“Why not?” says my master, taking a sort of plunge.
“All right, I’ll tell you.”Abruptly lifting up his close-cropped head the boy glanced diffidently at my master. His eyes are triangular in shape.
My master puffed out his cheeks with cigarette smoke and, slowly expelling it, looked at his visitor sideways.
“Well, actually. . . things have become awkward. . .”
“What things?”
“Well, it’s all terribly awkward, and that’s why I’ve come.”
“Yes, but what is it that you find so awkward?”
“I really didn’t mean to do such a thing, but as Hamada urged and begged me to lend it. . .”
“When you say Hamada, do you mean Hamada Heisuke?”
“Yes.”
“Did you lend him money for board and lodging?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t lend him that.”
“Then, what did you lend him?”
“I lent him my name.”
“Whatever was he doing borrowing your name?”
“He sent a love letter.”
“He sent what?”
“I explained I’d rather do the posting than the lending of my name.”
“You’re not making much sense. Who did what anyway?”
“A love letter was sent.”
“A love letter? To whom?”
“As I said, it’s so difficult to tell you.”
“You mean you’ve sent a love letter to some woman? Is that it?”
“No, it wasn’t me.”
“Hamada sent it?”
“It wasn’t Hamada either.”
“Then who did send it?”
“That’s not known.”
“None of this makes sense. Did no one send it?”
“Only the name is mine.”
“Only the name is yours? I still don’t understand. You’ll have to explain what’s happened clearly and logically. In the first place, who actually received the love letter?”
“A girl named Goldfield who lives just round the corner.”
“Goldfield? The businessman?”
“Yes, his daughter.”
“And what do you mean when you say you lent only your name?”
“Because that girl is such a dolled-up and conceited pinhead, we decided to send her a love letter. Hamada said it had to be signed. But when I told him to sign it himself, he argued that his name wasn’t sufficiently interesting, that Lancelot Yore would be very much more impressive. So I ended up by lending my name.”
“And do you know the girl? Are you friends?”
“Friends? Of course not. I’ve never set eyes on her.”
“How very imprudent! Fancy sending a love letter to someone you’ve never even seen! What made you do such a thing?”
“Well, everyone said she was stuck-up and pompous, so we thought we’d make a fool of her.”
“That’s even more rash! So you sent the letter clearly signed with your name?”
“Yes. The letter itself was written by Hamada. I lent my name, and Endo took it round to her house at night and stuck it in the letter box.”
“Then all three of you are jointly responsible?”
“Yes, but afterward, when I thought about being found out and possibly expelled from school, I got so worried that I haven’t been able to sleep for the last two or three nights. That’s why I’m not my usual self.”
“It’s a quite unbelievably stupid thing you’ve done. Tell me, when you signed that letter did you give the school’s address?”
“No, of course I made no mention of the school.”
“Well, that’s something. If you had and it ever came out, the good name of our school would be disgraced.”
“Do you think I’ll be expelled?”
“Well, I don’t know. . .”
“My father is very strict and my mother is only a stepmother, so if anything happened such as being expelled, I’d really be in the soup. Do you reckon I’ll get expelled?”
“You must understand, you shouldn’t have done a thing like that.”
“I didn’t mean to really, but somehow I just did. Couldn’t you save me from being expelled?” With the tears running down his face, the pathetic Lancelot implores my master’s help.
For quite some time behind the sliding door Mrs. Sneaze and her niece have been convulsed with silent giggles. My master, doggedly maintaining an air of importance, keeps on repeating his, “Well, I don’t know.” Altogether a facinating experience.
It is possible that some of you human beings might, and very reasonably, ask me what I find so fascinating about it. For every living being, man or animal, the most important thing in this world is to know one’s own self. Other things being equal, a human being that truly knows himself is more to be respected than a similarly enlightened cat. Should the humans of my acquaintance ever achieve such self-awareness, I would immediately abandon, as unjustifiedly heartless, this somewhat snide account of their species as I know them. However, just as few human beings actually know the size of their own noses, even fewer know the nature of their own selves, for if they did, they would not need to pose such a question to a mere cat whom they normally regard, even disregard, with contempt. Thus, though human beings are always enormously pleased with themselves, they usually lack that self-perception which, and which alone, might justify their seeing themselves, and their boasting of it wherever they go, as the lords of all creation. To top things off, they display a brazenly calm conviction in their role which is positively laughable. For there they are, making a great nuisance of themselves with their fussing entreaties to be taught where to find their own fool noses, while at the same time strutting around with placards on their backs declaring their claim to be lords of creation. Would common logic or even common sense lead any such patently loony human being to resign his claim to universal lordship? Not on your life! Every idiot specimen would sooner die than surrender his share in the fantasy of human importance. Any creature that behaves with such blatant inconsistency and yet contrives never to recognize the least minim of self-contradiction in its behavior is, of course, funny. But since the human animal is indeed funny, it follows that the creature is a fool.
The foregoing events occurred precisely as I have recorded them and, as external realities, they left their quaint, little ripples on the stream of time. But in this particular case it was not their manifested conduct which made my master,Yukie, and Yore strike me as amusing. What tickled me was the differing quality of reaction in their inmost hearts, which the same external events evoked in these several persons. First of all, my master’s heart is rather cold, and so was his reaction to these happenings. However strictly Yore’s harsh father may treat the boy, however hurtfully his stepmother may pick on him, my master’s heart would not be moved. How could it be? Yore’s possible expulsion from school does not raise any of the issues that would be involved if my master were dismissed. Of course, if all the pupils, nearly a thousand of them, were simultaneously expelled, then the teachers might find it hard to earn a living: but whatever fate befalls this wretched single pupil, the daily course of my master’s own life will be totally unaffected. Obviously, where there is no self-interest there is not going to be much sympathy.
It is just not natural to knit one’s brows, to blow one’s nose, or to draw great sighs over the misfortunes of complete strangers. I simply do not believe the human animal is capable of showing such understanding and compassion. People sometimes squeeze out a few tears or try looking sorry as a kind of social obligation, a sort of tax-payment due in acknowledgement of having been born into a community. But such gestures are never heart felt, and their effective performance, like any other act of chicanery, does in fact demand a high degree of skill. Persons who perform these trickeries most artfully are regarded as men of strong artistic feelings and earn the deepest respect of their less-gifted fellows.