Whatever your uncle may say, we’ve already put one foot in the boat, as the common expression has it. In a situation like this, even a lily-livered Kyoto boy like me can’t just say “sayonara” and turn away and suck his thumb. Especially since, as I just told you, I feel deeply that you are a virtuous woman. As for me, even an inchworm has a half-inch soul, and even my half-inch of courage won’t permit me to ignore your misery. I mostly understand, from the other things you say, what it is you are refusing to discuss and why. Be that as may be, it’s best if you do as I say. I bear you no ill will, nor can accepting my advice jeopardize your womanly honor. Let’s do this: we’ll go now and entrust the proprietor of the Kameya Inn with your care; from his speech one can see that he is honest and honorable. There will probably be a little money involved: I’ll strike some sort of a deal. Perhaps you consider this plan an imposition by an interfering stranger, but I cannot simply watch you plunge into this yawning abyss of afflictions. Indeed, I find you are so dear to me; no doubt I would love my younger sister like this if only I had one. Relax: laugh at me; put it down to my lusting after good deeds. Now, come along.
So saying, he took her hand. If she brushed his hand away, that would be the Imagawa school of etiquette; if she squeezed it, that would be the Western school. Tatsu did neither. Her behavior was incomparably delightful, Shuun later recounted, or so I heard tell, though by the time I heard this, it was no doubt merely a fiction.
3: IN HELPING THE WEAK, THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR
Look here, Kichibei, you wouldn’t be reading me any sermons, would you? Not me, Shichi the Shooter! I’ve already cast the dice of Life and Reason, both together. In my time, I was quite the paramour; pulled off some kidnappings, too. But I’ve mellowed since then. That niece of mine, I wasn’t selling her: I was giving her away, to somebody who wanted her for adoption or as a mistress, and he said he’d give me a hundred ryō if I severed my ties to her, that’s all. But Tatsu’s so balky, I figure maybe she’s got some secret lover: she’s scowling and yowling she won’t go with someone she don’t know; looking like she’s planning to make a break for it or something. So I tie her up a little, while I go to talk to the buyer. Who’s this brat called “Shuun” or whatever? How’s he connected here? What’s his objection?
Shichi, Shichi! Quiet down! What you don’t comprehend—you scoundrel—is that even though she’s your niece—you scoundrel—unlike you, she’s the pride and joy of our town. Marriageable age, too, that Tatsu, but she isn’t using a speck of makeup, and she won’t buy herself so much as a new pair of wooden clogs for the summer Obon Festival, or for New Year’s. People who see what’s going on, they all marvel at how Tatsu tolerates your impossible behavior just because you’re her uncle—you scoundrel; they grind their teeth thinking about you—you scoundrel—and shed tears over Tatsu. Cold-hearted women who feed dried-up leftover rice to their mothers-in-law, why, the instant they hear about Tatsu it’s enough to make them break off their horns and get all sweet and eager to please the old folks: Shall I make some egg-drop soup to comfort you this late, long evening? But you! You’re such a brute, just the other day you tried to hand her over to some flesh trader in Ueda! I don’t know what you need a hundred ryō for, but what a monster you are to think that you can exchange that virtuous woman for money! If you comprehended half the sympathy and compassion of that guest, Shuun, you’d be weeping tears of gratitude, not saying things like that!
Hah! Maybe you think—O, Master of Kameya—that since you served as the official matchmaker between Kichi and myself, you can act like I’m beholden to you; but cut out this “scoundrel, scoundrel” talk, all right? “Shichi, Shichi”—Seven sevens? That makes forty-nine; but if I’m forty-nine or even if I’m sixty, I still won’t be asking you for any favors. Tatsu’s my niece, not your daughter, right? So chop, chop, send her on out here. Best for you, you give in before you see me start to squint. Or are you just the mouthpiece for that “Shuun” character? If you’re telling me you can’t settle this because you’re not the man himself, then let’s meet the man!
Hah! “The man” is ready to meet you! Making a sudden appearance, our Shuun scrutinizes Shichi’s face and finds a straight and well-shaped nose, imposing eyes, and a broad jaw—on a rogue with a decidedly twisted nature: one who now shuffles toward him, kneeling on the tatami, shoulders angrily hunched.
So you’re that runt, that small fry, that Shuun. Such a wishy-washy face; how did you manage to make off with Tatsu? Nicely done, for a callow youth. But a chicken trembles before a fighting cock: if you know your place, just lower your tail, stop quibbling about the lay of the dice; and hand over Tatsu. Give up!
“Stop quibbling”?! A fine way to greet somebody, that is! Then if I, too, may go straight to the point: since I don’t want Tatsu to be sold, I’m prepared to discuss the matter.
You’re talking in your sleep and talking rubbish, too!
Look, Shichi. Be quiet and listen to me. There has to be some way to finesse this without selling her, so . . .
Shichizō does not wait for him to finish. Upstart! Migrant crow! And he raises his fist. No! Tatsu, rushing in. Kichibei, trying with her to stay Shichi’s arm: Shichizō, Shichizō! My, you have no sense at all! Surely this matter can be negotiated without selling her against her will!
Pfaugh! “Negotiated” it can’t be; that much I know. Hand over a hundred ryō and you could have her now, but . . . So saying, Shichi grabs Tatsu and stands up, but Kichibei has Shichi’s robe by the hem.
Now, you sit down and listen up to what old Kichibei has to say! Trafficking in human beings isn’t legitimate nowadays. Whether you’re selling her as a whore or a mistress, I don’t know, but . . .
Hey, quit your crabbing, you senile old fart. Just like I eat what I want, with her I’ll do as I please. Especially since I’ve already gone and spent the twenty ryō down payment. Can’t change the deal now. Don’t stick your nose into my business. Go drink some tea.
Utterly intractable. Fearsome was the gaze of this eagle about to seize its rabbit prey. Thinking that that was that, the master of the Kameya Inn fell mute. Seeing this, Shuun burned with remorse. He looked at Tatsu: a morning glory after a storm, laden with dew, bereft of support. She faced them wordlessly, bowed deeply, and started to leave with her uncle. But after just two or three paces, she turned and looked back piteously.
At this point Shuun cried out to Shichizō : May Hachiman, god of war, take my life, but I will not allow this to pass!
Gallantly, he drew out one hundred ryō. Ignoring the amazement of the innkeeper and of Tatsu herself, he concluded the arrangements without further ado, and the tie between a villain and a virtuous woman was severed “happily ever after.” Tatsu was then made the foster daughter of the master of the Kameya Inn.
Chapter 6: Thus the Interaction
1: A SEED NURTURED BY DROPS OF RAIN
It is only human nature—deplorable yet not without a certain logic—that a man crazy for his mistress will chastise his son for purchasing the favors of a prostitute. Shichi’s behavior aroused such universal resentment that when he was seen drinking, everyone would speak ill of him behind his back: That louse, sucking the blood out of his niece! Eventually, even such a confirmed reprobate as Shichi found the place tiresome, and he departed for wherever, leaving his proprietor—the Kameya innkeeper—only the cabin and the chore of making his excuses for defaulting on his salt and rice bill.
Shuun also had various unanticipated matters to attend to, which kept him in town for more than another week. As he grew familiar with the trusty innkeeper and the lovely Tatsu, he found their hearth a paradise; their laughter, the sweet harmony of kalavinkas.19 No longer treated as a guest, he felt at ease. If they had no sea bream, they enjoyed coarse miso soup with tofu; whenever companions so congenial are gathered for a pleasant meal, the food tastes good. So, too, the “first-flower” moment of the first-drawn cup of even the most rustic tea. To beguile the tedium of the long evenings, she would peel
a stored chestnut for him: a little kernel of loving feeling, which he would happily consume and then reciprocate with another peeled chestnut, in a humorous ritual. “Where you live becomes the capital,” even in a mountain village—if only people’s hearts are warm.
By now, however, as Shuun realized counting on his fingers, several days had passed. When he bethought himself of his next destination, Nara, he decided he should not be distracting himself with idle amusements. So one day, he assembled his luggage and asked for the bill, announcing his imminent departure. To which the astounded innkeeper replied: But there’s been no wedding ceremony! Huh—who’s getting married? Why, Tatsu, of course! To whom? Surely you jest. Who other than you?
At this response, our Shuun’s face flushed a fast red while his tongue went dry and flapped rapidly. The jester must be you: I don’t recall promising any such thing.
Such boorish speech is hardly becoming to a gentleman from the old capital.
Nowadays, a young person can’t get away with that. Regardless, this is a different you, and a naive one at that, compared with the man who tossed a hundred ryō at Shichi and wouldn’t let him get one word in. Sure, we all play the innocent at times to escape embarrassment, but there’s no need for you to do so now. This old man has some experience in these matters: I’ll make sure you don’t miss that bull’s-eye; you just hold your tongue and bide your time.
He was taking all this a certain way, but Shuun didn’t see it like that. Hold hard there, Master Innkeeper sir! Pray let’s have no misunderstanding. I do indeed think fondly of Tatsu, but I gave not a pennyworth of thought to making her my wife or anything of the sort! I merely rendered assistance to someone whose distress was intolerable to behold. Foisting a wife onto a traveler is a gross imposition.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, hah! What an imposition! She’s a beauty; and if she’s not accomplished in scholarship or music, she isn’t ignorant of sewing; she’s naturally acquired the feminine virtues; she’s modest; she’ll take good care of the lord of the castle, I warrant. Calling that Tatsu an imposition is a sophistry without parallel since the age of the Divine Twin Pillars.20 But with the wisdom of my years, I can perceive the truth behind the facade and discern the motives for your behavior. I may still have a topknot, but I do understand matters of romance, you know. Actually, I’m impressed with how wisely you young people fall in love these days: how well and truly you fell in love with Tatsu; how well and truly Tatsu fell in love with you. I’ve already consulted Grandma: the plan is to give you a wedding ceremony just as soon as the preparations have been made.
You hark, Shuun! A cow’s crupper and a geezer’s gab: they’re both as dependable as they seem dubious! First make Tatsu your wife; then you can take her with you to Nara or Kyoto or wherever. Why, once upon a time, when I was still particular about my short sword and Grandma carried a mirror in her bosom, we treated ourselves to the once-in-a-lifetime extravagance of a trip together to pay our respects to Gichū Temple21 and to Sixth Avenue in Kyoto.22 Your old lady is never so charming and lovely as on a journey: why we still have dreams about it and reminisce; in fact, just the other day, ’round about midnight, I made her laugh so hard her dentures popped out. You hark, Shuun. . . . Oh! Sorry! You’re not my grandson!
He smiled guilelessly and stroked his shiny bald pate.
2: TWIN SHOOTS FROM A SEED POKE OUT THROUGH A CLOD
So far, I have no recollection of ever engaging in anything that could be called love. Once, in Yokkaichi, in Seishū, a beauty had me in a daze—three days!—but that was because she had a mole on her forehead and I was thinking I’d have to replace it with a sprig of white hair.23 For a whole week once, I was obsessed with the thought of a seductress I’d seen carrying a chrysanthemum blossom in one hand on her way to visit a gravesite at Tenno-ji in Tokyo—but again, that was because I was contemplating using her fingers as a model for a Kishimojin goddess holding some fruit of good omen.
However, my affection for Tatsu has nothing to do with using her in my artwork, nor have I any thought of making her my wife, or my mistress, or my lover. If you press me, I can say only that somehow I felt some affection for her and that on the spur of the moment I laid out a hundred ryō—and that’s all. You, old man, cannot fathom the purity of my intentions, and your romantic conjectures are as idiotic as they are unwarranted. I, Shuun, dare to hope to sculpt, as the achievement of a lifetime, an original form of Buddhist statuary. Why would I take a wife now? Especially since, without that uncle of hers, Tatsu is bound to be a desirable catch for some wealthy man and to lead a prosperous life. Others may have their opinion; I have mine.
That settled it. He composed a note to leave for Tatsu, explaining that he had not a scintilla of so base an intention as to shackle her in matrimonial fetters in return for so slight a service as he had rendered. After that . . . who cares whether the route passes through flat plains or steep mountains? Like the ascending road along which he now trundled at a steady clip.
He who would slander our Shuun as an eccentric, a man of wood, must himself be a churlish meatball of a person, the kind who suspects that Shakyamuni abandoned his wife and hid out in the mountains because she was such a hopeless leper that even Jivaka had “thrown out the spoon”24 and that when Shakyamuni tried to kiss her, her lips fell off and he fell out of love. Or the sort of dolt who so blithely commends Saigyō (All praise! All praise! How Saigyōesque to relinquish that silver cat!) but who has no conception how cold it was on that snowy day.25
Human beings are strange to the very core. It is after going blind that one realizes the beauty of a sunrise seen long ago, after living in Paris that one appreciates the taste of pickled radish. Like a bird on the wing, Shuun did not look back . . . until, after about a league, he did happen to remember her. After walking two leagues, he heard a voice calling, Shuun-sama! Certain it was she, he turned and looked—no one was there. After three leagues: Excuse me! It seemed as though his sleeve was being pulled; he was positive he would see Tatsu—but again, no one. He walked a fourth league. He walked a fifth league and a sixth. As he gradually got farther and farther away, the more he was beset by a host of apprehensions, until at length he so wanted to see her face that he thought he might as well go back. But after retracing just one step, he turned around again and resolutely advanced another one hundred or two hundred yards . . . until the desire to hear her voice rose up so strongly that he found himself executing an about-face. Whereupon he spotted a stone Jizō26 by the roadside. Think Nara, think Nara; this is a mistake. However, he hadn’t gone another hundred yards toward Nara again when he saw a man and wife coming from that direction, chatting together happily as they walked. Feeling as though he would like to talk with Tatsu like that, he now found himself going back, a couple of yards, until he realized how foolish that was and resumed his forward progress—for some fifty yards. After which, perplexed, back he went again, a couple of dozen feet. Then forward ten paces. Then four back. Finally—such drollery!—he was advancing with one foot and retreating with the other: he himself had no idea what was happening.
So, at a shop that sold steamed rice with chestnut, a local specialty, he plunked himself down on a bench and commenced some serious deliberation. But the hahakigi27 remains ever beyond reach, whether in the mountains or in one’s heart. This is a matter I would like to refer to some exponent of “the unification of the written and spoken languages.”28
3: A THREE-INCH SAPLING BESET BY MOLE CRICKETS AND ANTS
Were there no illness in this world of ours, the world would see no men with gentle hearts. Once, a modern young intellectual with an ostentatiously upturned moustache, disdainful spectacles pinching a haughty nose, animadverted on the pernicious effects of parental interference. When his own parents objected, he applied sealing wax to their mouths. But when one day—courtesy of some crude brandy—his own mouth was shut up and he himself laid low by the gastric catarrh . . . It’s old-fashioned and you may not like it, but I’ve prepared some katakuri soup. Won’t y
ou have a taste? . . . he imbibed a mother’s loving care and (through his weakened stomach) was grateful for it. From then on, even when he had a cheap, thirty-sen Western meal, he would pocket the cake and take it back to her as a present. As someone once said, never ever disparage the dispensations of a subtle Providence.
In Magome, Shuun caught a chill, which developed into a fever. For two days, the lonesome traveler suffered by himself until Kichibei and Tatsu came looking for him. Thanks to their various and sundry ministrations, his illness abated sufficiently, in their judgment, to bundle him into a palanquin and take him back to the Kameya Inn. Day and night, he was tended by a beauty who refused to sleep. The nostrums of a country quack would work wonders, too, if administered from a cup by a virtuous woman more saintly than the Healing Buddha of the Lapis Lazuli. Slowly but surely, his health was restored. When he heard for the first time how for his sake Tatsu had abjured many things to appeal to many gods in her prayers for his recovery, he wept tears of joy.
The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series) Page 20
