From our perspective as laymen, as much as we'd like to suspect the pilgrimage of Basho was not a business trip to the countryside to publicize the correct style of haiku, he held haiku gatherings at each destination of the trip and set up regional branches for advancing the proper style of haiku. If a lecturer is surrounded by special students of haiku, the students avoid small talk with each other. If small talk starts, what should you do? Pretend to be asleep? My trip is not a trip to set up regional branches in the style of Dazai. N wanted to hear a lecture on literature from me and had no reason to throw a party. Also, influential men were the visitors at N's home that night. Because I have been a close friend of N for many years, they felt somewhat friendly to me, too, and we exchanged drinks. I took the offensive and explained the location of the literary mind every way possible. When engaged in small talk with the alcove post at my back, I believed faking sleep would not be a gentle gesture.
That night, I did not speak one word about literature. I didn't even use the words of Tokyo. I struggled to not act prim and spoke in a pure Tsugaru dialect. I only chatted about trivial everyday matters. Not working too hard to that point was good. As much as I thought anyone at the party was sure to feel left out, I faced these people as the jerky younger brother from the Tsushima family in Tsugaru. (The name Tsushima Shuji was my name entered in the family registry at birth. The kanji for Uncle Scum could be used for the one called the jerky brother. If the third or the fourth son is spoken of with disdain, those words are used in the dialect of this region.) For this trip, I had no reason not to be reduced again to this Uncle Scum of the Tsushima. They felt uneasy towards me as a city boy and desired to grab onto me as a native of Tsugaru.
In other words, I wanted to understand the nature of a Tsugaru native and embarked on this trip. I came to Tsugaru to search for a purebred Tsugaru native to model my life on. I easily discovered him everywhere. It didn't matter who. Arrogant criticism by an indigent traveler cannot be allowed. That is extremely rude. He would not be discovered in the actions and words of individuals or in the hospitality extended to me. I intended not to travel with the wary eyes of a detective. So I mostly looked down at my feet as I walked. I often heard my fate being whispered in my ears. I believed it. I discovered it was very subjective with neither reason or form. I didn't worry particularly about who did what or what someone said. That was natural because I have almost no capacity to fret about anything. In fact, I saw nothing. I wrote the strange saying, "There is reality in belief, and reality can never be what people are made to believe," twice in my travel journal.
Although prudent, my description left a bad impression. My theory is confused. I often don't understand what I'm saying. And I lie. Thus, I hate explaining my feelings. I only blush red with shame like it's all transparent affectation. Although I know I will feel deep regret, I get excited and pout giving my mouth whiplash and slurring my words and begin a long-winded, incoherent complaint. My sad fate may be that contempt will develop in my companion's heart or feelings of mercy will be awakened.
That night, without exposing that bad impression, I rebelled against the teachings of Basho and took an interest only in small talk without dozing off. Gazing at the mountain of crabs before my eyes, I drank until late in the night. N's petite and wise wife noticed I enjoyed only looking at the mountain of crabs but never reached for one. She thought I had tired of shelling crabs and, with great skill, diligently shelled them herself and piled the beautiful white meat on each crab shell. Several fruits were offered to me in the form of a fragrant, refreshing jelly dessert containing fruits in their original forms.
Perhaps, the crabs were brought from Kanita beach that morning. The flavor was fresh and light like freshly-picked fruit. I remained tranquil as I broke my self-discipline of apathy towards food and ate three or four. That night, N's wife gave a tray to each guest, even the local people were surprised by the abundance of food on those trays.
After the prominent guests went home, N and I moved the drinking party from the inner drawing room to the parlor, and the second wind began. In the Tsugaru region, after the guests leave after a gathering at someone's home for a celebration, the second wind is a modest thank-you party where a small number of relatives and close friends gathers the leftover snacks for drinking and sounds like the word meaning insatiable drinker in the Tsugaru dialect. N was a stronger drinker than I, and the danger of slipping into a disturbance wouldn't happen with us.
"And you…" I sighed deeply and said, "always drink. But since you were my teacher, it won't be a problem."
In fact, N taught me to drink. That is certain.
"Okay," said N with
