Vita Sexualis Page 10

  "You think so? It seems to me there are unexpectedly great numbers of stupid men swarming around newspaper offices."

  "O my! Thanks for the compliment!" And he laughed.

  Seiha returned after our talk. Immediately following his departure, I sat at my desk, wrote an article long enough to fill about two newspaper columns, and sent it off by mail. In a way, I couldn't deny feeling some sort of pride in writing this kind of article without even thinking it necessary to polish my draft.

  The next morning I received the newspaper in which my article appeared on the front page. Later I learned that because my manuscript had reached them at night, they had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange it. Seiha's letter of thanks was sent along with the paper.

  I expect the copy of that newspaper is even now somewhere among my possessions, but even if I felt like reading it at this moment, I wouldn't be able to find it. I still remember I wrote something quite odd in that article. It had neither a beginning nor a conclusion. In those days every newspaper had a column of miscellaneous items. The Choya was selling quite well because of the miscellany of the famous Ryuhoku Narushima. In with his serious research were mixed puns and witticisms. He was always careful to keep his discussion original. He aimed at sentences that were sharp, pointed. Occasionally his epigrams were on everybody's lips. At that time I had been reading Eckstein's book on the history of the feuilleton, a book I had borrowed from a professor, and so I had written my article in the form of a miscellany but with the additional flavor of European feuilleton.

  What I wrote attracted some attention. In two or three newspapers some anonymous notices came out, blindly following each other's lead. What I had written was part lyrical, part novelette, part scholarly. If I had written it at the present time, the critics would have called it a chapter in a novel. And after arbitrarily calling it that to satisfy themselves, they'd have probably said it was inferior to a miscellany. Though the word "passionate" had not yet been coined in those days, if it had been, they would have said it had no passion. And even though the word "pedantic" was not yet in fashionable use, if it had been, they would have used that term in this instance. Furthermore, the word "self-vindication" used in conjunction with persons charged with crimes had not yet been coined. I don't believe any work of art can escape the label "self-vindication." For man's life is his attempt at vindicating himself. For the life of each and every living creature is a self-vindication. A tree-frog resting on a leaf is green, but a tree-frog resting on a wall is sallow. A lizard appearing and disappearing in a cluster of bushes has a line of green along its back. A lizard living in the desert is sand-colored. Mimicry is self-vindicating. Writing is self-vindication for the same reason. Fortunately I didn't receive any criticism of that sort. My writing managed to get by without any doubts being cast on its right to exist. That was because in those days there hadn't yet been any of the so-called "criticism," which was so hard intellectually and emotionally that it denied any creative writer his due and which could not even justify its own existence.

  About a week passed when Seiha visited me again one afternoon. He asked me to accompany him since the head of his newspaper wanted to treat me to dinner to thank me for my recent article. Seiha said the poet Ansai Haraguchi would be a fellow-guest and that he himself would serve as a substitute host for the president.

  I hired a jinrikisha and followed Seiha's. We came to a restaurant near the Kanda Myojin Shrine and went in. Ansai had come earlier and was waiting for us. Sake was brought in. Geisha entered. I couldn't drink any of the sak£. Nor could Ansai. Seiha drank by himself and created his own happy uproar. Each of us looked like a cross between a political henchman and a dependent-student, though the one who seemed most like the henchman was Seiha and the one who looked most like the typical dependent-student was Ansai. Both men were wearing a haori over their wadded kimonos, which were dark blue with a pattern of white splashes. Ansai was modest, but he was clever, and even though he didn't join in Seiha's boisterous merrymaking, he did talk with the geisha. He even exchanged cups of sake with them.

  I was the one left out of the party. In those days, part of my everyday clothing consisted of a crested black silk coat which my father had worn on formal occasions in his native province, the coat having become mine after my mother had tailored it to fit me, its cloth, she said, being quite durable. It was in this coat that I had been led to the restaurant by Seiha. I had brought along an iron smoking pipe about two feet in length. When I had come to feel no further need to carry along that protective dagger I mentioned earlier, I had this pipe made as a kind of self-protection device the moment I started smoking. So from my pouch, which looked like a bag containing tinder, I dragged out some Kumoi tobacco, and I began smoking. I wasn't drinking any sake. Nor was I saying a word.

  Because the Kobusho geisha of those days were accustomed to meeting eccentric students, they were not particularly surprised by my conduct. With their loud voices, all of them were having a noisy enjoyable time with Seiha.

  It got to be about eleven-thirty. A maid came in to tell us that all our jinrikishas were ready. I thought her statement odd, but I didn't take any further notice of it. Seiha led the way to the front gate and got into his. Ansai and I got into our separate ones. "To Kosuge beyond Osenju," I told the man, but without replying he lifted the shafts.

  Seiha's jinrikisha started running first. Then Ansai's next and mine in the rear as the three vehicles rolled along as if in flight. Shouting to keep time, their paper lanterns swaying, the jinrikisha pullers went toward Ueno through Onarimichi. Most shops on both sides of the street were closed. Occasionally I could see the flickering lights in the paper-covered lanterns of the eating houses or the candles through those small shutters inlaid in the wooden doors of the chandler shops, and it seemed to me as if those lights were in reverse. The streets were almost deserted. The people we happened to come across turned to look at our jinrikishas as if their doing so had been prearranged.

  My jinrikisha was obviously heading somewhere. Though I had no experience with jinrikisha men, I knew what the answer would have been if I had asked mine where he was going by running in this manner.

  When we turned the corner toward Nakacho after passing Hirokoji, Ansai looked back at me from his jinrikisha up ahead of mine and said, "Let's get out of here!" His jinrikisha turned towards Nakacho.

  Ansai had inherited some sort of chronic disease. His body wasn't as strong as that of other men. He couldn't have gone to the type of place we were headed for.

  I said to my jinrikisha man, "Follow that one." If I wanted to get back to Kosuge, it was no good for me to be turning toward Nakacho, but if I could at least break away from Seiha, I thought I could manage it later. My runner hesitated, but he turned the shafts toward Nakacho.

  At that moment Seiha's vehicle had crossed Mihashi Bridge to the north, but it turned back. Seiha cried out from his seat, "Hey! You can't get away like that!"

  My jinrikisha followed Seiha's. He repeatedly looked back at me, keeping his eye on my jinrikisha.

  I didn't dare try to escape again. If I forced him into a quarrel, he would certainly not have behaved rudely toward me. But certainly he would have done his utmost to try to drag me along with him. I had no desire to argue with him on the streets of Ueno. Furthermore, I was quite obstinate, unyielding in spirit. It was unpleasant to be made a fool of by him. This unyielding obstinacy of mine was a very dangerous thing capable of dragging me to the depths of any sin. It was in fact on account of this unyielding spirit of mine that I was heading toward a place I had no desire to go to. Nor can I forget another factor which forced me to follow him. And that was the same old familiar Neugierde I have mentioned, which pulls one toward the strange and unknown.

  Our two jinrikishas passed through a large gate. When Seiha's runner said, "Which house?" Seiha shouted out a name as if scolding the man. The name, at any rate, was that of an animal in the Astacidea family, an animal with a hard skin.

  It wa
s way past midnight. All the houses on both sides of the street were closed. Our jinrikishas stopped in front of the locked door of a large house. When Seiha knocked, a small private side door opened and a man appeared who was very adept at stretching and contracting himself into respectful bows. He spoke in whispers to Seiha about something to do with the house. After bandying words a while, the man guided the two of us inside.

  When we got upstairs, Seiha went off somewhere. A woman approaching middle age appeared and led me into a room. Both sides of the long narrow room had sliding doors, these opening onto corridors. On one side of a wide area a black lacquered chest of drawers with hinged doors was enclosed in a kind of closet, the entire bureau heavily adorned with brass fittings. In the light of the vermilion-lacquered paper lantern, the lacquer and brass took on a bright glow. On the other side of the wide area were four sliding doors. The lantern was beside a brazier enclosed in a wooden frame, and suspended over a low fire in the brazier was a large earthen teapot.

  After leading me into this room, the middle-aged woman went off somewhere. Wearing that same coat of black silk with its faded color and holding that long iron pipe in my hand, I was sitting cross-legged on a cushion in front of the brazier.

  Since I had been forced at Kanda into drinking five or six cups of distasteful sake, I was thirsty. Touching the earthen teapot with my fingers, I found it just cool enough. After I poured the liquid into a teacup I noticed by my side, I discovered the drink was strong coarse tea. I drank it at a gulp.

  Just then the sliding door behind me opened quietly, and a woman came in and stood by the lantern. She was like a high-class prostitute, an oiran I had once seen in a play: the large chignon in her hair had large ornamental combs and hairpins, her trailing skirt of special silk was almost all in red. Her white face with its pleasant features looked small. Following her in was that same middle-aged woman, and when the latter arranged a cushion, the oiran sat down on it. Without a word she sat there smiling, watching me. I too remained silent, and with a serious look on my face was watching the oiran.

  The middle-aged woman noticed the cup I had used to drink my tea in.

  "Did you help yourself from this teapot?"

  "Yes. I had some."

  "Oh my!"

  When the middle-aged woman gave the oiran an odd look, she came out with a beautiful smile this time. Her small white teeth glittered in the lantern light.

  "What sort of taste did it have?" the elder woman asked.

  "It was good."

  The women exchanged glances again. Once more the oiran smiled her dazzling smile. Again her teeth sparkled. I suspected the stuff inside the teapot wasn't tea. Even now I don't know what I drank. Probably some medical concoction. It certainly wasn't a medicine to be used externally.

  The middle-aged woman removed the oiran's ornamental hairpins and combs and laid them aside. Then standing up, the elderly woman took a long outer robe from the black-lacquered chest of drawers and dressed the oiran in it. It was a gorgeously ornate gown of striped crepe with a purple neckband of satin. This elderly woman was what they call a banshin, an assistant to an oiran. Without a word the latter slipped her arms through the sleeves of the garment. Her hands were extraordinarily thin, extraordinarily white.

  "My dear, it's already quite late," the assistant said to me. "So please move over here a bit."

  "Are you asking me to go to bed?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't need any sleep."

  For the third time the women exchanged glances. And for the third time the oiran came out with her radiant smile. And for the third time those teeth glittered. Suddenly the assistant came right up next to me.

  "My dear, now for your tabi"

  The performance of this old woman in the art of peeling off one's clothes as she removed my blue socks was something that honestly called forth my admiration. Then she led me gently, without even a struggle, beyond the sliding door.

  I found myself in an eight-mat room. At the front was an alcove against which a koto wrapped in a cloth bag was leaning. A black-lacquered clothesrack, some of it in gold lacquer, served as a screen to divide the room in two, half of which had a bed already laid out. So gently did the middle-aged woman make me lie down it seemed impossible for me to resist. I must confess something: her skill was a tremendous feat. However, it had not been absolutely impossible for me to offer any resistance. What had paralyzed my resistance was certainly my sexual desire.

  Without concerning myself about Seiha, I had them order me a jinrikisha and returned home. When I got back to Kosuge, I found the doors locked, the house all hushed inside. When I knocked, my mother immediately appeared and opened the door for me.

  "It's awfully late, isn't it?"

  "Yes, I'm quite late."

  A peculiar expression appeared on my mother's face. But she said nothing further. I have never been able to forget the expression on her face at that moment. Saying only "Goodnight," I went into my room. According to my watch it was three-thirty. I crawled into bed just as I was and fell into a sound sleep.

  When I was eating breakfast in the morning, my father told me Seiha was rumored to lead such a dissolute life that unless he drank sake all night long, nothing was of any interest to him. If that was the case, my father said it would be better for me not to associate with him too much. My mother remained silent. I told my father I had no intention of being on close terms with him because our personalities didn't match. I honestly believed that was so.

  After going back to my four-and-a-half mat room, I thought about the previous night's events. Was that the satisfaction of sexual desire? Was the consummation of love no more than what had been achieved then? How ridiculous, I thought. At the same time, contrary to my expectations, I didn't feel even a trace of regret. Not even a pang of conscience. Of course I thought going to that kind of place was wrong. I don't believe anyone ever left the threshold of his own house with the expectation of visiting such a place. My accidental visit was one that simply could not have been avoided. Consider this example: It's not good to quarrel with others. No one goes out with the express purpose of quarreling. But once a person has gone out, it may be that he feels compelled to quarrel with someone. I believe my situation was exactly like that. Concealed at the bottom of my heart was, afterwards, a kind of uneasiness. It concerned the question of whether or not I might pick up some awful disease. Sometimes one suffers an invisible wound in a quarrel; only after a few days does the bruise appear and begin to hurt. If I picked up a disease from the woman, it would be irreparably serious. It even occurred to me that this misfortune would be bequeathed to my descendants. This was the extent of the psychological fluctuation I felt on that first morning after, and it was much slighter than I had thought it would be. Moreover, in the same way that the wave-motion air receives becomes fainter as the distance in space becomes greater, so my psychological fluctuations lessened with the passage of time.

  It did produce, on the contrary, one change in my emotional life, one that became more evident with each passing day. Somehow, up to that time, without knowing why, I had always been hesitant in meeting girls. I'd become spineless, my face would get red, my words all twisted up. From that time on, though, all of this was rectified. Everyone everywhere has used this kind of metaphor long ago, but I really felt as if I had been "dubbed" a knight.

  After this event and for some time later, my mother became unusually concerned about me. I guess she probably felt, as so often happens in life, that I might wholly give myself over to such infatuations. Her fears were quite groundless.

  If I weren't writing about actual facts, I should like to declare that was my first and last experience at Yoshiwara. But having said I would write without the least holding back of anything, I have to add something here. It concerns an event which happened much later, an event that took place before I met the woman who would become my second wife, my first having died. One fall evening Koga visited me at my present home. As he was about to leave, I dec
ided to accompany him as far as Ueno. Just as we were going out the front gate, wc met a man by the name of Saigusa, who just then had appeared to pay me a visit. He was a relative of mine, and because he knew Koga, he said he would come with us. And so the three of us ate dinner at the Iyomon Restaurant on Aoishi-Yokocho. Saigusa was proud of his expertise on low life, so he suggested taking us to some of the interesting places in Yoshiwara. Because I was a widower, he was probably being too considerate to me in suggesting it. Smiling, Koga said, "Let's go." Reluctantly I agreed.

  We got off our jinrikishas before a large gate. Leading the way, Saigusa walked along at a leisurely pace. We turned into a lane whose name I didn't know. Behind the lattices of all the houses along the way were women talking to men standing outside. These were probably the so-called kogoshi, houses of prostitution of the lowest type. Most of the men were dressed in the short coats of workingmen. Seeing one of these men, Saigusa said, "What a splendid specimen!" The man was the type that might be referred to as "dashing." Apparently to Saigusa the ideal man of great physical attraction seemed to be just such men in these short coats. Saigusa said, "Excuse me a minute," and walked over to an old man parching beans at a narrow crossroad, his sack set down on the road. Saigusa purchased a bag of the beans and put it in his kimono sleeve. Then after walking a slight distance, he looked back at Koga and me and saying, "Here it is!" immediately entered one of the houses. It seemed to be his favorite.

  We were shown upstairs. Pinching those beans between his fingers, Saigusa ate them while talking with that same kind of tout who is always bowing. A short time later I was led into a very small room. There I found a lamp and a tobacco tray. A hard thin bed had been laid out on the mats. Because there was no cushion to sit on, all I could do was sit tailor-style in the middle of that bed. I lit a cigarette. Behind me a sliding door opened. A woman came in. She was middle-aged and deathly pale, but she seemed good-natured.