with his left shoulder hunched up exactly like when he was a student. They say Kagoshima folk hike up their right shoulders, while Saga people hike up their left. It's as clear-cut as the twist in a dog's tail - left curl versus right curl." "That's no beast, you see!" protested Miss O-Yoshi.

And Miss O-Yoshi voiced her complaint. “Now, now, wait a moment. I’m about to heap praise on the Nabeshima men—will that satisfy you?” “Don’t say that, you see! Where Saga people have passed, not even grass grows, wouldn’t you say?” “Even if you’re taken aback by Saga folk—rotten sea bream are still sea bream!” And Miss O-Mine came to her aid. “Akké is such a fool. It’s even more like the English one.” And Father said. “When it comes to women, Saga must have many beauties like O-Yoshi-san, don’t you think?”

When Mr. Dan added fuel to the fire, “Saga women have a taste like Marubōro, you see!”

“What’s Marubōro?” O-Yoshi-san pointed at the confectionery container and, “It must’ve been delicious, you see!”

“That’s intense.” “Saga women are like Marubōro, you see! Their love runs deep and never fades away, you see!” “I yield.”

Even Mr. Dan, a man of conviction, had to admire the conviction of this maid.

Having finished her meal first， Miss Tatsuko settled into a rattan chair on the veranda， “Oh， kites are flying!” she said。 “Flying summer kites is something only done in Saga， you see!” And Miss O-Mine explained。 It truly had no equal elsewhere。 “Shall I teach you the Saga dialect? What nonsense! Damn it! Good grief! You’re so shameless! That’s no joking matter!” And Miss O-Yoshi said in a torrent。 It truly didn’t sound like Japanese。

“What was that just now? If you don’t speak more slowly, I can’t understand a word of it!”

And Father was exasperated. "What nonsense are you spouting, you brute! Oh, how vexing! You're so shameless—this isn't a joking matter!"

“I see, I understand. You use them during elbow-striking demonstrations, right? The ‘shinsan na’ part about no joking matters is rather gentle and nice.” “What does ‘kona ta no sokushā ka’ mean?”

When Mr. Dan asked, “This person’s shamelessness and repulsiveness, you see. “It’s about you, sir.” “Ohohohoho...”

And Miss O-Yoshi began clearing the meal trays.

After dinner, there was still daylight left, so they grew ambitious. Thinking that even a little sightseeing would help for tomorrow, they set out leisurely with the inn’s male staff as their guide. The Matsubara Shrine, dedicated to a feudal lord, was right across. Several great camphor trees stood. “This place has so many camphor trees, doesn’t it?” And Mr. Miwa was delighted. “It’s because there’s so many camphor trees, you see.” he began to say, “Because there are so many camphor trees here, they say a konyaku monster appears.”

And the inn staff switched to standard Japanese. “A konyaku monster? What’s the story behind that?” Father asked. “Well, I don’t know the particulars, but that’s how it’s been said since old times. In fact, just the other day, my colleague apparently saw it. It was a rainy night. ‘Back in the day, a konyaku monster would’ve shown up on a night like this, but now that the world’s become civilized…’ he said as they walked down the opposite street, when suddenly a loud voice cried out from the camphor tree above—‘Nyagotokoku kya!’—and a three-meter-long konyaku plopped right onto an umbrella. Ha ha ha ha! Three grown men threw down their umbrellas, kicked off their geta, and fled for their lives… Ha ha ha!”

The inn staff roared with laughter. "Does this konyaku monster have eyes or a nose or something?" Father tried to ascertain the creature's true form, but the young man— "Nah, it's konyaku through and through—no eyes or nose. Just plopped right onto someone's head... plopped right on their head, I tell ya... Ha ha ha ha!"

And they were still doubled over with laughter, their words slurring incoherently. What could possibly be so funny? Since it was inherently konjac to begin with and yet being touted as a monster, it was ultimately impossible to get a clear grasp of it. "The humor of barbarians may be crude, but it has a natural grandeur to it," he said. "The konyaku monster is rough-hewn and amusing."

And with that, only Father found it amusing. They went out to the park and saw the statue. “This is Lord Kansō. This one is Old Gentleman Furukawa Matsune, who committed ritual suicide for the lord.” And the inn staff solemnly performed their role as guides. “Goodness, ritual suicide!” Miss Tatsuko’s face darkened. Even the usually chatty group fell completely silent and paid deep respect to this epitome of Hagakure samurai. By the time they reached Mr. Eto’s monument, the day had begun to dimly darken. People who committed ritual suicide, people who were executed for rebellion—the succession of strangely gloomy spots continued.

“Will you gentlemen be going upriver to Kawakami tomorrow?”

The inn staff asked. "I’ve heard Kawakami is a lovely place, but the timing just doesn’t work out," Mr. Dan replied. "Please do come! It’s an hour by tramcar—no trouble at all. If you’ve come all the way to Saga, you simply must see Kawakami!" "Is there anything to see there?" "The water’s crystal clear, the scenery’s splendid, and it’s famous for ayu. The ones there have golden scales—they say such wonderfully sweet ayu can’t be found anywhere else in Japan. Grill them with yuzu vinegar and your cheeks will fall right off!"

They went as far as the castle gate, but since it was already dark, they couldn't see the bullet scars left on the walls from past battles. As this was a night viewing occasion, they turned back toward the bustling town streets.

“Just as I thought—it’s a proper old city. The shops lining the streets are quite sizable,” said Father. “Wide shopfronts are proof of low land prices,” Mr. Dan retorted. “But the marubōro at that shop just now was rather pretty, wasn’t it?” He alternated between criticism and praise. At the bookstore, they tracked down the Nabeshima Analects and—

“Mr. Miwa!” When Father turned around, we noticed that Mr. Miwa was missing. When we thought about it, it seemed he hadn’t been seen since some time ago. “What’s going on?”

They peered into each shopfront one by one as they walked, but couldn't find him. "Since he's not a child, there's no need for concern."

"said the inn staff. However, since it weighed on their minds, they turned straight back to the inn."

“This place is called Matsumotoya, I hear.” Mr. Miwa was lying down drinking tea. He had gone out to buy something. “What are you talking about? We were worried!” Mr. Dan pressed. “I was a bit worried too because I didn’t know the name of this place. If I hadn’t remembered Matsubara Shrine, I would’ve gotten lost for sure. Wherever you go, you really do need to make sure you know at least the name of your inn. I just asked the maid and finally let out a sigh of relief.”

“Now that you’ve found the inn, stop with the creepy talk and settle down. How about cooling your head a bit with some ice?” “It’s good that hearing the inn’s name finally put me at ease. As a Japanese person, I’m quite the master of Irish-style blunders—it’s impressive!”

Father laughed.

Part Thirteen

To the left continued beautiful mountain vistas. Rocks and bamboo groves that brought to mind the hanging scrolls of a home’s alcove could be seen here and there.

“It’s a lovely view, isn’t it? It’s truly like a painting.” I said. “No, it’s not that the scenery resembles a painting—it’s that paintings resemble the scenery,” Miss Tatsuko deflated me.

And Miss Tatsuko took me down a peg. True to being Mr. Dan’s daughter, she would occasionally come up with such petty quibbles. When they noticed a sign at Kitsuki Station that read, “Sayohime Residence Ruins – One ri southeast (approximately one hour on foot),” “What was this Sayohime again?”

“What was Sayohime again?” Mr. Dan asked. “Longing for her husband’s departure, she turned to stone at Matsuura Lagoon—the sorrow of Scarf-Waving Mountain too…” Father answered by quoting the jōruri lines verbatim. “A mouth turned to stone? I’d mistakenly thought I’d turned into a snake,” said Mr. Miwa. “The snake refers to Kiyohime and the Hidaka River.” And Miss Tatsuko, as a woman, was thoroughly versed in every method of transformation for any contingency.

When they arrived at Onizuka, immediately to the right lay the Matsuura River; next came Karatsu, and they were promptly guided down to an establishment called Hakata-ya.

“It’s so hot… When it’s this hot, you lose all desire and virtue.” After saying this and settling down on the tatami mats—where he immediately tried to lie flat—we urged Mr. Dan up, and following a short rest, set out for sightseeing with our usual convoy of rickshaws. “Rickshaw man—is this another horse-drawn railway?” Mr. Dan asked when we reached the town’s tracks. “This here’s a tramcar,” the rickshaw driver answered. Just then, a pitch-black locomotive came clattering up, belching coal smoke from its funnel-shaped stack with all the unhurried clamor of nineteenth-century industry.

“That’s it,” said the rickshaw driver. “As you can see, it spews soot like that—all the shops in town are terribly inconvenienced.” He clearly held no affection for this mode of transportation. The castle ruins had been converted into a park. Perched on a rather high hill, the view was incomparable. “Karatsu makes for just the right sort of castle park-level city,” Dan remarked.

“According to my classification system,” Mr. Dan said, “the lowest tier consists of fundoshi towns lacking proper width, followed by castle towns under 100,000 koku—these have adequate thoroughfares, and their parks are always built on former castle grounds.” “They say Nijinomatsubara and Nishinomatsubara form both wings, Torishima over there is the beak, this spot marks the throat, and the castle town corresponds to the torso,” Rickshaw Driver A explained while detailing Maizuru Castle’s origins.

“I see—it’s a big crane. It seems military men also had rather developed imaginations.”

Mr. Miwa was impressed. “That’s right. That there is Scarf-Waving Mountain.”

And Rickshaw driver B pointed at the mountain beyond Nijinomatsubara. As one ventures deeper into Kyushu, the pronunciation of the ra-row becomes increasingly uncertain. “Hmm. So Ms. Sayohime waved her handkerchief from such a high place to bid her farewell, did she?” And Father gazed intently.

“That is Matsuura Bridge. “It measures three hundred and sixty ken. They say there’s no bridge in all of Japan as long as that one.”

Rickshaw driver C explained. The rickshaw drivers here took turns speaking like theater maidservants and samurai. “Matsuura Bridge, Matsuura River, and Matsuura Lagoon? This place is quite well-coordinated.” Mr. Dan praised. “A little upstream from Matsuura Bridge, you’ll find Matsuura Stone.”

Rickshaw driver D kindly informed us. "Oh, does Lady Matsuura's stone truly remain here?"

Miss Tatsuko’s curiosity was piqued. “Above all, Nijinomatsubara is the foremost attraction here.” said Rickshaw driver E. With this,

“Now then, let us be off.”

When they all spoke in unison, it felt exactly like a stage play. Matsuura Bridge was indeed long, but now showed considerable age, swaying unsteadily. After crossing and turning right, they soon came upon a pine grove. "This pine grove is called Nijinomatsubara because its shape resembles a rainbow."

And Mr. Miwa’s rickshaw driver began his explanation. “What splendid pines these are! Compared to Chiyo no Matsubara, this one seems even better.”

When Mr.Miwa praised them, "Why, everyone says exactly that!" Just then, that tramcar came chugging and wheezing along. "If they keep spewing that much soot on them, the pine trees will wither away, won't they?"

Mr. Miwa expressed concern. "It's not good for the pine trees either, I should say." The rickshaw driver regarded the tramcar with outright hostility.

“Mr. Miwa is such a benevolent ruler, you know. He’s always taking pains over even the plants and trees.” From the front rickshaw, Father turned around. “These pines have too many knots to make proper lumber,” Mr. Dan interjected from the very back.

From the very back, Mr. Dan interjected. Pragmatists come at you with rock-bottom prices for everything; there’s no competing with them. “Young master, this pine grove must have plenty of cicadas, but not a single one is chirping, right?”

And my rickshaw driver acknowledged me as an elementary school student. “You’re right—they’re not chirping at all.” And I listened intently.

"There's an interesting story behind this. Long ago, when Lord Taiko passed through here, the cicadas were chirping so noisily that he shouted, 'How unbearable!'—or so they say. Ever since then, even at midsummer's peak, the cicadas in Nijinomatsubara never sing." "That’s fascinating. I wonder if it’s because we're near the sea that cicadas don’t come here?" Even when Mr.Miwa said this,

“That is not the case. They were chirping in Karatsu Park, you know.” The rickshaw driver remained utterly convinced it was all due to the august authority of the Regent that had made it so.

“That aside, isn’t this pine grove ridiculously long?”

And Mr.Dan grew increasingly bored.

“It certainly is long,” said the rickshaw driver. “From end to end, it measures one ri and eight gō.” This was the same man who had earlier boasted about Matsuura Bridge’s length. “One ri and eight gō?” interjected Mr. Dan. “Eight gō? That’s a quaintly fragmented way to measure things.” “In Kyushu,” explained Mr. Miwa, born in Kumamoto and thus familiar with local customs, “they always speak of distances this way—‘one ri and eight gō,’ ‘one ri and five gō.’ You’ll find it written just so on the milestones too.” “I grasp your one ri eight gō,” countered Mr. Dan, “but what earthly purpose does trudging through all these pines serve?”

“We’ve already reached Nikenjaya. Let’s proceed to the amusement park and then turn back.”

said the rickshaw driver. “How about it? Shall we take a short rest?”

At Father’s initiative, we stopped by Nikenjaya. “Is this tea? What’s this…” At first, Miss Tatsuko hesitated, but when she heard it was medicinal herb tea, she promptly drank it. I also ate a great deal of the local specialty okoshi.

After traveling a short while longer, “Young master, Lord Taiko’s august authority is truly splendid. The pines around here are all small, don’t you think?”

And my rickshaw driver spoke while jerking his chin to the left. "It's all small pine trees growing here, isn't it?" And I thought Taiko must have scolded them again. "They call this area Taiko’s Glaring Pine." “Long ago, Lord Taiko glared at Korea from here.” “Thanks to his august authority, the pine trees around here have remained exactly as they were back then, never growing an inch.” “The cicadas don’t even sing, the pine trees get glared at—if that’s genuine, it’s downright strange!” And Tatsuko’s rickshaw driver—a man whose words were slurred—also shared his impressions.

They emerged from the amusement park to the coast. Fishermen were hauling a net. Looking back, Scarf-Waving Mountain gazed down from above the pine grove.

“Indeed, it’s such a feminine mountain, isn’t it?” Miss Tatsuko fondly recalled. On our way back, we went a little upstream from the bridge and paid our respects to Matsuura Rock. It was regrettable that we couldn’t get close due to the tide, but it turned out to be unexpectedly large—about the size of an artificial hill. Some parts had split open, and from between them grew a single pine tree with fine branches. “What a large rock.”

Miss Tatsuko also seemed surprised. "It looks like your mother must've been quite a large woman too," said Mr. Dan. "Ugh, Father! Sayohime threw herself into the water around here, you know." "Did something like that really happen somewhere?"

Father took it seriously.

“And since the corpse was washed out to sea and never surfaced, the villagers must have convinced themselves she’d turned to stone.”

And Miss Tatsuko presented a new interpretation.

Yesterday was a day of relentless rain. From Karatsu all the way to Nagasaki, even the scenery outside the train window could hardly be enjoyed properly. When things don’t go as planned, it’s only human nature for people to want to pin the blame on others. When I fall behind in school, I blame it on the maid or my mother. However, no matter how unfavorable the weather may be, since there’s no one to complain to, in such cases, the weather forecast invariably becomes the target of criticism. Under normal circumstances, they remain completely indifferent, but when it rains, they scour the margins of newspapers in search of an outlet for their displeasure—a truly malicious habit.

“Behold. “In this heavy rain，it says ‘sunny,’ you see. “Rural weather stations are completely unreliable!”

And so Mr. Dan was the first to begin disparaging.

“The Tokyo Meteorological Observatory’s forecasts miss more often than not. What’s more, they puff themselves up claiming their accuracy rate is second to none anywhere in the world—quite self-satisfied, aren’t they? Weather forecasting itself hasn’t even been properly established yet, you see.”

And Father chimed in.

“I do intend to adopt a child eventually, but I’ve resolved to categorically refuse any offspring of weather bureau employees.” Mr.Miwa declared with ill intent.

“Why’s that?”

When Father asked, “After all, the parents themselves lie with abandon.” “I don’t think there’s any proper home education or anything like that.” “Exactly right!” “To say it’s sunny on a day with such heavy rain is undoubtedly a lie.” “And they even spew those lies on the public dime.” “We do tell lies ourselves now and then, but since we do it with our own money, we don’t trouble others.” “The business of spewing lies on public funds—that’s limited to the weather bureau, right?” “To put it bluntly, lies are the start of thievery. If parents themselves go around deceiving people every day, they can’t possibly raise decent children.”

When Mr. Dan would say such things, Father too chimed in: “Using public funds while exploiting their position as society’s moral compass to deceive the entire nation? Now that’s an ambitious racket they’ve got going. I’m almost envious of them, truth be told.” “If parents themselves act that way,” Mr.Miwa added with a chuckle, “they could hardly turn around and tell their children, ‘Now don’t you go telling lies.’ Can you imagine? ‘In that case, Father—what about today’s weather forecast?’ The poor sods would be left utterly speechless!”

“Marital love’s pretty dubious too, I tell ya. The moment a man vows his love will last seven lives, the skies shift—makes you wonder if the wife’s position isn’t so secure after all, I tell ya. Even if you’re suddenly kicked out with a ‘Get out!’ in a bolt from the blue, if they tell you the Ishigakijima low-pressure system abruptly changed course, well, that’s just how it goes. Now that’s a good tip I’ve picked up. I too will soon be marrying off my daughter, but as a matter of principle, I’ll beg to decline anyone connected to the weather bureau. Tatsuko, you know that, right?”

And Mr. Dan laughed. “I am not going anywhere.” And Miss Tatsuko took it at face value. Girls generally say things like this.

Now, today brought a picture-perfect Japanese day in stark contrast to yesterday’s rain, and the entire group was in the best of spirits. How fickle they were.

During breakfast, Mr. Dan was flipping through something called the Nagasaki Nichinichi Shimbun,

“It says ‘clear.’ Today’s forecast is admirably spot-on,” Dan said. “Impressive! When we arrived here last night, given how things looked, there was no hope it would clear up—but indeed, leave it to the experts,” Father remarked with respect.

And Father expressed his respect. “As long as the weather clears up, who cares about the forecast?” And Mr. Miwa was innocently carefree. “What a terrible man. They only make an issue of it when it’s wrong. Minor local weather forecasts are mere trifles, but since the weather bureau unfortunately interacts with the public solely through those, their good qualities go unnoticed—it’s rather pitiful.”

And Mr. Dan shelved his own part in things.

Soon, Mr. Watanabe, who had arranged for us to stay at the inn last night, came to visit. After exchanging bows, “Having you guide us would be perfect—but you must be busy?” Father said.

“I’m busy. But today’s Sunday, you know. You’re still transcending the days of the week, I see.” And Mr. Watanabe was blunt.

“The vice-chief guy’s busy, I hear. How soon can you become branch manager?”

“How soon can you become branch manager?” Mr. Dan asked. “It’s a long road ahead,” replied Mr. Watanabe. “By the time my turn comes around, my hair will likely be snow-white.” “Indeed, it’s grown quite white already,” said Mr.Miwa. “But how curious—your beard remains jet black. They say a beard makes one look twenty years younger. You’re still part of the youthful beard brigade, aren’t you?”

“Wait a minute. The last time we met was two years ago, wasn’t it? You didn’t look like this back then. That’s right—didn’t you proudly claim you didn’t have a single white hair?”

And Mr. Dan suspected. “My father died.” “Ah, right—I’d assumed the statute of limitations had passed and skipped the condolences, but…” And Father bowed his head slightly. “If you worry about gray hair, it suddenly sprouts. In novels, it’s quite common for someone to turn completely white overnight!” And Mr. Miwa made no distinction between novels and reality. “I wasn’t worried. I was at ease.” “So your white hair grew because you were at ease? The world is full of wonders.” “You won’t even find that in novels. While my father was alive, I thought if I got too white, it’d make him hurry to his grave, so I kept dyeing it. I may have deceived you all in form, but the circumstances left me no choice.”

And Mr. Watanabe showed no sign of being abashed. “Indeed, a dutiful son is different. Someone who dyes their white hair with such noble motives must be rare since Saitō Sanemori’s time.”

And Father praised. “Don’t take digs at me.” Mr. Dan, who was covertly using something called “black-ish” to maintain his own dark appearance, laughed. “There are plenty with bad motives. There are bald heads wearing wigs among the prominent figures in the business world here. He’s a thorough man—keeping three wigs: one freshly trimmed, another for ten days’ growth, and a third for twenty days’. He cycles through these three wigs every ten days in rotation, so the entire Nagasaki City is being deceived. I alone, being in the know like snakes recognize snake paths, am aware of even the Osaka shop where that bigwig ordered his wig—it’s so absurd I can’t stand it.”

And Mr. Watanabe was so thoroughly versed in Nagasaki’s affairs that he even knew such minute details of its personnel matters. “What a clever scheme. “If it were just a twenty-day growth wig, it’d be easily exposed.”

And Mr. Dan was impressed.

“However, merely wearing it isn’t enough—apparently feeling self-conscious, he employs all sorts of schemes, making it quite a hassle indeed.” “Even as we talk like this, he’ll occasionally scratch his head as if remembering something.” “He suddenly asks something like, ‘What anti-dandruff cologne do you use?’” “The other day when I ran into him on the street, he said, ‘Ah, lovely weather we’re having! I’m just off to the barber’s,’ and even I was left speechless.”

“What do you suppose his motive is?” When Mr. Miwa asked, “In short, he wants to appear young and curry favor with geisha. You won’t find a single soul attempting rejuvenation techniques for society’s benefit.” Mr. Watanabe’s criticism was scathing. “Shall we commence our leisurely stroll then?” When Father suggested this, Mr. Watanabe—

“Hurry up and get ready; the automobile is waiting.”

Since you couldn’t grasp the essence of a trading port without seeing Nagasaki’s foreign settlement, they first set their sights on Ōura. After reaching the tram line, they drove straight along the coast lined with Western-style buildings and turned right back around as soon as they arrived at Nagasaki Hotel.

“It’s cool, isn’t it? When you come to a windless place like this, there’s nothing like speeding along in an automobile.”

And Mr.Dan was pleased, but—

“It was too fast, so I couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. We really have to get out and look around after all!”

And Mr. Miwa was somewhat dissatisfied. “In that case, shall we go again?” “My apologies—it wasn’t clear how much there was to see.”

And Mr. Watanabe expressed regret. "That's quite all right." And Father said. "There were still some proper sights worth seeing in the back." "There, young master and miss—do take a look." "That building on the hill is called Kaisei School—a Westerners' institution similar to Tokyo's Gyosei." "The entire area from there down to the coast makes up the foreign settlement."

And Mr. Watanabe kindly provided supplementary explanations.

At Ōhato, they got out as per Mr. Miwa’s request to look around. “The ships depart from here. It’s thirty-six hours to Shanghai and ten hours to Busan.” And Mr. Dan mimicked Mr. Watanabe’s way of speaking. “What kind of charm or curse is that round cannonball over there?” And Father asked after the automobile started moving.

“That’s one of the Nagasaki Seven Mysteries—‘There’s a cannonball but no cannon.’” And Mr. Watanabe answered.

“What are the Seven Mysteries?” “Well now, when you make me take out my notebook like that, a sense of responsibility starts creeping up—but it’s a song about the local sights here.” “It goes like this: ‘The Nagasaki Seven Mysteries: Daitoku-ji though there’s no temple; flatland dubbed Maruyama; an ancient shrine called Wakamiya; northern hills named Nishiyama; Sakura-baba without cherry trees; a cannonball but no cannon; a stately pine labeled Kudarimatsu—that makes seven mysteries.’” “Quite lengthy, isn’t it?”

“That’s Nagasaki’s loincloth for you,” he said. “Would you repeat that once more? I got lost halfway through.” “I’ll write it down for you.” “Not Seven Mysteries,” he retorted. “Seven Contradictions. Nagasaki’s Seven Contradictions—Watanabe’s filial piety, peace of mind yet white hair…”

And Mr. Dan interjected.

“To Shanghai in just a day and a half—that’s quite close, isn’t it? It’s not much different from going to Tokyo, is it?”

And Mr.Miwa said.

“The number of hours is exactly the same, but once you board the ship and fall asleep, there’s nothing more to worry about—so around here we consider Tokyo more foreign than Shanghai.” “There are so many migrant workers going to China and Korea that you could almost say there isn’t a single local here without relatives over there.”

And Mr. Watanabe responded. “This really feels like the western edge of Japan, doesn’t it? The town has such a foreign atmosphere. I feel like we’ve come to an extraordinarily distant place.” Father even voiced my own impressions for me. “They’re surprisingly timid, aren’t they?”

“Whenever these two do anything, they get homesick, so it’s a real pain keeping them cheerful along the way. Since they want to travel in a way that brings them closer to home each day—isn’t that impossible? Therefore, we’ll have to go at full speed from here all the way to Kagoshima.”

And Mr. Dan piled on. “So we’re really leaving tonight after all?” “I’d like to take my time soaking up the exotic atmosphere here, but with you all being so unreasonable…” “This is the station, isn’t it? Quite splendid. We barely got a proper look last night with that downpour…” Mr.Miwa kept craning his neck eagerly.

“Rest assured—we’re departing from here tonight after all.”

And Mr. Dan was unusually active today. “If you’re this homesick, there’s no way you can talk about overseas expansion. Why don’t you brew some fingernail scrapings from Amakusa women and drink them to toughen yourselves up?” “The Home Development Party and the Sniffle Deity—what a pair.” “Exactly—this place is near Amakusa, isn’t it? When I hear ‘Amakusa,’ it takes me back to elementary school geography—it feels like a completely different era.”

And Father said something that was bound to stir up trouble again. “This opposite shore is Inasa. Nagasaki being a port has its share of unsavory districts, but Inasa is particularly notorious.”

And Mr. Watanabe denounced the opposite shore.

After the conversation lapsed for a short while,

“Young master, do you take photographs?” And Mr. Watanabe noticed the camera I was holding. “No, Tatsuko-san is the one who takes them.”

And I answered. “I’d like to ask for your guidance.” “I only recently started photography as a hobby, but nothing seems to work.” “I keep making mistakes.” “Just the other day, I even made my wife faint.” “What a dangerous photographer you are,” Mr. Dan immediately interjected. “What did you do?” “I was so absorbed in adjusting the focus that I kept her standing too long under the scorching sun—she got heatstroke.” “But that Amakusa-born maid I mentioned earlier is as sturdy as a rock, so she didn’t mind no matter how many times I photographed her.” “But here’s the funny part.” “After I went through the trouble of developing the photos, she said she couldn’t send one back home where only a single ear was visible.” “Even when I explained that anyone’s photo would turn out like that if they’re slightly turned sideways, she just couldn’t grasp it.”

“That’s amusing. It’s not like she’s a rabbit.” “I’m convinced there’s no way to have two eyes appear with only one ear showing. They even argue with logic that even a child’s drawing would have two ears. In short, I suppose they don’t trust my skills—Amakusa seems quite primitive indeed.” With that, Mr. Watanabe burst into laughter. While they were occupied with such talk, they emerged into the rice fields and soon arrived at Urakami Cathedral. Just as the service had ended, congregants came streaming out.

“Miss, look at those old women’s aprons.”

And Mr. Watanabe called Miss Tatsuko’s attention. “Oh, could those be aprons? They look like hakama,” Miss Tatsuko remarked with measured deliberation.

“That’s called a three-panel apron—something unique to this region since olden times.” “Quite a sight, those old women holding hands as they come out of the chapel,” Father mused. “And so many elderly men too. In Tokyo, churches seem to cater mainly to the young.” He spoke with the wistfulness of one who’d neglected his own churchgoing since middle age. “The congregants here differ from Tokyo’s hothouse Christians,” Mr. Watanabe explained. “They’re descendants of those who risked death to keep their faith. They say seventy percent of Yamazato Village are believers.”

“This seems like a place Pastor Hoshino would envy.” “In any case, it’s massive. And it still looks quite new, doesn’t it?” As they entered the hall and looked up at the oil painting *The Life of Jesus*, Mr. Dan remarked. “That’s right. The donation of materials goes without saying, but I hear everything from transportation to assembly was done entirely by the hands of believers alone.” “Well, well—‘Marriage Announcement,’ it says here!”

When they came out to the bulletin board area, Mr. Miwa stopped. And then, “The groom is Petoro Fukabori Jinzaburou, twenty-one years old—his father being Rudowiko Zenpachi. Now those are interesting names!” “The bride is Mariya Fukabori Hatsuko, seventeen years old.” “Seventeen seems rather young.” “They do tend toward early marriage here.” “Oh—she shares the groom’s surname!” “Then this might be a blood-related marriage.” And Father fretted needlessly. “Since they don’t marry outside the faith, such things naturally occur.”

“Since they don’t marry non-believers, such things naturally come about,” said Mr. Watanabe. “It says here, ‘If you have any complaints, please submit them,’” said Mr. Dan.

Mr. Dan was also reading it solemnly. “Father Michael Kurosu is quite a name, isn’t it?”

And Father began jotting down notes in his notebook. “These are all such quintessentially Christian names, aren’t they?” And Miss Tatsuko also remarked in wonder.

After retracing their steps and heading toward O-Suwa-san’s place, “Were you a believer, Mr. Muraoka?”

Mr. Watanabe suddenly asked, perhaps having associated it with Yamazato Village. "Well, I suppose so." “That ‘I suppose so’ lacks ideological clarity, doesn’t it?”

“Well, that ‘I suppose so’ is rather noncommittal, isn’t it?” said Mr. Dan. “I’ve moved on from all that. In the old days, they’d have called me an apostate Christian.”

“What’s an apostate Christian?” Father too seemed concerned. “It refers to when they executed Christians at places like Shijōgawara in Kyoto long ago,” Watanabe explained. “They’d stuff believers into barrels and declare: ‘Those who renounce their faith and return to being upstanding citizens will be spared—roll out!’ The barrels holding the steadfast never budged an inch, but the weaker ones came tumbling down the riverbed. That’s how terms like ‘apostate Christian’ and ‘certificates of recantation’ became commonplace.” “Documents like the Registry of Heretical Sect Apostates still remain at the prefectural library here. There’s loads of materials from the Christian prohibition era—fumie plates and such. Care to stop by for research?”

“Fine, fine—even common sense understands apostasy. And doesn’t the term ‘hidden apostates’ exist too?”

And Mr. Dan cut in. After briefly peeking into the product exhibition hall, they climbed the stone steps of Suwa Shrine while—

“I’d like to show you Miss and Young Master the festival here.” Mr. Watanabe kindly kept us company. And then, “It’s become one of the Nagasaki Three Follies.” “People say Westerners even come all the way from places like Shanghai just to see it.”

“What are the Three Follies?” And Miss Tatsuko asked.

“They spend absurdly absurd amounts of money on O-Suwa Shrine’s festival, Obon, and kite flying—that’s why we call them the Three Follies.” “What? The Three Follies? You talking about us? Can’t go poisoning the kids’ minds about their own folks, now can you?”

When faced with slopes, the spineless Mr. Dan caught up to them, panting heavily.

From the mountaintop，all of Nagasaki could be seen in its entirety at a glance. “A lot of ships have come in．I could see Mitsukoshi’s shipyard from the third floor of the inn too，but it’s really large，isn’t it？”

And Mr. Miwa made no distinction between Mitsubishi and Mitsui.

“Whereabouts is Midoriya?”

And Father eagerly looked around.

“That white building is the prefectural office, so that should be our first landmark. It’s cramped, isn’t it? After all, this area’s hemmed in by mountains—there’s no room left for development.”

And Mr. Watanabe pointed out notable spots here and there as he kindly explained. “Due to the scarcity of flat land, they’ve utilized all those mountain slopes as cemeteries.” “Obon here is quite the lively affair, you know.” “Lighting lanterns at gravesites is common everywhere, but here they use them in far greater numbers.” “When it comes to wealthy families, they hang them by the hundreds—turning the mountains into illuminations that brighten the whole town.” “Under those lanterns, whole families—well—drink sake, feast, and set off firecrackers till around ten.” “It becomes practically a full-blown festival.” “After leaving the cemeteries, they hold what’s called a lantern floating ceremony.” “This one’s quite lively too, mind you.” “People come streaming from both here and Inasa way over there, carrying lanterns shaped into all sorts of forms to that big pier we saw earlier, clanging gongs all the while.” “It looks beautiful from up here, I tell you.”

“It’s quite different, isn’t it? I wonder if it’s Chinese influence?” said Father. “That’s right. Gongs and firecrackers are indeed Chinese in origin, but—”

Next to the main hall stood a bronze horse. It was said that because of this horse, this shrine came to be known as Baji Temple among foreign tourist circles. Evidently Westerners visited frequently enough that English-language fortune slips were sold at the shrine office.

“The dance performances are the main attraction of the festival here, you know.”

Mr. Watanabe seemed intent on methodically explaining the Three Follies one by one.

“Each town dedicates meticulously crafted dances.” “Geisha mainly perform them, but since such disreputable sorts would never contribute to public causes, the local townspeople must shoulder all costume expenses themselves.” “This apparently costs an exorbitant amount.” “That’s exactly what makes them worthy of being called the Three Follies.”

“You’re quite harsh in your criticism.” “Have you ever seen it yourself?”

And Mr. Dan seemed somewhat unconvinced. “Watching the dances of unsavory types amounts to giving them indirect support, you see.” “But things like the snake dance are harmless and fine.” “Is the snake dance performed solely by men?”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Watanabe. “They perform the scene where the dragon seizes the jewel. The thing’s about twenty-some ken long—every scale on its face and belly crafted to perfection, of course.” “Well, they’re called the Three Follies for good reason—they spare neither expense nor effort when it comes to festivals.” “This dragon parades through town propped up on poles by a dozen young men wearing these peculiar matching costumes.” “Meanwhile, another fellow dances about waving a golden ball on a pole—holding it high, then low.” “The dragon handlers raise and lower their poles in response.” “When their timing syncs just right, the dragon looks like it’s leaping through the air after that ball—the crowd goes wild!” “That part alone I’d truly love for you young master and miss to see.”

By the time they returned to the automobile and headed to Carls, the Three Follies had been fully recounted.

“Young master, kite-flying is a specialty here.” “We don’t call them ‘kites’ here—we say *hata*.” “When April’s flower season comes, you’ll see them flying everywhere.” “On set dates, you’ll find ads inside trams announcing *hata* battles at Konpirazan.” “It’s not just flying—they’re battles, so spectators swarm to watch.” “A bit below the bridle point, they fix something called *bidoroyoma*, like emery powder.” “They snag their opponent’s string there and slice it clean off to send it soaring.”

“Would anyone actually go see something so pointless?” said Mr. Dan. “Of course there are! Restaurants set up stalls at the battlefield, and sure enough, it turns into a full-blown festival commotion. More than the kites themselves, it’s the part where a big crowd gathers and makes a racket that really plays into the locals’ love of rubbernecking, you see. However, since it’s a competition, they get dead serious. They get their kites cut down, buy another, get them cut down again, buy another—it seems this cycle never ends. That’s why they call kite flying ‘bankrupting’ around here.” “Does it really bankrupt them?”

“That’s right. A cut kite absolutely becomes the property of whoever retrieves it. This seems to be an age-old unwritten rule—it’s amusing because both those taking and those losing remain unbothered. They say each loss costs five to ten yen with the string, so if you’re losing two or three kites daily during the season while still drinking away, even modest fortunes get wiped out. All competitions bring this bad inertia that makes people neglect their proper work—in the end, they all amount to bankrupting.”

Mr. Watanabe said something like a moral education teacher would. Upon arriving at Carls Hot Springs, they immediately entered the hot spring and washed off their sweat. It appeared Mr. Watanabe had arranged things in advance, for lunch was served without delay. Starting with braised pork belly and moving on to Nagasaki cuisine, their conversation blossomed into a lively discussion of local specialties. Mr. Watanabe recommended Nagasaki castella, even citing its Portuguese etymology. Wherever you go, it remains an amusing phenomenon that dignified adults put such earnest effort into critiquing food.

“Somehow it’s soggy, and we’re not very impressed.” When Mr. Dan disparaged it,

“That’s precisely what makes it good,” Watanabe continued. “And when that gritty texture hits your teeth—they say it’s utterly beyond description here. Tokyo’s version? You just wolf it down like plain bread.” That was the essence of his argument.

“Is there any good white bread here?”

asked Father.

“Of course there is!” “Since we’re right by the foreign settlement, the bread here is unmatched.”

“So that makes it a first-class nation, huh? Among my friends there’s a man who insists white bread is the yardstick of a region’s culture. According to his theory, towns with populations under ten thousand 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 take shape; forty to fifty thousand makes it edible at last. But you can’t get the real thing unless it’s a hundred thousand. He’s conducted exhaustive statistical research—being a teacher who wanders all over Japan makes his data thorough. He’s in Okayama now, but having to order proper white bread from Kobe proves their actual population’s seventy to eighty thousand despite claiming a hundred.”

“That’s certainly one theory.”

Mr. Watanabe nodded.

When the meal was finished, Mr. Dan said, “Thanks to the automobile, we’ve ended up with quite a bit of extra time." “Since we’ll be observing local conditions firsthand on foot this time, why don’t we relax until it cools down a bit?”

As if to demonstrate by example, he laid his head on the armrest and stretched out. Then the maid brought over a pillow. "I think I'll go take another dip in the hot spring."

And Mr.Miwa, for some reason, took his hand towel and went downstairs. After a short while, the sound of a shamisen could be heard from one room over, and then someone began to sing. "A dulcet voice escapes through, doesn't it?" “It’s the Kōryōkō-bushi.” Father and Mr.Dan listened intently. “Since this is a restaurant, all sorts of unsavory characters come and go. How about it? Shall we head out now at our leisure?” Mr.Watanabe looked at me and Miss Tatsuko and said. “No, that’s fine. I had a drink after my bath and got blissfully drunk.”

Mr. Dan did not even try to move. Amidst this, the inner tatami room grew increasingly lively. “...Mitsubishi Dock for moon-viewing at Suwa Shrine, flowers at Carlsbad cherry blossoms and chrysanthemum dolls, nights in Maruyama, and Daitoku-ji even though there’s no temple...” Because the partition between the rooms was left wide open, the song’s lyrics could be heard as clearly as if they were right in front of you. “A Nagasaki specialty, huh? I wonder if they’ll sing it again.”

Father took out his notebook. “This is handy—we can make do with a geisha someone else has hired.”

Mr. Dan laughed.

“Mr. Miwa, Mr. Miwa! We’re heading out now!”

Mr. Watanabe called to wake Mr. Miwa, who was asleep.

On the way to Umamachi tram stop, "The streets here are all paved with stone, so it's easy to walk around. With these paved streets, even if it rains, we won't need wooden clogs."

Miss Tatsuko walked briskly. It’s a truly pleasant place.

“All the slopes are paved with stone. People visiting for the first time seem to notice this above all else.”

said Mr. Watanabe.

They alighted from the train and came upon Hamanomachi. This was said to be the most bustling thoroughfare in the area. At a storefront selling local specialty tortoiseshell crafts,

“What’s this? ‘The moon rising from Nagasaki’s mountains is fine, but this moon here isn’t half bad either’? It’s by Shokusanjin.” “It says ‘Shokusanjin’.” Father was drawn to what was called a tortoiseshell tray. “Shokusan was a government official here, you know. However, this song is slightly different. I believe the original lyrics were ‘From the peak of Mount Hiko,’ but since ‘Mount Hiko’ is too provincial and wouldn’t resonate widely, they apparently changed it to ‘Nagasaki’s mountain.’” Mr. Watanabe added this commentary.

Mr. Dan had already entered the shop and was examining tortoiseshell combs. As this was an unprecedented occurrence,

“Are you buying a souvenir for your wife?”

Mr.Miwa exclaimed in surprise. "That's right. "If I don't buy her something once in a while,I won't get a word in edgewise when we argue." "Maybe I should buy something too as precaution for when we argue."

And Father too began browsing,

“It’s not like my household is all peace and quiet either.” Mr. Miwa too began shopping, with Miss Tatsuko acting as his advisor. “Since soap powder and needles remain local specialties here, you’d better stock up on them for your domestic battles.” Mr. Watanabe laughed. Soon they reached Maruyama. Skyscrapers stood lined on both sides. As the merchandise here was said to be human flesh, these establishments bore no comparison to beef shops or eel restaurants.

“Are we just passing through here too?” When Mr. Dan said this,

“It’d be a real hassle to get held up in a place like this.” Mr. Watanabe hurried them along. They took a break at Daitoku-ji. Being situated on slightly elevated ground, the temple offered a fine view. “They’re really laying into that ‘batten’ dialect here.” Father listened to the group at the next table sipping iced drinks. “Nagasaki’s ‘batten’ versus Edo’s ‘berabō’! They claim ‘batten’ comes from mashing together ‘but and,’ but isn’t that just a convenient stretch?” “That’s interesting,” said Mr. Miwa, ever ready to accept most theories. “Given how strongly foreign influences persist here, there might be truth to it.”

Mr. Miwa generally accepted most theories. “They call banks ‘banko’ here too.” “They say things like ‘Edo and Nagasaki are separate countries’ or ‘avenge Edo in Nagasaki,’ so after all, it’s been the edge of Japan since ancient times.” “We’ve really come a long way, I tell you.” Father said. “In that case, you’d never manage going abroad, would you?” “If you left Yokohama and arrived in Kobe, you’d already be wanting to get off, wouldn’t you?” “If it’s going abroad we’re talking about, I’ve got my resolve ready.”

“Stop talking about such trivial things and let’s hurry back to the inn to relax, shall we?” Mr. Dan urged. “There are still Chinese temples left. Come on, just a bit further,” said Mr. Watanabe. “Let’s finish up.”

Mr. Watanabe took the lead.

Nankin and Shina rice were generally rated below Japan’s third-grade rice in market value—so I had assumed temples here would follow a similar hierarchy—but Sōfuku-ji Temple turned out to be quite splendid. A large cracked pot that had been used to cook gruel during the Tenmei famine remained here. I supposed they must have imported Shina rice back then as well. In my mind, Shina temples and Shina rice were still conflated.

“Since Chinese people take their deceased back to their homeland encased in vermilion coffins，they’re often stored here．They don’t seem to be visible today，do they？”

Mr. Watanabe peered into the dark corner of the main hall.

“Ugh, how dreadful!”

Miss Tatsuko shrank back.

“As expected of a protected structure, isn’t it?”

Mr. Dan descended the stone steps and, while looking back at the temple gate, said to Mr. Watanabe: “So this is how we’re ringing in the new year? You’ve really dragged us all over the place.”

and expressed his thanks to Mr. Watanabe.

Part Fourteen

They departed Nagasaki at dawn and arrived in Ōmuta shortly past one o'clock while admiring the roadside scenery they had been unable to view two days earlier due to rain. They immediately went to the Miike Mining Office, but learned that the person Mr. Dan had come to meet was away in Tokyo. However, the mine supervisor graciously arranged for their coal mine tour. They felt profoundly obliged that he had even assigned an office worker and arranged an automobile for them.

Upon arriving at Manda Pit, they listened to various explanations from the supervisor, Mr. Matsuda. "I thought coal mines were always in mountains, but it’s quite unexpected to find one on flat land like this." When Father candidly shared his impressions, “Since we’re exactly as you see us here, I’d ask you to go easy on us.” Mr. Dan added. Mr. Dan and Mr. Matsuda were of the same age and both engineering graduates, and since they had mutual acquaintances beyond this mining office, they were already speaking with ease. “This is Manda Pit...”

Mr. Matsuda spread a map out on the table and pointed out each of the so-called seven pits of Miike by name, then— “In areas where landslides have occurred, you can clearly see multiple strata exposed in the cross-section, right? If you imagine that entire layer as being entirely coal, it precisely forms a coal seam. Such coal seams run underground at a 1/10 gradient over several ri from Ōura Pit to Yotsuyama Pit.” “When you say a 1/10 gradient…?” Mr. Miwa was uncertain when it came to numbers.

“For every ten shaku advanced, it descends one shaku.” “Next, Ōura Pit—where the coal seam begins—is an inclined shaft.” “From the surface, excavation proceeds along the incline of the coal seam.” “Is the coal seam here quite thick?” Mr. Dan asked.

“It 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, it grows deeper as you move away from Ōura.” “From Miyaura onward, all are vertical shafts—Miyaura Pit at 176 shaku deep, Nanaura Pit at 237 shaku, then passing through Katsutatsu and Miyahara until reaching this Manda Pit at 896 shaku. If you proceed to Yotsuyama Pit, it becomes 1,370 shaku deep—that’s where they’re working beneath the sea.” “1,370 shaku!” “My word, that’s profound.” “How many ri would that be?”

“We don’t measure in *ri* here.” “Approximately twenty-eight *chō*.”

“Even twenty-eight chō is deep.” Father too would not yield to Mr. Miwa when it came to being bad with numbers.

Next, "The depth itself isn't particularly troublesome," Mr. Matsuda continued, "but drainage and ventilation are our real challenges. We actually devote more effort to these than to coal extraction itself. Here, we handle 1,155 cubic feet of drainage per minute and 300,000 cubic feet of ventilation—you can imagine the scale." By this point, "I see, that's quite something," Father conceded. "One cubic foot equals one *to* and five *sho*," Mr. Matsuda elaborated. "A cubic foot of water weighs sixty-six and a half pounds, so roughly thirty-six cubic feet make up a ton."

Even when he explained it, “It really is tough.” he pressed on. After explaining everything in simple terms—from the longwall pillar method of coal extraction to the backfill method using earth and sand—Mr. Matsuda spread out another diagram. “The interior of this pit has become a network of streets extending in all directions, roughly the size of the entire city of Kyoto.” “The thick lines represent, so to speak, the main thoroughfares where electric trains transporting coal pass through.” “Isn’t it fascinating to have a metropolis nine hundred shaku underground?”

“It’s quite fascinating. Are they all this big everywhere?”

Mr. Miwa stared at the diagram.

"No, this one is currently the most productive, producing two thousand tons in a single day and night. It accounts for over half of Miike's total coal output, you see. When combined with the other pits, it reaches 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 had expressed his gratitude, I too had gained a great deal. “I’ll show you around that area—would you like to go down into the pit?”

When Mr. Matsuda said this, Mr. Miwa—

“By all means.” He bowed. “So you’re going in to have a look?” Father asked, sounding surprised. “I’ll go in. What about you all?” “Well, as for me…”

"I'll have you come see it for me too."

At that point, only Mr. Miwa ended up entering the pit. When he put on the mining clothes, donned the mining helmet, and laced up the mining boots, being made to carry a lamp made the preparations seem so excessively elaborate that he appeared to feel some regret, but there was nothing to be done about it now. A man wearing the same outfit stepped forward to guide him. We too followed along behind and were shown various facilities, soon arriving at the elevator.

“For coal, forty-five seconds; for humans, one minute.” As the guide was explaining this, coal came clattering up. This elevator wasn’t equipped with velvet seats or vanity mirrors—nothing so refined. “They won’t mistake me for coal, will they?” Even Mr. Miwa seemed somewhat concerned. “I’ll send the signal, so it’s safe. If you don’t hold onto this bar, it’s dangerous.” Seeing how emphatically the guide warned them, it became clear that even without being mistaken for coal, one couldn’t afford carelessness.

“Alright, alright!” As he nodded, Mr.Miwa vanished from sight. “He won’t be coming out right away. He’s probably planning to stop by Gion for a soda or something—let’s go wait over there,” said Mr.Dan. I didn’t think there could be any mistake, but I began to worry. After all, this was Mr.Miwa—someone who made frequent blunders even when safely aboveground. He was the sort of absent-minded person who’d flip through books strangers were reading on trains—he might forget his surroundings and reach for something dangerous without thinking. I was just regretting I hadn’t stopped him when—

“Hot-hot! Absolutely unbearable!” said Mr.Miwa as he returned unscathed. Mud driplets were falling from his pit clothes.

“I can’t take it! My collar’s gone all limp like this.”

After taking our leave and heading back toward Ōmuta, “How was it? The bottom of hell—” “—the bottom of hell—”

“It’s truly the very bottom of hell’s cauldron!”

And Mr.Miwa, still wiping away sweat, "I’ve never been that hot in my life. They said it was like Kyoto, so I decided to go in—but when I saw that elevator, I was disappointed. But it’s too late to complain now, you know?" "It really was just like that!" "Amidst droplets roaring down like a sudden shower, we felt as though we were descending only to rise again—but by then, we’d already reached the bottom. It was pitch-dark, the footing was treacherous, and how unnerving it was! What’s more, 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 we avoided the coal cars and wires, we’d be safe—then suddenly we came face to face with a horse and were nearly bitten. It was deep underground that I realized what my wife meant when she told me to take care of my body."

“In truth, first-timers aren’t used to the darkness, so we assign a guide, but after a short while, you’ll get accustomed.” “Visitors usually can’t hold out that long, you see.” The clerk who had ridden with us laughed at Mr. Miwa’s exaggerated account.

“Miyazaki Prefecture is out of the question, but Kumamoto Prefecture gives the impression of lagging behind in everything.”

“No matter what we do, we’re just too clumsy—it can’t be helped,” said Mr. Miwa’s older brother. “Recently, after implementing urban planning, Arao Mountain—1,000 shaku above sea level—has been incorporated into the city.” “Everything’s like that here, you see.” After laughing at their fellow townsman’s sweeping generalizations, “Since Arao Mountain and Kimpō Mountain block the winds coming from the sea, Kumamoto ends up being hot in summer and cold in winter like this.” “The first step to improving the climate and transportation would be to blow up Kimpō Mountain with dynamite.”

and he came out with another sweeping theory.

Well then, we had all 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. Inns may have the drawback of not being as convenient as one might like, but to truly understand local matters, nothing compares to staying in a household. Thanks to this, we even learned how Mr.Miwa’s uncle had joined the Shinpūren rebels.

“My uncle was an eccentric man. “And he was a prime example of the stubborn fools of that time. “When he once went to the doctor for a cold, he was told it was influenza. No sooner had he rushed back with a ghastly expression than he declared, ‘Mother, I must apologize. I’ve been afflicted by a barbarian disease,’ and reportedly tried to commit seppuku. “In short, the Shinpūren rebels were all such formidable figures. “But the amusing thing is, Tetsuhiko here is a spitting image of this uncle in both looks and personality.”

And the older brother pointed at Mr. Miwa.

“I don’t resemble him at all!” “No, you do resemble him. You do spout some baffling nonsense, don’t you? I’ve always quietly suspected you’ve been nothing but a nuisance to your friends.” “Ah! So I really did inherit Uncle’s traits after all!”

And Mr.Dan chimed in with a sarcastic interjection.

As usual, we went out sightseeing, with Mr. Hideo—whom we had befriended in Hakata—and Mr. Toku the manservant serving as our guides. “Just as Fukuoka has its Mongol Invasions, Kumamoto has Lord Kiyomasa and the Satsuma Rebellion.” “Though he may look like this now, Mr. Toku was a young man in his twenties during the Satsuma Rebellion—someone who dashed about everywhere.”

Mr.Hideo introduced.

From Ikeda—following the route—they first paid their respects at Honmyo-ji Temple.

"They’ve built a strangely gaudy Nio gate here, haven’t they? Is it reinforced concrete, I wonder?" said Mr. Miwa. From there to the main hall was tediously long. “At Honmyo-ji Temple in Higo, they’re chanting ‘Hokke-kyo’ from dawn till dusk, ‘Hokke-kyo’ all day long—everyone comes to worship, they do. Hey, glittering gold!”

And Mr.Hideo began singing cheerfully as he climbed the stone steps. “What’s that?” Even when Father asked, “...Hey now, glittering gold! A golden hand-washing basin, the chest-piercing slope to Sakura-baba—that’s how it goes! Glittering gold, glittering gold’s Ganemasa-don! Ganemasa-don’s sideways crawl-crawl!” “This was meant to be our imitation of the local glittering gold ditty here.”

Mr. Toku laughed. "That’s a rather harsh imitation."

“The melody’s off, you see.” “How interesting. Is this ‘Ganemasa-don’ referring to Lord Kiyomasa?”

Father perked up with interest. “Ganemasa-don is a crab,” said Mr. Miwa. “As if Kiyomasa would crawl sideways and gather like that!”