Something Strange Across the River by Kafu Nagai

Author:Kafu Nagai [Nagai, Kafu]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781935548416
Published: 2013-09-11T00:00:00+00:00

Tie off the holes in the mosquito nets.

It’s the end of September.

The mosquitos come buzzing from the trash cans

You can seem them against the walls,

among the water splotches from the rains.

It’s the start of autumn,

The mosquito nets and a bottle.

The above is an old song that came back to me one day, while I was sitting in the tea room of Oyuki’s apartment and I noticed the hanging mosquito net by the window. Back then my friend Aa, long since passed, was living with a girl in secret, out behind the Fukagawa Chorei Temple. His parents didn’t approve. I used to go out there to see him, so it must have been around 1910.

Oyuki poked her head out from the mosquito net and explained that she’d developed a sudden toothache that had kept her in bed all day. She had just been lying down. There was no place for her to sit so we lined up and sat on the step by the door.

“You’re late. Oh, why do you have to keep me waiting?”

The woman’s language and attitude had, with her presumed knowledge of my occupation, crossed the line from affectionate to nearly vulgar.

“I’m sorry. Is it a cavity?”

“It just started hurting. It hurts so badly I feel like the room is spinning. Is it swollen?” she asked, turning to show her profile. “Do me a favor, will you watch the room for me? I’d like to run to the dentist.”

“Is it nearby?”

“Just over by the police.”

“Then it must be near the public market.”

“Well, well—you’ve walked all over this place so you certainly know it well. You cheater.”

“Ouch. Don’t be that way. I just do what I can to keep my head above water.”

“Fine, then, I’m heading out. If it looks as though it will take too long I’ll come straight back.”

“Wait, wait, wait for me—but don’t go under the mosquito net—is that how it is? Oh well, no matter.”

I have made a point of matching my own demeanor to that of hers, so when she speaks roughly, I follow suit. This is not done in an effort to hide my true self, it is simply the way I choose to interact with modern people, no matter where they are from or who they are. Much like going overseas and taking the steps to speak the language of the land you are in, I try to match my diction to that of my conversation partner. In doing so I match my speech to that of the natives of foreign countries when I am there. When the partner becomes over-familiar, even rude, I find that I become the same. This digression grows long, but I might continue to say that when speaking with people in the modern dialect it is no problem for me to take on their tones, yet when it comes to writing letters I am overcome with difficulty in the endeavor. This is especially so with letters to women. Just how coy is one to behave on the

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