III

Miké is dead. Kuro wants nothing to do with me. I feel a certain loneliness, but fortunately I have made acquaintances among the humans, so I am not particularly bored. The other day someone wrote asking my master to send them a photograph of me. Just recently someone sent a special delivery of kibidango — the famous confection from Okayama — addressed directly to me. As human sympathy accumulates, I find myself gradually forgetting that I am a cat. Without quite realizing when it happened, I have drawn closer to the human side of things, and any notion of rallying my kind to fight a decisive battle against the two-legged class has not crossed my mind lately. At times I even think of myself as one of the human world's inhabitants — that is progress of a commendable sort. I am not disparaging my species. I am simply following the natural pull toward those with whom I share a temperament. If someone calls this fickleness or betrayal, I find that troublesome. People who talk that way tend to be inflexible, impoverished types.

　It was a fine Sunday, and my master wandered out of his study, spread his ink-stone and manuscript paper beside me, and lay on his stomach, muttering to himself. I watched with interest as he wrote "one stick of incense" in bold strokes, then stopped. He seemed to be wondering whether it would become a poem or a haiku. A moment later, he abandoned this and in a new line wrote: "I have been thinking about writing something on Tennenkoji." The brush stopped there and did not move. My master held the brush and twisted his mustache, apparently unable to find a good idea, and then began sucking the tip of the brush, staining his lips black. Then he drew a circle, added two dots for eyes, a nose, and a straight-ruled mouth — this was neither prose nor haiku. My master himself seemed bored by it and smeared it out. He started a fresh line. His theory, apparently, was that starting a new line might conjure something — a poem, an inscription, a motto — and he sat there blankly expecting just that. Presently he wrote in one breath: "Tennenkoji was a man who studied space, read the Analects, ate roasted sweet potatoes, and let his nose run." He read this aloud and unusually laughed: "Ha, interesting" — then said, "The bit about the nose is a little cruel, let me cross that out," and drew strokes through it, one after another — four strokes, eight strokes, the lines wandering onto adjacent lines. Eventually he gave up on prose entirely and on the back of the sheet wrote: "Born in space, exploring space, dying in space. Spacious and intervallic — Tennenkoji. Alas." This meaningless utterance was still being composed when Meitei strolled in, as he always did.

　"Writing about gravitational giants again?" he asked, standing. "No, I don't only write about that. I'm composing an epitaph for Tennenkoji," my master replied. "Tennenkoji — that sounds like a posthumous name, like Gūzen-Dōji," said Meitei, just as absurdly as always. "It's not a religious name. Tennenkoji was a man I knew — Sorozaki. He was doing graduate work on spatial theory, overworked himself, and died of peritonitis. He was a close friend. I gave him the name myself, because the names Buddhist priests come up with are invariably vulgar." Meitei picked up the manuscript and read aloud: "Born in space, exploring space, dying in space. Spacious and intervallic — Tennenkoji. Alas." — "Well, this is excellent. Quite fitting for Tennenkoji." My master was pleased. "Good, isn't it?" "Yes — carve this on a pickling-stone and dump it behind the main hall like a weight-lifting rock. That would be elegant. Tennenkoji could rest in peace." "That's exactly what I intend," said my master, then: "Excuse me a moment, I'll be right back — entertain the cat in the meantime," and without waiting for Meitei's reply, he vanished.

　Finding myself unexpectedly appointed as Meitei's entertainment, I meowed twice and climbed into his lap. Meitei grabbed me by the scruff without ceremony and dangled me in midair. "Put on a bit of weight, haven't you? — can this thing actually catch mice?" he called to my master's wife in the next room. "Catch mice? He dances with New Year's mochi stuck to his teeth," she replied from somewhere, revealing my old disgrace. I felt rather embarrassed, suspended in midair as I was. Meitei still didn't put me down. "Yes, he looks like a dancing type. Madam, this cat has a face you can't trust — resembles the cat-demon in old picture books." He kept talking to the wife until she finally set down her needlework and came into the parlor.

　"Sorry to keep you — he'll be back shortly," she said, refilling Meitei's tea. "Where did he go?" "He never tells us where he goes. Probably the doctor's." "If Doctor Amagi has to deal with that patient, I feel sorry for him." "Yes, well," the wife said, with a concise reply that committed to nothing. "How has his stomach been lately? Any improvement?" "Better or worse, I can't say — no matter how often he sees Amaki, if he keeps gorging on jam, the gastritis will never heal." "He eats that much jam? Like a child." "It's not just jam. Lately he says grated daikon contains diastase, so he's been eating it constantly." "Remarkable," Meitei marveled. "He read about it in the newspaper and decided to offset the jam with the daikon, quite systematic actually — ha ha ha." Meitei found the wife's complaints entertaining. "And before that, he gave the baby daikon to taste — called the children over saying he had something delicious — and when he does pay attention to them, it's always some absurd thing like that. The other day he picked up our middle daughter and put her on top of the chest of drawers and told her to jump down — a three-year-old girl." "That was lacking in concept," Meitei laughed. "He's not a bad man at heart, though." "If his heart were any worse, I couldn't bear it," said the wife, launching into a full indictment: "He doesn't drink, doesn't dress, doesn't care about appearances — just buys books endlessly, walks into Maruzen and comes back with armloads, then looks blank when the bill arrives at the end of the month. Last winter the arrears piled up terribly." "Oh, with booksellers you just say 'next month, next month' and they go away." "You can't put them off forever." "Then explain the situation and ask to reduce the book budget." "You try! Last time I mentioned it he lectured me about ancient Rome — there was a king, I couldn't catch the name — the seventh one, apparently —" "The seventh one?" "Something foreign, I can't remember names. Anyway, a woman came to this king with nine books to sell, asking an enormous price. The king said it was too much, so she threw three of them into the fire. The books contained prophecies you couldn't find anywhere else. Now there were only six, the king asked the price, she named the same price as before. He complained again, she burned three more. Three books left, same price as nine. The king finally bought the three remaining books at the full price. And so — do you see the value of books? That's how he argues. Frankly I still don't understand what's so valuable." Meitei was stumped, and fidgeted with his handkerchief to toy with me. Then he cried out: "Nevertheless, Madam, it's precisely because he stuffs books into himself indiscriminately that he gets called a scholar. I saw a review of Kushami-kun in a literary journal the other day." "Really?" The wife turned around — even she was curious about her husband's reputation. "What did it say?" "A few lines. Said his writing is like drifting clouds and flowing water — appearing and immediately vanishing, flowing onward and never returning." The wife made an uncertain face. "Was that a compliment?" "More or less," Meitei said, dangling his handkerchief in front of my eyes.

　My master came back then. "Still here?" he said. "You told me you'd be back right away and asked me to wait, and now you say 'still here?' — rather harsh," Meitei objected. "That's how he always is," the wife said, and retreated. "Where did you go?" "Kangetsu is coming soon — I sent him a postcard saying to be here by one. He wants to rehearse a lecture he's giving at the Physics Society tonight, asked me to listen, so I thought I'd have you listen too — you have nothing to do anyway, might as well." My master said peevishly: "A physics lecture is beyond me." "But the topic isn't some dry thing about magnetized nozzles. It's called 'The Mechanics of Hanging' — transcendently unconventional, worth attending." "You're the one who tried to hang himself. You should listen. I'm not the sort who —" "The sort who gets chills at the Kabuki theater isn't really in a position to say what he can and cannot listen to," Meitei shot back with his usual glibness. The wife laughed and withdrew. My master silently stroked my head — the most gently he had done so in some time.

　About seven minutes later, Kangetsu arrived as ordered. He was wearing a formal frock coat for the evening's lecture, with a freshly laundered white collar, his masculine bearing elevated a full twenty percent. "I'm a little late," he said composedly. "We've been waiting impatiently. Let's begin at once, shall we," Meitei looked at my master. My master managed a reluctant "hmm." Kangetsu was unhurried. "Might I have a glass of water?" "My, going full professional — next you'll be requesting applause," Meitei cried. Kangetsu extracted his manuscript from inside his coat and said calmly: "This is only a rehearsal, so please feel free to criticize," and began.

　"The punishment of criminals by hanging was practiced mainly among the Anglo-Saxon peoples. Tracing the practice to antiquity, however, hanging was more commonly a method of suicide. Among the Hebrews the custom was to execute criminals by stoning. From a study of the Old Testament, the word 'hanging' appears to denote the suspension of a criminal's body to serve as food for wild beasts and carrion birds. According to Herodotus, the Hebrews had an intense aversion to exposure of the dead at night even before their departure from Egypt. The Egyptians beheaded criminals and nailed only the body to the cross for nocturnal display. The Persians..." "Kangetsu-kun, the topic seems to be drifting progressively further from hanging — are you sure this is all right?" Meitei interjected. "We are about to enter the main argument; I ask for a little patience. ... As for the Persians, they also generally employed crucifixion for execution, though whether they crucified the condemned alive or nailed the body after death remains unclear..." "We don't need to know that," my master yawned. "There is much more I would like to discuss, but so as not to detain you..." "Also, 'to discuss' sounds like a village storyteller. A speaker should use more refined diction," Meitei objected again. "If 'to discuss' is crude, what should I say?" Kangetsu asked, slightly put out. "Ignore Meitei's interruptions and press on," my master said. "Muttering to discuss, willow-branch he holds" — Meitei intoned cryptically. Kangetsu almost laughed. "The first true use of hanging as a legal execution, according to my research, appears in the twenty-second book of the Odyssey — where Telemachos hangs twelve of Penelope's handmaidens. I could recite the original Greek, but it would seem ostentatious, so I will refrain. The relevant lines are 465 to 473." "Leave out the Greek altogether — it sounds like showing off, doesn't it, Kushami-kun?" "I agree," my master said, and for once sided with Meitei immediately. Neither of them could read a word of Greek. "Then I shall omit those lines tonight. ... To reconstruct how this hanging was accomplished, I see two possible methods. First: Telemachos and his helpers tie one end of a rope to a pillar, tie knots along its length with loops, pass a woman's head through each loop, then haul the other end sharply upward..." "So the women dangle like shirts at a Western laundry, is that the picture?" Meitei suggested. "Precisely. Second method: one end tied to the pillar as before, the other end suspended high from the ceiling, several shorter ropes hanging from the high rope with noose-loops at their ends, each woman's neck placed in a loop, and when the signal comes, the footstool is knocked away..." "Like paper lanterns strung from a rope noren curtain?" "I've never seen such lanterns, but the general picture is about right. Now I will demonstrate from mechanics that the first method is theoretically impossible. Setting the women at equal intervals, with the rope between the lowest two women horizontal — let α₁α₂...α₆ be the angles the rope makes with the horizontal, T₁T₂...T₆ the tension in each segment, T₇=X the tension in the lowest segment, and W naturally the weight of each woman — by the equilibrium conditions: T₁cosα₁=T₂cosα₂ ... (1) T₂cosα₂=T₃cosα₃ ... (2)..." "Enough equations for now," my master said bluntly. "But these equations are the very core of the lecture," Kangetsu said, visibly reluctant. "Then we'll take just the core, item by item," Meitei offered, looking a little sorry. "Without these equations the entire mechanical analysis collapses..." "Never mind, skip them all," my master said casually. "Then — against my better judgment — I'll skip them. Moving on to England: the word galga, meaning gallows, appears in Beowulf, confirming that hanging was practiced from this era. Blackstone states that if the rope fails and the condemned survives, the sentence must be carried out again; curiously, Piers Plowman states that even a villain may not be hanged twice. ... In 1786 a notorious criminal named Fitz-Gerald was hanged. The first attempt failed when the rope snapped as he stepped off the platform. The second attempt failed because the rope was too long and his feet touched the ground. The third attempt required the help of the spectators before the business was finally concluded." "Good heavens," said Meitei, suddenly energized. "Three tries before he died," my master joined in. "There is one more interesting fact: hanging stretches the spine by approximately one sun. This has been confirmed by medical measurement." "A new technique! Kushami-kun, if you were strung up for a bit, you might grow to normal human height," Meitei suggested. My master asked with unexpected seriousness: "Kangetsu-kun, would one remain alive after the spine had stretched one sun?" "Absolutely not. The spinal cord is being stretched — to put it plainly, it's being broken." "Then I'll pass," my master said, abandoning the idea.

　The lecture had much further to go — Kangetsu had intended to cover the physiology of hanging — but between Meitei's constant interjections and my master's intermittent yawning, he gave up midway and left. How he performed at the Physics Society that evening, I cannot say, being too far away.

　Two or three uneventful days passed, then one afternoon around two o'clock Meitei floated in again, vacant and buoyant as ever. He sat down and announced: "Have you heard about Tōfū's Takanawa incident?" with the urgency of a war extra. "No, we haven't been in touch lately," said my master, gloomy as usual. "I've come especially to report on Tōfū-shi's misadventure," Meitei declared. "There you go again, being theatrical — you're really a disreputable character," said my master. "Disreputable rather than reputable — please note the distinction for the sake of my reputation," "Same thing," my master said. "Last Sunday Tōfū went to Sengakuji temple in Takanawa. What possessed him to go in this cold — there's an exhibition of the Forty-Seven Rōnin's possessions there, have you been?" "No," my master said. "You haven't? A true Edoite who hasn't seen Sengakuji — how forlorn. Anyway, Tōfū is inside looking at the exhibits when a German couple comes in. They addressed him first in Japanese. Tōfū, who is always itching to display his German, launched into it — and to his surprise it came out quite smoothly. That, as it turned out, was the beginning of the calamity." "Then what?" My master was drawn in. "The German looks at an inlaid lacquer medicine case that belonged to Ōtaka Gengo and asks if it's for sale. Tōfū declared that every Japanese person is a model of integrity and so naturally it is not for sale — a fine performance. But then the German took him to be a competent interpreter and started asking rapid questions about everything — fire-hooks and mallets, the kind of specialized tools Tōfū had never learned words for in German. His face went red, and all around them bystanders began gathering to watch the spectacle. The splendid confidence of his opening had quite deflated. At last, apparently unable to endure any more, Tōfū said sai-nara in Japanese and strode briskly out." "Sai-nara?" "Yes. When I asked him why he said sai-nara instead of sayōnara, he said he was with a Westerner and adjusted for harmony. Even in extremis, Tōfū never forgets harmonic balance — admirable, really. The German couple just stared after him, dumbfounded — ha ha ha ha ha." "I don't find it particularly funny. What's funnier is that you came all the way here just to report it," my master said, knocking his cigar ash.

　At that moment the front bell rang violently and a sharp female voice called: "Excuse me!" Meitei and my master involuntarily exchanged a glance. Female visitors were rare at this house. I watched with curiosity as the owner of that piercing voice swept in, trailing two layers of crêpe silk across the tatami. She appeared to be slightly past forty. Her hairline was receding, and from it her hair rose like a seawall, projecting upward for a distance of at least half the length of her face. Her eyes were drawn upward at a gradient like a steep cutting-road, suspended in a straight line to either side. The word "straight" here means finer than a whale's whisker. Her nose, however, was extravagantly large — as if someone had stolen another person's nose and attached it to the center of her face. It dominated the landscape of her features like a stone lantern transplanted from a grand shrine into a three-mat garden, commanding attention without quite achieving harmony. The nose was a hooked variety — it had made a bold effort upward, thought better of it midway, and drooped forward at the tip, hovering over the lips below. With so remarkable a nose, when this woman spoke, one felt less that her mouth was doing the talking than that her nose was conducting the conversation. I resolved, in tribute to this magnificent nose, to call her Hanako — Nose-Woman — henceforth.

　Hanako finished her opening pleasantries and looked around the room. "What a lovely home," she said. My master thought "what a lie" but said nothing, drawing on his cigar. Meitei looked at the ceiling and murmured: "Tell me, is that rain-damage, or wood-grain? Remarkable pattern." "Rain damage, of course," my master replied. "How distinguished," said Meitei with perfect gravity. Hanako noted inwardly that these people had no manners. The three sat in a three-cornered silence for a moment.

　"I have something I'd like to ask," Hanako said, reopening the conversation. "Indeed," my master replied with glacial courtesy. "I live just nearby — the corner property across the street, with the Western-style house —" "That large one with the warehouse? With the nameplate that says Kaneda." "My husband is very busy with his companies, so I've come in his place..." "How many companies does he have?" "Two or three — he's an officer in all of them — perhaps you know of him?" My master showed no flicker of being impressed. He had a peculiar hierarchy: for scholars and professors he felt genuine awe; for businessmen and the wealthy, a kind of placid indifference. "Water Island Kangetsu comes to your house frequently, I understand. What sort of man is he?" she finally came to the point.

　"Am I to understand you're inquiring about Kangetsu's character and conduct with a view to a possible connection with your daughter?" Meitei stepped in smoothly. "If I could find that out, it would be most helpful..." "So you'd like to give your daughter to Kangetsu?" "Give is hardly the word. There are other suitors. It's not as though we're desperate for him." "Then why inquire about Kangetsu?" my master countered. "There's no reason to hide it either," she said, beginning to bristle. Meitei sat between them, holding his silver pipe like a referee's fan, silently calling the round. "Has Kangetsu himself proposed to your daughter in some form?" my master fired point-blank. "He hasn't exactly said anything..." "Then do you believe he has feelings for her?" "He couldn't be entirely indifferent..." she recovered at the edge of the ring. "Is there any evidence that Kangetsu has expressed romantic interest?" "Well, roughly speaking, yes," — this shot found no mark either. Meitei, whose curiosity had now been thoroughly engaged, leaned forward and put down his pipe. "Did Kangetsu write your daughter a love letter? How delightful — another story for the New Year collection." "It's not a letter — something more dramatic. Surely you both know what I mean." "Do you know?" my master asked Meitei, looking bewildered. "I don't know — if anyone knows, it's you," Meitei disclaimed with uncharacteristic modesty. "You both know perfectly well," Hanako said triumphantly. "Oh —" both men said together. "If you've forgotten, I'll remind you. At the end of last year there was a concert party at the Abe estate on Mukōjima. Kangetsu-san attended. On his way home, something happened on Azuma Bridge — I won't go into detail, as it might embarrass the person involved — surely that is evidence enough?" She placed her diamond-ringed fingers neatly together on her knees and sat up straight. The extraordinary nose radiated with added intensity.

　Both my master and even Meitei were briefly staggered by this ambush, sitting in stupefied silence — but as the shock eased and their natural inclinations reasserted themselves, the urge to laugh came rushing in all at once. Both men dissolved: "Ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Hanako alone found this entirely unamusing and glared at them. "Oh — so it was the daughter! Naturally — of course, Kushami, Kangetsu is clearly in love with the daughter — since it's come to this, might as well come clean," Meitei said with delight. My master only said "hmm." "You can't hide it — the evidence is already in hand," Hanako pressed on triumphantly. "Very well — I will state the facts concerning Kangetsu-kun as a matter of reference — come now, Kushami, you're the host and you're just sitting there grinning, that won't do — truly, secrets are terrifying things. No matter how carefully concealed, they always come out somehow. But — how remarkable, Kaneda-san — how on earth did you discover this secret? I'm genuinely astonished," Meitei chattered on. "We do our homework," Hanako said with satisfaction. "Evidently rather thorough homework. Who, precisely, told you?" "The wife at the rickshaw stable at the back." "The one with the black cat?" my master's eyes widened. "Yes — I've made considerable use of her in the matter of Kangetsu-san. Whenever Kangetsu-san comes here I ask her to listen and report." "That's outrageous," my master said loudly. "And I've heard various things from the koto teacher in the alley as well." "About Kangetsu?" "Not only about Kangetsu-san," she said, with a faint menace. My master, instead of being intimidated, said: "That teacher puts on airs and acts superior — the old fraud." "Excuse me — it's a woman. 'Old fraud' is a male term," Hanako corrected him, her own origins increasingly on display.

　Realizing he was outmatched in mutual insults, my master fell silent for a moment and then managed: "You keep saying Kangetsu is the one with feelings for your daughter — but what I'd heard was slightly different, wasn't it, Meitei?" "Yes — as I recall, the story was that the daughter was the one who fell ill first — said some things in her delirium —" "Nothing of the sort," Hanako said flatly. "But Kangetsu definitely said he heard it from Doctor ○○'s wife —" "That was my stratagem. I engaged Doctor ○○'s wife to test Kangetsu's feelings." "And she agreed, knowing this was the purpose?" "Of course. Good will alone won't accomplish that — I made it worth her while." "So you are absolutely determined to learn everything about Kangetsu before you leave?" Meitei said, with unusual edge. "All right — let's talk, Kushami — Madam, anything concerning Kangetsu-kun that does no one harm, we will tell you entirely. If you could ask in order, it would be easier."

　Hanako was satisfied, and began her questions, her tone with Meitei reverting to deference. "Kangetsu-san is a Bachelor of Science — what exactly does he specialize in?" "At the graduate school he is researching terrestrial magnetism," my master answered in earnest. This meant nothing to Hanako, but she covered it with "Oh?" and a puzzled expression. "Will that kind of research lead to a doctorate?" "You're saying he must become a Doctor of Science?" "Plain Bachelors are a dime a dozen," she said directly. My master looked at Meitei with increasing distaste. "The other day he gave a lecture at the Physics Society on the mechanics of hanging," my master mentioned without thinking. "Goodness — hanging, how peculiar. Surely that sort of research can never lead to a doctorate?" "If he hangs himself, perhaps not. But the mechanics of hanging is another matter." "I see," she said, watching my master's face to judge his tone, unable to parse the word "mechanics." "Before that, he wrote a paper on the stability of acorns and its relation to celestial mechanics," Meitei added. "Do they really study acorns at the university?" "Apparently," Meitei said blandly. Hanako decided academic questions were beyond her and changed subjects. "Speaking of things I've heard — he broke two front teeth on a shiitake mushroom at the New Year?" "Yes — and the gap still has Kūya-mochi stuck in it," Meitei perked up. "What a careless person — why doesn't he use a toothpick?" "I'll mention it next time I see him," my master said, suppressing a smile. "That his teeth break on shiitake suggests rather poor dental constitution, doesn't it?" "You can't call it good — Meitei?" "Not good, but it has a certain charm. He still hasn't filled it — the slot has become a permanent trap for Kūya-mochi, which is admittedly a spectacular detail." "Is he too poor to afford the dental bill, or does he leave it that way on purpose?" "He'll hardly make a career of the gap, I'm sure — rest easy," Meitei said, his spirits fully restored. Hanako changed topic again. "If there are any letters or writings in his hand here, I would like to have a look." "There are plenty of postcards," my master said, bringing three or four dozen from his study. "I don't need that many — just two or three —" "Let me pick the good ones," Meitei said, presenting one: "This one's interesting, surely?" Hanako took it. "Oh, he draws too — quite talented — let me see — oh, a raccoon dog. Why would he draw a raccoon dog of all things — but it does look like one, I'll give him that." Meitei told her to read the caption. She read it aloud, haltingly: "Old-calendar New Year's Eve. Mountain raccoons hold a garden party and dance. Their song: Come come, New Year's Eve, even the mountain witch won't show. Suppoko-pon-no-pon." "What on earth is this — making fun of people?" she said, put out. "How about this one?" Meitei produced another: a heavenly maiden playing a biwa. "This celestial maiden's nose is a bit small," Hanako observed. "That's normal-sized. Read the caption." The caption: "Once there was an astronomer. One night, as usual, he climbed his tall platform and was intent on the stars when a beautiful celestial maiden appeared in the sky and began playing music of unearthly beauty, and the astronomer, forgetting even the piercing cold, was utterly entranced. In the morning his body was found covered in white frost. This is a true story — that's what the lying old man said." "What is this? It has no meaning at all. And this qualifies him as a Bachelor of Science? He ought to read some literary magazines," — Kangetsu's reputation took another blow. "This one?" Meitei produced a third — a printed sailing ship with handwriting below: "The sixteen-year-old girl at last night's port, saying she has no parents, like the plovers on the rough shore, crying in the night-waking, her father a sailor drowned below the waves." "Oh, this is charming! I'm quite impressed — this speaks to me." "Does it now?" "Yes, this one would suit the shamisen." "If it suits the shamisen, that's the real thing. — And this one?" Meitei reached for more. "No, no — I've seen enough. I can tell he isn't crude, so that's settled," she concluded to herself. She had evidently satisfied her questions about Kangetsu, and said: "This has been rather impertinent of me. Please keep my visit confidential from Kangetsu-san." — Her strategy being: ask everything about Kangetsu, but not a word of this visit is to reach Kangetsu. Both Meitei and my master gave her vague murmurs of assent. "I will come and thank you properly another time," she added, and stood to go. The moment she was gone and both men returned to their seats, Meitei said: "What was that?" and my master said: "What was that?" — simultaneously. From the inner room, the wife emitted a laugh she could no longer contain. Meitei called out: "Madam! A specimen of the commonplace has just paid a call! When the commonplace reaches that level, it becomes rather impressive — don't hold back, laugh as much as you please!"

　Now I understood the situation fully. After Miké's death I had thought of spying on the Kaneda estate in the interest of fair play — since they were gathering intelligence on Kangetsu with such effort, it seemed only proper that someone keep watch on their side. I cannot speak, and so whatever I discovered could not be reported to Kangetsu, or to Meitei, or to my master. If intelligence cannot be communicated, it is like a diamond buried in earth — never catching the light. I had hesitated at the kitchen step. But on further reflection: even if no one else knows, the fact that I know — that I move about their corridors in secret while they have no idea — is its own satisfaction. Courage rallied in the tip of my tail. I set out for the Kaneda estate.

　The corner property was exactly as described: the Western-style house occupied the lot with proprietorial arrogance. I entered through the garden, circled past the entrance, and came around to the kitchen door. The kitchen was enormous — easily ten times the size of Kushami-sensei's. The rickshaw wife was standing inside, talking to the cook and the coachman. I hid behind a water bucket and listened. "That schoolmaster doesn't even know who our master is," the cook said. "Not knowing Kaneda in this neighborhood would make you blind, deaf, and disabled," the coachman said. "Nothing to be done — that teacher lives inside his books and nothing else. Even knowing the master, he probably wouldn't be afraid. Doesn't even know how old his own children are," the rickshaw wife said. "Let's go together and put a fright into him," the coachman said. "Good idea. The mistress said — 'his nose is too big, his face is disagreeable' — quite an impertinence. His own face looks like an Imado-ware raccoon-dog figure, and he has the nerve — let's all go to his fence and shout insults until he's upset. The mistress wants us to stay out of sight and just let him hear the voices." I now understood who would be harassing Kushami-sensei, and slipped quietly past the three of them.

　A cat's paws are as nothing — wherever I walked, not a sound. I moved like stepping through air, swimming through cloud. From behind one shoji came the sound of a woman talking loudly — her voice resembled Hanako's closely, suggesting this was the young woman who had caused Kangetsu's near-drowning in Azuma River. Unfortunately the shoji stood between us and I could not view her face. She appeared to be on the telephone.

　"Is that Yamato? Tomorrow, right — hold three quail for me. Understood? — What? — You don't understand? — Hold three quail, I said — what? — Can't hold them? Of course you can hold them, hold them — Chōkichi? I can't deal with Chōkichi, get the proprietress — what? You can handle it yourself? — You're being impertinent. Do you know who I am? Kaneda. — what? — Thank you very much for your continued patronage? — What's there to thank? I don't need thanks — I said it's Kaneda — what? — Just hold the quail!" The telephone appeared to have been hung up by the other party. The young lady furiously rattled the bell. The chin dog at her feet was startled and began barking. I could not be careless — I jumped down and hid under the veranda.

　Footsteps approached along the corridor, the shoji slid open. A maid's voice: "Miss, your parents are calling for you." "I don't know," the young lady said, stonewalling. "It's about Mizushima Kangetsu-san —" "Kangetsu, water-moon, I don't care — I hate him — his face looks like a loofah that's gotten lost," the third rebuke, landing on absent Kangetsu. Presently the loud voice of Mr. Kaneda called from across the way: "Tomiko! Tomiko!" The daughter finally answered and left the telephone room. I crept silently back out through the kitchen and into the street, and returned to my master's house. The reconnaissance had been a full success.

　Back inside I found Meitei still there, and Kangetsu as well, arrived in the interim. Kangetsu sat in his frock coat, twirling that purple-sashed haori cord — "That cord is a bit Tenpō-era, isn't it," my master said, still lying down. "Closer to Shogun-procession era — you'd need a spear-bearing procession to make it work," Meitei added. "Actually it was my grandfather's, from the time of the Chōshū expedition," Kangetsu said seriously. "Time to donate it to a museum — the lecturer on the mechanics of hanging shouldn't be dressed like a retired daimyo retainer," Meitei advised. "I don't mind following your advice, but a certain person said this cord suited me..." "Who has such deficient taste?" my master asked, sitting up. "A certain young woman..." "The one who called you from the bottom of Azuma River, I suppose — put this haori back on and go be a Buddha again?" "Ha ha — she doesn't call from the water anymore. She's in a clean world, to the northwest..." "Not so clean a world — quite a formidable nose," Meitei said. "What?" Kangetsu looked puzzled. "The nose from across the street came today, right here. We were both quite shaken, weren't we, Kushami?" "Mm," said my master, drinking tea lying down. "Whose nose?" "The eternal feminine's maternal nose — Kaneda's wife," my master explained. "Oh —" "Came to ask about you." "Probably wanting me to take their daughter, I suppose," Kangetsu said, still twirling the cord calmly. "Quite the opposite. The maternal nose in question is a magnificent specimen..." Meitei began — then my master said: "I've been composing a haiku-prose sequence about that nose — first line: On this face, a nose-festival —" "And then?" "Second line: Before this nose, sacred sake is offered —" "Next?" "Only those two so far." "Interesting," Kangetsu smiled. "How about: Two holes, faintly apparent," Meitei contributed immediately. Kangetsu offered: "Deep within, no hairs visible?" They went on in this vein when from outside the fence came four or five voices crying: "Imado-ware raccoon dog! Imado-ware raccoon dog!" My master and Meitei were startled; peering through the fence gap, they heard "Wa ha ha ha ha!" and retreating footsteps. "What do they mean by Imado-ware raccoon dog?" Meitei asked. "No idea," said my master. "Rather clever, isn't it," Kangetsu observed.

　Meitei suddenly stood and announced: "I have conducted years of aesthetic research on the subject of this nose, and I would like to present a brief summary for the enlightenment of both gentlemen." My master stared blankly. Kangetsu said quietly: "I would very much like to hear it." Meitei proceeded through the nose's evolutionary origins — repeated blowing had stimulated the cartilage which grew ever larger — "Socrates, Goldsmith, Thackeray — their noses all had shortcomings, but it is precisely in the shortcomings that their charm resides. High does not mean noble, nor remarkable mean valuable. As the common saying has it: better a dumpling than a flower. From the aesthetic standpoint, a nose something like mine is about right." Kangetsu and my master both laughed. Meitei himself laughed with satisfaction. He then addressed the heredity argument — "given that such a disproportionate nose as the mother's exists, the principle of hereditary transmission suggests that the nose of the daughter may, at some unforeseen moment of climatic shock, swell suddenly to match her mother's — and therefore, by Meitei's scientific analysis, this marriage should be abandoned at once while there is still opportunity. I trust our gracious host and the resident cat-demon in the hallway have no objection to this conclusion." My master raised himself with unwonted vigor: "Of course not. Who would take that woman's daughter anyway? Kangetsu, you mustn't take her." I meowed twice to register my agreement. Kangetsu said with his usual tranquility: "If you gentlemen feel that way, I am prepared to give it up — but if the young woman should fall ill from the disappointment, that would be a matter of some guilt..." "Ha ha — a romantic guilt," — my master, unusually agitated: "What a ridiculous suggestion — that woman's daughter could only be a dreadful person — first time she set foot in my house she tried to make a fool of me. Outrageous!"

　Again, three or four voices from the fence: "Wa ha ha ha ha! High-and-mighty blockhead! Wishes he lived in a bigger house! He can bluster all he likes — he's only brave behind his fence!" My master rushed to the veranda and shouted back: "Quiet out there! What do you mean coming and shouting at my fence like this!" "Wa ha ha ha ha! Savage Tea! Savage Tea!" they called in chorus from all sides. My master bristled with extraordinary indignation, leaped to his feet, seized his cane, and ran out to the street. Meitei clapped his hands and cried: "Wonderful! Go at them!" Kangetsu twirled his cord and smiled. I followed my master through the gap in the fence out to the street — and found him standing there, cane in hand, with absolutely no one around. The street was empty. He stood with the helpless look of a man who has been tricked by a fox.