I too hoped he would bring to my sister this feeling as his travel gift to her.
The next letter, from Akashi, is somewhat more intricate and therefore indicates more distinctly Ichizo's character.I came here this evening. The moon is up and the garden is bright, quite a contrast to my room in the shade, which seems gloomy. I had my supper and I was smoking and looking out toward the sea — it's just in front of the garden. As it's a calm evening without even a ripple of wave, the beach looks scarcely distinguishable from a riverside or the edge of a pond. One of those barges people sit on to enjoy the evening cool came drifting by. The figure of the boat was hardly perceptible in the darkness, but with its broad flat bottom it had so gentle a shape that I could hardly imagine it was floating on the sea. I suppose it must have had a roof over it, for hanging from its eaves were a number of painted paper lanterns. Beyond the faint light from these lanterns some people seemed to be sitting. I heard the sound of a samisen too. But on the whole it was very quiet and slid away before me as if it were enjoying its smooth movement.As I quietly followed its shadow with my eyes, I was reminded of an anecdote about my grandfather in his young days. Of course I think you must remember it, the story of his having gone boating to enjoy moon-viewing as men about town are said to have done during the Edo period. My mother told it to me a few times. It went something like this, didn't it? He had a boat with a roof over it rowed up the Sumida as far as the Ayase. Standing in the midst of the perfect harmony of the silent moon and the silent water reflecting the moonlight, each enhancing the other's beauty, he hurled up into the light of the moon an unfolded silver fan he had brought along with him especially for that purpose. The fan turned round and round on its pivot, its silver-painted paper gleaming until it dropped onto the water. What a beautiful spectacle that must have been! And not only that single fan, but each of the others in the boat tossed up his own flickering glimmer, each fan competing with the other — a scene of weird beauty even in imagination.Grandfather was said to be such an extravagant man that he had a copper boiler used for warming bottles of sake filled with sake instead of water, and he made them throw away the sake in the boiler afterward. For the kind of man he was, he probably didn't care in the least if as many as one hundred silver-gilt fans were tossed away at one time. For that matter, whether it's something hereditary or not, you, dear uncle, in spite of your not being wealthy — pardon the liberty I've taken in saying that! — have something extravagant about you. And from way back I've noticed that my shy, retiring mother has, oddly enough, a trait of liking things that are gay and merry. Only I alone— you're probably coming to the hasty conclusion that I'm bringing up that subject again, but please be at ease because I don't think I'm troubling myself as much about it as you may be anxiously thinking I am. When I mentioned 'I alone,' it wasn't said at all with any bitterness. What I wanted to say was that I was born along lines different from yours and mother's. Raised in relative ease as a child enjoying material comfort, I was happy and lived a carefree life of luxury without knowing it was luxury. I took it for granted I'd have clothing I could wear in public without feeling ashamed, clothes my mother took care of. But that assumption was due to my own ignorance fostered through long habit, and once I become aware of this, I suddenly grow uneasy. Aside from the question of clothing and food, I become frightened, as I did the other day for example, when I heard about a man of great wealth who recklessly squandered his money. He had gathered round him a great many geisha and professional jesters. From his briefcase he took a bundle of money, tore it into shreds, and gave it to them, their tip he called it. On another occasion, completely dressed in an elegant kimono, he plunged into a hot bath and later gave his clothes to the bath attendant. I heard of more instances of his debauchery, all of which flaunted an arrogance that had no fear of heaven. I detested the man when I heard about him. Or rather, lacking in spirit as I am, I feared him more than hated him. The way I see it, his conduct seems to be similar to that of a burglar threatening innocent people by sticking a drawn sword into tatami. I do fear in a truly religious sense that such acts wrong heaven or humanity, God or Buddha. That's how timid I am. Even while viewing extravagance from afar, I'm frightened to death imagining what would happen to a man riding at the summit of luxury after a momentary turn of Fortune's Wheel.With such thoughts in mind, I was watching that boat quietly floating by in the evening cool, and it occurred to me that such a diversion was best suited to life. As you once advised me, little by little I'm becoming frivolous. Please praise me for this.I was told that the guests in an upper room facing the moonlight were on a visit from Kobe. They used only that Tokyo speech I dislike so much, and occasionally they recited Chinese poems. Mixed into their talk were the coquettish voices of some women, but about twenty or thirty minutes ago it suddenly grew quiet in their room. A maid told me they had already gone back to Kobe. It's getting quite late, so I'll retire now too.
I wrote you last night, but today as well I'm reporting what has happened since this morning. Seeing me write so continuously only to you, dear uncle, you'll certainly say to yourself with a sarcastic half-smile, "Poor boy, he's got no one to write to, so he's forced to spend all this time writing so diligendy only to me and his mother." As I put my brush to the paper, that thought occurred to me. If I had a sweetheart, though, and you received no letters from me, you'd probably bless me for it. I think I'd be happier too if I neglected writing you because of that. In fact, when I went upstairs after waking this morning to look down toward the sea, one such happy couple was walking along the beach toward the west. Perhaps they're staying at this hotel. It was with envy that I looked at their receding figures, the woman with her cream-colored parasol over her and the skirt of her kimono slightly tucked up as she walked barefoot with the man through the rippling water. Since the water's clean, the sea near the shore when you look down at it from a high place is as transparent as air in sunlight. You can even see jellyfish floating in it. Two of the hotel guests are out swimming now. Every single movement of their limbs is distinctly visible, all to the detraction of their expertise as swimmers. (7:30 a.m.)This time a European's in the water alone. A young woman has come outdoors after him. Standing in the water, she keeps calling to another foreigner who has remained upstairs. She uses such English as "You come here!" And again and again she says something like "It is very nice in water." Her English is skillful, fluent, enviably good. I'm listening to her with admiration; she speaks far better than I ever could. Whether this young woman couldn't swim or didn't want to, she was only standing in water up to her chest. Then the foreigner who had gone into the water took her by the hand and tried to lead her in deeper. Apparently she held back, refusing to go. Finally he lifted and cradled her in the water. The splashing of the struggling woman and her giggling, shrieking voice were audible way in the distance. (10:00 a.m.)A little while ago a guest in a room downstairs who had brought two geisha with him came out to row. Where he had rowed his boat from I didn't know, but it was very small and quite unreliable. He tried to urge the two into the boat, saying he'd row, but they were afraid and wouldn't get in, though at last they were persuaded to. The air of exaggerated surprise the younger geisha put on was ludicrous. When he rowed them once around and returned, the older geisha called aloud toward a Japanese-style boat moored close to the rear of the inn, "Mr. Boatman, is your boat free?" This time she intended to carry some refreshments on board and head out to sea again. As I was looking on, she ordered some maids from the inn to bring beer, fruit, and a samisen onto the boat, and finally the geisha themselves got on board. But this patron of theirs, apparently quite a vigorous man, was still rowing offshore. He seemed to have failed to get anyone else to accompany him, but he had captured a naked dark-skinned village boy. The older geisha kept looking toward the rowboat, her face aghast for some time until she called at the top of her voice, "You fool!" Then he began rowing back. I found the geisha amusing, and the guest too. (11:00 a.m.)Dwelling on these trifles as though they were rarities will likely as not earn your mocking smile over my whimsical curiosity. But take this as proof that I've improved, thanks to my trip. For the first time I'm learning how to make a companion of the free air. Doesn't my not hating to write in detail about such trivia indicate that I can, after all, observe without thinking? To look without thought is now the best remedy for me. If I say this short journey is curing me of my nervousness, I'm ashamed at how inexpensive the recovery is. I do wish my mother had borne me ten times more cheaply, though.A great many white sails, like so many pieces of cloud, are passing in front of Awaji Island. I understand that on a hill of pine over against the sea, there's a shrine dedicated to the poet Hitomaro. I don't know much about him, but if I can find the time, I may as well visit his shrine before I leave.