So I gave it a little more thought. Surely, besides the hawksbill, there must be other species of sea turtle with fin-shaped appendages. Wasn’t there something called a loggerhead tortoise? Once, about ten years ago (I too am getting on in years), I spent a summer at the seashore in Numazu, and I remember the fishermen there making quite a fuss about having found on the beach a sea turtle with a shell nearly five feet in diameter. I saw the thing with my own eyes and seem to recall that it was being referred to as a loggerhead tortoise. Perfect. That’s the one for us. If it could crawl up on the beach at Numazu, perhaps we can, without causing too much pandemonium in zoological circles, prevail upon it to paddle around to the Sea of Japan and roll out of the surf at Tango. If, nonetheless, someone insists on raising a fuss about ocean currents being thus or such, well, don’t look at me. I shall calmly reply that it is indeed strange, passing strange, that the creature should turn up in a place common sense tells us it couldn’t possibly reach, and that this is proof that we’re not talking about just your average loggerhead tortoise here. That so-called scientific spirit of yours is nothing to place absolute faith in, my friends. All your theorems and axioms are nothing more than conjectures in their own right, after all. You don’t want to get too big for your breeches.
At any rate, this loggerhead tortoise (since the name is cumbersome and a bit of a tongue-twister, we’ll refer to it simply as “the tortoise” from here on) stretches his long neck to look up at Urashima-san and say, “Excuse me, but you said a mouthful. I know just how you feel.”
Urashima-san is understandably startled.
“What the…? Why, you’re the tortoise I rescued the other day. Don’t tell me you’re still loafing about on this beach?”
This tortoise, in short, is none other than the one Urashima-san discovered being tormented by a group of children, took pity on, purchased from the children, and released into the sea.
“‘Loafing about’? That’s cold. I’ll remember that, young master. The fact is, I’ve been coming here every day and night since we last met, waiting for you. It seems to me I owe you a favor.”
“Rather reckless of you, I’d say. Or perhaps ‘rash’ is the word. What if those children had found you again? Little chance you’d come out alive a second time.”
“Oh, get off your high horse. I figured if I got caught, I’d just have you buy me my freedom again. Excuse me if that’s rash. I needed to see you once more. It’s a weakness. I’m crazy about you, young master. At least acknowledge my feelings.”
Urashima smiles wryly. “Willful little thing, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?” the tortoise says. “Aren’t you contradicting yourself, young master? Were you not just moaning about how critical people can be? Now you’re calling me reckless, rash, willful. You’re no slouch at criticism yourself, I see. Maybe you’re the willful one. I too have my own way of living, after all. You might try to recognize that.”
A stunning counterattack. Urashima blushes in spite of himself and improvises a desperate, paper-thin defense to the tortoise’s poison dart. “I wasn’t criticizing. I was admonishing. Offering a gentle word to the wise. ‘Good advice is harsh on the ear,’ as they say.”
“You’d be a good sort if you weren’t always putting on airs, you know that?” The tortoise sighs. “Oh, well. Enough talk. Just sit yourself down on my shell.”
“What?” Urashima stares at him agog. “What a thing to say! Do you think I’m some sort of barbarian? To sit on a tortoise’s shell would be- Well, it would be beyond scandalous! Hardly the sort of thing for a man of refinement to do.”
“Never mind all that. I just want to repay you for the favor you did me the other day. I’m going to give you a ride to the Dragon Palace. Go ahead and jump on my back.”
“The Dragon Palace?” Urashima laughs. “Enough of your jokes. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? Of all the preposterous… The Dragon Palace exists only in poetry and fairy tales. It’s not a real place. Do you understand? It’s a dream, or an expression of yearning, you might say, that we men of refinement have indulged in since ancient times.”
The attempt to come across as genteel makes him sound all the more pompous, and now it’s the tortoise’s turn to burst out laughing.
“You kill me. But save the lecture on refinement for later, will you? Just trust me and hop on my back. Your problem is you’ve never had a taste of adventure.”
“Well! Now you’re coming out with the same sort of impudent remarks my little sister is always making. To be sure, I am not overly fond of this ‘adventure’ nonsense. Adventures are rather like acrobatics. Spectacular, yes, but, in the end, boorish and worldly-a form of vice, you might almost say. Adventure has nothing to do with acceptance of one’s fate, or with immersing oneself in tradition. A lover of adventure is like the proverbial blind man who fears not the snake. Someone like myself, steeped as I am in the time-honored tradition of gentlemanly refinement, cannot but hold the quest for adventure in scorn. I prefer to walk the straight, narrow, and tranquil path trod by my predecessors.”
“Poo!” The tortoise explodes with laughter again. “What do you think the path of your predecessors was, but the path of adventure? Of course, ‘adventure’ is a poor choice of words, I suppose. You probably associate it with blood and gore and swashbuckling libertinism and heaven knows what. Let’s call it, rather, ‘the power to believe.’ On the far side of the valley, beautiful flowers are in bloom. He who believes this won’t hesitate to seek them out, though it means climbing across on slender wisteria vines. Some will call it acrobatics and applaud; others will revile the man as a show-off. But in fact that man has nothing in common with the tightrope walker at the circus. He braves those slippery vines merely because he wants to see the flowers on the other side. He’s not thinking vainglorious thoughts or admiring his own adventuresome nature. It’s absurd to imagine that adventure is something one might use to feed one’s pride. The climber simply believes. He’s convinced that there are beautiful flowers on the other side. Bystanders watch him and speak of adventure, for want of a better word. To lack a sense of adventure, then, is to lack the power to believe. Is it boorish to believe? Is it a vice?
“The problem with you men of refinement is that you actually seem to take pride in your skepticism. Skepticism isn’t wisdom, young master. It’s something much baser, and meaner. Miserliness, you might call it. Proof that you’re obsessed with the fear of losing something. Well, relax. Nobody’s after your possessions. People like you don’t know how to accept the kindness of others at face value. All you can think about is what you’ll have to do in return. ‘Gentlemen of refinement,’ my eye. Stingy bastards, is more like it.”
“I beg your pardon? What a nasty thing to say! I come down to the seashore after having my younger brother and sister treat me with the utmost disrespect, only to be criticized in the same insolent manner by the tortoise whose life I recently saved! It seems to me that those who are unconcerned with their own ancestry and proud traditions tend to be unduly free with their tongues. I suppose it stems from a sort of reckless desperation. I know exactly what you’re trying to do here. It’s not for me to say, perhaps, but it should be obvious to the meanest intelligence that I have a loftier destiny, a higher calling, than people of your ilk. This is something that was decided at birth, and I am not to blame for it being so. It’s Providence. But you people hold a grudge, and I happen to know that for all your convoluted arguments, you’re really only trying to drag my destiny down to the level of your own. Mortal beings cannot alter heaven’s dispensation, however. You feed me this outlandish tale about taking me to the Dragon Palace in an attempt to associate with me on equal footing, but, my dear fellow, you’re wasting your breath. I know exactly what you’re up to. Cease this nonsense at once and go! Swim back to the bottom of the sea, where you belong. My having gone out of my way to save you will all have been for nothing if those children catch you again. People like you don’t know how to accept the kindness of others gracefully.”
Undaunted by this diatribe, the tortoise laughs again.
“Ha! ‘My having gone out of my way to save you’-I like that! It’s a perfect example, young master, of what’s so hard to stomach about you gentlemen of refinement. You think that your own acts of kindness are proof of a higher morality, and deep down inside you feel you deserve some sort of reward. But if someone shows
“The only reason you helped me out was because I’m a tortoise and my tormentors were children. To intervene between a tortoise and children isn’t likely to bring about much in the way of repercussions. What did you give them-five coppers? That’s big money to a child, but it’s not much skin off your back, is it? I thought you’d put up a bit more than that. Miserly isn’t the word. How do you think it makes me feel? Five coppers for my life. For you it was just a whim of the moment. ‘A few coppers to rescue a tortoise-oh, hell, why not?’ But suppose it wasn’t
