Part 12 (1/2)
The town is going to celebrate a j.a.panese victory to-day, and there is no school. The celebration is to be held at the parade ground, and Badger is to take out all the students and attend the ceremony. As one of the instructors, I am to go with them. The streets are everywhere draped with flapping national flags almost enough to dazzle the eyes.
There were as many as eight hundred students in all, and it was arranged, under the direction of the teacher of physical culture to divide them into sections with one teacher or two to lead them. The arrangement itself was quite commendable, but in its actual operation the whole thing went wrong. All students are mere kiddies who, ever too fresh, regard it as beneath their dignity not to break all regulations.
This rendered the provision of teachers among them practically useless.
They would start marching songs without being told to, and if they ceased the marching songs, they would raise devilish shouts without cause. Their behavior would have done credit to the gang of tramps parading the streets demanding work. When they neither sing nor shout, they tee-hee and giggle. Why they cannot walk without these disorder, pa.s.ses my understanding, but all j.a.panese are born with their mouths stuck out, and no kick will ever be strong enough to stop it. Their chatter is not only of simple nature, but about the teachers when their back is turned. What a degraded bunch! I made the students apologize to me on the dormitory affair, and considered the incident closed. But I was mistaken. To borrow the words of the old lady in the boarding house, I was surely wrong Mr. Wright. The apology they offered was not prompted by repentance in their hearts. They had kowtowed as a matter of form by the command of the princ.i.p.al. Like the tradespeople who bow their heads low but never give up cheating the public, the students apologize but never stop their mischiefs. Society is made up, I think it probable, of people just like those students. One may be branded foolishly honest if he takes seriously the apologies others might offer. We should regard all apologies a sham and forgiving also as a sham; then everything would be all right. If one wants to make another apologize from his heart, he has to pound him good and strong until he begs for mercy from his heart.
As I walked along between the sections, I could hear constantly the voices mentioning ”tempura” or ”dango.” And as there were so many of them, I could not tell which one mentioned it. Even if I succeeded in collaring the guilty one I was sure of his saying, ”No, I didn't mean you in saying tempura or dango. I fear you suffer from nervousness and make wrong inferences.” This dastardly spirit has been fostered from the time of the feudal lords, and is deep-rooted. No amount of teaching or lecturing will cure it. If I stay in a town like this for one year or so, I may be compelled to follow their example, who knows,--clean and honest though I have been. I do not propose to make a fool of myself by remaining quiet when others attempt to play games on me, with all their excuses ready-made. They are men and so am I--students or kiddies or whatever they may be. They are bigger than I, and unless I get even with them by punishment, I would cut a sorry figure. But in the attempt to get even, if I resort to ordinary means, they are sure to make it a boomerang. If I tell them, ”You're wrong,” they will start an eloquent defence, because they are never short of the means of sidestepping.
Having defended themselves, and made themselves appear suffering martyrs, they would begin attacking me. As the incident would have been started by my attempting to get even with them, my defence would not be a defence until I can prove their wrong. So the quarrel, which they had started, might be mistaken, after all, as one begun by me. But the more I keep silent the more they would become insolent, which, speaking seriously, could not be permitted for the sake of public morale. In consequence, I am obliged to adopt an identical policy so they cannot catch men in playing it back on them. If the situation comes to that, it would be the last day of the Yedo kid. Even so, if I am to be subjected to these pin-p.r.i.c.king[L] tricks, I am a man and got to risk losing off the last remnant of the honor of the Yedo kid. I became more convinced of the advisability of returning to Tokyo quickly and living with Kiyo.
To live long in such a countrytown would be like degrading myself for a purpose. Newspaper delivering would be preferable to being degraded so far as that.
I walked along with a sinking heart, thinking like this, when the head of our procession became suddenly noisy, and the whole came to a full stop. I thought something has happened, stepped to the right out of the ranks, and looked toward the direction of the noise. There on the corner of Otemachi, turning to Yakus.h.i.+machi, I saw a ma.s.s packed full like canned sardines, alternately pus.h.i.+ng back and forth. The teacher of physical culture came down the line hoa.r.s.ely shouting to all to be quiet. I asked him what was the matter, and he said the middle school and the normal had come to a clash at the corner.
The middle school and the normal, I understood, are as much friendly as dogs and monkeys. It is not explained why but their temper was hopelessly crossed, and each would try to knock the chip off the shoulder of the other on all occasions. I presume they quarrel so much because life gets monotonous in this backwoods town. I am fond of fighting, and hearing of the clash, darted forward to make the most of the fun. Those foremost in the line are jeering, ”Get out of the way, you country tax!”[12] while those in the rear are hollowing ”Push them out!” I pa.s.sed through the students, and was nearing the corner, when I heard a sharp command of ”Forward!” and the line of the normal school began marching on. The clash which had resulted from contending for the right of way was settled, but it was settled by the middle school giving way to the normal. From the point of school-standing the normal is said to rank above the middle.
[Footnote 12: The normal school in the province maintains the students mostly on the advance-expense system, supported by the country tax.]
The ceremony was quite simple. The commander of the local brigade read a congratulatory address, and so did the governor, and the audience shouted banzais. That was all. The entertainments were scheduled for the afternoon, and I returned home once and started writing to Kiyo an answer which had been in my mind for some days. Her request had been that I should write her a letter with more detailed news; so I must get it done with care. But as I took up the rolled letter-paper, I did not know with what I should begin, though I have many things to write about.
Should I begin with that? That is too much trouble. Or with this? It is not interesting. Isn't there something which will come out smoothly, I reflected, without taxing my head too much, and which will interest Kiyo. There seemed, however, no such item as I wanted I grated the ink-cake, wetted the writing brush, stared at the letter-paper--stared at the letter-paper, wetted the writing brush, grated the ink-cake--and, having repeated the same thing several times, I gave up the letter writing as not in my line, and covered the lid of the stationery box. To write a letter was a bother. It would be much simpler to go back to Tokyo and see Kiyo. Not that I am unconcerned about the anxiety of Kiyo, but to get up a letter to please the fancy of Kiyo is a harder job than to fast for three weeks.
I threw down the brush and letter-paper, and lying down with my bent arms as a pillow, gazed at the garden. But the thought of the letter to Kiyo would come back in my mind. Then I thought this way; If I am thinking of her from my heart, even at such a distance, my sincerity would find responsive appreciation in Kiyo. If it does find response, there is no need of sending letters. She will regard the absence of letters from me as a sign of my being in good health. If I write in case of illness or when something unusual happens, that will be sufficient.
The garden is about thirty feet square, with no particular plants worthy of name. There is one orange tree which is so tall as to be seen above the board fence from outside. Whenever I returned from the school I used to look at this orange tree. For to those who had not been outside of Tokyo, oranges on the tree are rather a novel sight. Those oranges now green will ripen by degrees and turn to yellow, when the tree would surely be beautiful. There are some already ripened. The old lady told me that they are juicy, sweet oranges. ”They will all soon be ripe, and then help yourself to all you want,” she said. I think I will enjoy a few every day. They will be just right in about three weeks. I do not think I will have to leave the town in so short a time as three weeks.
While my attention was centered on the oranges, Porcupine[M] came in.
”Say, to-day being the celebration[N] of victory, I thought I would get something good to eat with you, and bought some beef.”
So saying, he took out a package covered with a bamboo-wrapper, and threw it down in the center of the room. I had been denied the pleasure of patronizing the noodle house or dango shop, on top of getting sick of the sweet potatoes and tofu, and I welcomed the suggestion with ”That's fine,” and began cooking it with a frying pan and some sugar borrowed from the old lady.
Porcupine, munching the beef to the full capacity of his mouth, asked me if I knew Red s.h.i.+rt having a favorite geisha. I asked if that was not one of the geishas who came to our dinner the other night, and he answered, ”Yes, I got the wind of the fact only recently; you're sharp.”
”Red s.h.i.+rt always speaks of refinement of character or of mental consolation, but he is making a fool of himself by chasing round a geisha. What a dandy rogue. We might let that go if he wouldn't make fuss about others making fools of themselves. I understand through the princ.i.p.al he stopped your going even to noodle houses or dango shops as unbecoming to the dignity of the school, didn't he?”
”According to his idea, running after a geisha is a mental consolation but tempura or dango is a material pleasure, I guess. If that's mental consolation, why doesn't the fool do it above board? You ought to see the jacknape skipping out of the room when the geisha came into it the other night,--I don't like his trying to deceive us, but if one were to point it out for him, he would deny it or say it was the Russian literature or that the haiku is a half-brother of the new poetry, and expect to hush it up by twaddling soft nonsense. A weak-knee like him is not a man. I believe he lived the life of a court-maid in former life.
Perhaps his daddy might have been a kagema at Yus.h.i.+ma in old days.”
”What is a kagema?”
”I suppose something very unmanly,--sort of emasculated chaps. Say, that part isn't cooked enough. It might give you tape worm.”
”So? I think it's all right. And, say, Red s.h.i.+rt is said to frequent Kadoya at the springs town and meet his geisha there, but he keeps it in dark.”
”Kadoya? That hotel?”
”Also a restaurant. So we've got to catch him there with his geisha and make it hot for him right to his face.”
”Catch him there? Suppose we begin a kind of night watch?”
”Yes, you know there is a rooming house called Masuya in front of Kadoya. We'll rent one room upstairs of the house, and keep peeping through a loophole we could make in the shoji.”