Chapter 1

This isn’t my story, but hers. In a world full of actors trying to cunningly maneuver themselves into the lead role, she was the star of that night without even trying. She didn’t realize it then, and she probably still hasn’t. This is a chronicle of her majestic journey through an alcohol-steeped night and my distress at failing to secure the lead role and making do with my existence as a pebble by the wayside. Wise readers, relish both her cuteness and my stupidity; savor the exquisite and subtle flavor of life, not unlike that of almond tofu. I hope you will cheer her on. Are you familiar with the “friendly punch”? When faced with the unavoidable necessity of delivering a fist to the cheek of someone nearby, people often curl their hand up tightly. I’d like you to take a close look at that fist. The thumb curls around the outside, acting as a latch, you might say, for the other four fingers. It’s precisely the thumb that makes a fist a fist, an instrument that can thoroughly obliterate both your opponent’s cheek and pride. But if history tells us anything, it’s that violence inevitably invites more violence: The hatred born of that thumb spreads like wildfire throughout the world. In the ensuing confusion and misery, we will flush every last one of the beautiful things worth protecting down the toilet. But let us stop for a moment and try uncurling the fist to rearrange it with the thumb on the inside and the other four fingers wrapped around it. What was once a rugged, manly fist now gives off the impression of terrible uncertainty and feels as lovable as the paw of a lucky cat. It’s too goofy to contain any semblance of heartfelt rage. Thus, the chain of violence is broken before it has a chance to begin, peace on earth is protected, and we manage, for a moment, to hold on to a bit of beauty. “If you hide your thumb inside, you can’t make a tight fist even if you want to. That quietly lurking thumb is love.” She’d been introduced to the friendly punch by her older sister when she was little. This is what her sister said: “Listen. A girl can’t go around with her fists up all the time, but there are only a few men of virtue in the whole wide world. The rest are scum, idiots, or scummy idiots. Sometimes we have to throw a punch even though we’d rather not. At times like that, use the friendly punch. A tightly balled fist might not contain love, but the friendly punch does. In fact, it’s full of love, and by making good use of it, you’ll move gracefully through the world, down the path to a beautiful, harmonious life.” A beautiful, harmonious life. How those words struck her heart! And that’s how she came to possess the esoteric art of the friendly punch. It was the end of May, just past the peak of spring. Akagawa, an earlier graduate of my university who’d been in the same club as me, was getting married and holding a celebration among friends. I’d barely ever talked to this guy, but he had been my senior at school, so I needed to show up. There were a couple others from the club who were going, and among them was this one girl. She knew Akagawa through a different club member. In the dark neighborhood down the Takase River from the Shijo and Kiyamachi intersection stands an old, wooden, three-story Western cuisine restaurant that casts a warm glow on the trees lining the bank. The restaurant usually gives off a toasty vibe, but inside it was even warmer. Actually, it was quite hot. All those in attendance were instantly burned to a crisp by the shameless passion of the newlyweds, who, having exchanged their vows, were being photographed while kissing, unafraid of any gods. The bride was scooped up in the groom’s arms. The groom worked at the Karasuma Oike branch of a bank, and the bride was a researcher at an alcoholic beverage company in Fushimi. They were both daring enough to ignore their parents’ wishes. The truth of the matter was their parents hadn’t even met. The couple had gotten to know each other during their first year of college. They had their ups and downs as they strove to be together, crossing plains, mountains, valleys, and so on. In the end, they reached their current state, one that others could barely stand to watch. That was already uninteresting enough, but only a weirdo could enjoy themselves at an event where they didn’t personally know the bride or groom. I killed time by eating the rest of the food on my plate and watching that one girl sitting at the corner of the table. She was staring with rapt attention at the snail shells collected cozily in one corner of her large plate. It wasn’t clear what she found so fascinating about them, but in any case, I was happy to watch her gaze at them. She was a younger member of the club, and I’d fallen in love with her at first sight, so to speak. That said, I hadn’t managed to have a friendly exchange with her just yet. I thought tonight might be a so-called opportunity, but due to the tactical blunder of failing to secure the seat next to her, my plans were amounting to absolutely nothing. Suddenly, the MC stood up. “Okay, time for a word from the bride and groom, Naoko Todou and Yasuo Akagawa. Take it away, guys.” So the bride’s name was Naoko Todou? News to me. As the celebration at the restaurant drew to a close, the participants spilled out onto the street. Moving with the harmonious crew on their way to the after-party, I kept my eyes peeled for a red thread of destiny lying around to tie the girl and me together. Instead, I was disappointed to see her bid farewell to some of the others with a bow and walk off alone. It seemed she was heading home. In that case, there was no reason for me to get sucked into attending the after-party. I slipped out of the throng and made to follow her. Nothing slicker than Now, now, no need to go straight home, miss. How about a drink with me this fine evening? came to mind. I had no good lines to use. I simply walked after her. Outside the Hankyu Kawaramachi Station on Shijo and Kiyamachi, I saw a crowd mesmerized by a young guitarist, a group of men in black suits harassing any girls who went by, and countless rosy faces, young and old, in search of the next spot to visit. I thought we were turning onto Shijo Bridge, but after thinking for a moment, she continued walking north. The trees growing thickly along the Takase River made it quite dark, but farther along, a café called Muse radiated a warm, orange glow. As if to steel her resolve, the girl did something like a bipedal robot dance in front of the shop. Then, full of confidence, she turned down the alley. That’s where I lost her. What lay before me was a sketchy backstreet flanked on both sides by buildings and shops haloed in pink lights. I couldn’t see a sign of her anywhere. Men kept inviting me into the racy shops, so I had no choice but to leave the alley. The opportunity I thought I’d seized vanished before me. I was already making my exit from stage right as she began her journey through the night. Let’s have her tell it going forward. This is the story of one night, the first night I ever walked between Kiyamachi and Ponto-cho. It all started with the snail shells on my plate at a wedding reception in a Western cuisine restaurant on Kiyamachi. Staring at those swirls, I had an overpowering thought: I want to drink. Unfortunately, the connection between the snails and alcohol still evades me. But I was surrounded by older acquaintances that night, so it wouldn’t have been very proper to drink as much as I wanted. I would have had no way to apologize to my senior if I shamed him with some sort of commotion at his joyful wedding reception. With this in mind, I had been drinking only moderately, but soon I found myself unable to hold back any longer, so I excused myself before the after-party. That night, I thought I would like to enter the fascinating world of adults on my own. In other words, I wanted to drink exactly as I pleased without worrying about minding my manners. As I walked through the Shijo Kiyamachi neighborhood, there was a nonstop stream of good men and women indulging in nighttime amusements. They seemed so fascinatingly sophisticated! I felt for sure that in this neighborhood, drinks and a dazzling encounter with the adult world were waiting for me. Yes, indeed. Thrilled, I did a bipedal robot dance outside the café Muse. I chose a bar on Kiyamachi a friend had mentioned, Bar Moon Walk. It was a bar where you could drink all sorts of cocktails for only three hundred yen, a gift from God to people like me who can’t quite feel confident in the contents of their wallets. I love rum so much, I wish the Pacific Ocean were made of it. Of course, it’s fine to drain a bottle with a hand on your hip as though you’re chugging milk in the morning, but modesty shuts those little dreams in the treasure chest of my heart. It doesn’t seem possible to have a beautiful, harmonious life without that sort of casual moderation. Instead, I enjoy cocktails. Drinking cocktails is like picking out lovely jewels one at a time; it feels so luxurious. Acapulco, Cuba libre, piña colada. Of course, I like cocktails that aren’t made with rum, too, so I exchanged vows with all of them—to drink and get drunk on them. And I don’t want to stop at cocktails. My aim is always to take the initiative in making contact with all manner of alcohol. Thus, I was drinking without restraint at Moon Walk when an older man I didn’t recognize spoke to me from where he was seated at the corner of the bar. “Hey, sweetheart, is something worrying you? Sure seems like it.” I didn’t have anything to reply with immediately—because nothing was worrying me. When I remained silent, he said, “If there’s something on your mind, I wouldn’t mind if you lay it on mine.” I was impressed by his very clever turn of phrase. He said his name was Todou. Thin and lanky with a long face and stubble, he had a striking resemblance to an end of a cucumber that had been coated in iron filings. When Mr. Todou came closer, a sharp fragrance that must have been cologne assailed my nose, and the wild aroma he gave off naturally followed not long after in a shameless flood, mixing with the striking cologne to produce a nightmarish scent of high and low notes. I thought, Could it be that this complex, layered thing is the smell of an adult man? Is he one of those “attractive middle-aged men” people are always talking about? Mr. Todou smiled like a piece of crumpled straw paper. “Let me buy you a drink.” “Oh, no, I couldn’t.” “C’mon, you don’t have to be shy.” I declined once more, but it would’ve been impolite to reject his kindness out of hand. Not to mention, in our capitalist society, nothing is cheaper than free. Mr. Todou was watching me drink with great interest. If you’re going to look at me, it would be a much more delightful, fulfilling use of your time to watch a rice cooker. After all, I’m quite unrefined and far less interesting than one. Is there something funny about my face? I scratched at it discreetly. “Are you all on your own? Not out with a boy?” “I’m alone,” I said. Mr. Todou’s business was breeding and selling koi fish. “They were like swimming bundles of cash during the bubble, but…” He got a far-off look in his eyes. “Thinking about it now, it just seems like nonsense.” Mr. Todou was gazing at the spaces between the brightly colored bottles across the bar. Maybe he was thinking back on the glory days when his gorgeous koi fish leaped out of the aquaculture pond and transformed into stacks of bills. He nursed his whiskey. If you take the Keihan Uji Line from Chushojima, there’s a place called Rokujizo, where Mr. Todou invested a fortune to create the Todou Koi Fish Center. Ever since the wild days of the economic bubble solemnly came to a close, he and his koi, joined hand in fin, had been boldly riding the economic waves in and out. But this year, he was hit with a streak of troubles. He was tormented by a big-time gang of koi fish thieves, his savings to renovate his facilities had been stolen, and his beloved koi caught some mysterious disease that gave them strange blisters, making them look like sulky aliens. “What could it mean to have so much bad luck at once?” “That’s not even the end of it. Right when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it happened. And thanks to that, my business has come to a complete standstill, but even I laughed in spite of myself.” A few evenings ago, a tornado formed in the city of Uji. It proceeded from Fushimi-Momoyama Castle to Rokujizo without losing any momentum before heading rapidly toward Mr. Todou’s koi fish center. How horrible. Having gotten word of the situation, he hurried back from Kyoto Shinkin Bank, but wouldn’t you know it, the dark column stretching up into the heavens was already inside the fence! Breaking free from the arms of the young part-timer who tried to stop him, Mr. Todou went to confront the tornado head on. His shed blew away, and the water in the reservoir swelled with a roar. Just as blazing rays of the evening sun illuminated the area from the west, Mr. Todou’s precious koi flew up into the sky, their scales glittering as if to say, We promise to transform into magnificent dragons and return! He stood firm against the storm and called out each fish’s name—“Give Yuuko back! Give Jirokichi back!”—but the tornado paid his miserable cries no mind and sucked up every last one of his adorable fish. Because of that calamity, Mr. Todou found himself unable to pay off his debts and groping in the dark for his next move as he wandered the streets at night. “Give Yuuko back! Give Jirokichi back!” He repeated the cries in a wretched voice like a biting winter wind. He was so pitiful I began to feel sad myself. “You’re a nice girl,” he said, looking me in the face. “I’ve lived a long time and seen all sorts of people. I may look like a boring, dull old man to you, but even so, if there’s one skill I’ve sharpened, it’s my ability to judge people. I’m sure your parents are overjoyed to have a daughter like you. And I ain’t just saying that.” “I’m not worthy of your praise.” Then we said cheers. “You sure do drink, though. Are you going to be okay with that pace?” “If I take my time, it wears off.” “I see. Then I’ll teach you a place you can get tastier drinks.” He stood up. “Want to head to a different bar?” The two of us walked north along the Takase River. Mr. Todou was carrying a yellowish-green bundle with care, as if it was terribly important. The streets were lively with intoxicated university students, people on their way home from work, and who knows who else. Admiring the scene, he told me about a secret drink. It’s called “faux electric brandy.” What a weird name. “Electric brandy is a cocktail created by a respected old establishment in Tokyo’s Asakusa district, back during the Taisho period. There’s a bar in Shinkyogoku where you can drink it.” “How is faux electric brandy different from electric brandy?” “The recipe for electric brandy is kept under lock and key, but an employee of the Kyoto Central Telephone Company attempted to re-create the flavor. After a bunch of trial and error, he hit a total dead end when he made a miraculous discovery—faux electric brandy. It was made only by coincidence, so it doesn’t taste or smell anything like electric brandy.” “Do they use electricity to make it?” “Maybe. I mean, they call it ‘electric’ brandy, so…” He snickered. “They’re still making it somewhere these days and delivering it into the streets of the night.” A little brick factory reminiscent of the Meiji period came to mind. Inside, electrical wires run all around, and golden sparks fly. It’s less like a distillery and more like a cross between a chemistry lab and a transformer substation. I imagined frowning artisans carefully adjusting the voltage according to the top-secret recipe. It’s only natural they’d frown—if the voltage was even slightly off, the taste of the faux electric brandy would change. Eventually, a liquid giving off a peculiar fragrance is poured into clear flasks. I wonder who came up with such a funteresting idea as making alcohol with electricity. I grew so curious, there was a good chance I’d burst right there on the street. “Ahhh, I would really like to try it.” Mr. Todou learned about this drink from an elderly man named Rihaku. He told me they got to know each other through the course of Mr. Todou borrowing funds for the maintenance of his koi fish center. Mr. Rihaku was a famous character around the Kiyamachi Ponto-cho area, a very wealthy man who showed up by private car and could drink without ever stopping. He was an inveterate idler who served up faux electric brandy while endlessly entertaining himself. The world at night struck me as a very strange place. The bar Mr. Todou brought me to was on the top floor of a building towering on the east side of Kiyamachi Avenue. The building was so old and full of junk that it felt as if we were entering some ruins. When he pushed the heavy door open, dim light spilled out into the hallway, and I could make out the quiet voices of the patrons inside. The bar was grim, and the dingy couches and chairs seemed to have been picked up off the street; handwritten menus were stuck to the wall. Bookcases were crammed with old magazines in drab colors. Customers chatted while camped out wherever they pleased, whether on the couches or chairs. I drank the shochu Mr. Todou recommended. “Let’s drink to your happiness. Cheers.” He sipped his own shochu and told me about his daughter. She was a little older than I was, but apparently, they hadn’t seen each other much ever since he and his wife got divorced five years ago. It seemed his daughter wasn’t very interested in meeting him. What a sad story. As he talked, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand only once. “The only thing parents wish for their children is that they’re happy. I’m sure your folks feel the same way. As a parent, I understand.” “Being happy is actually pretty hard, though.” “Of course, that’s true. And it’s something we can’t just give to the kids. Everyone has to search out their own happiness for themselves. But I’d do anything to help my daughter find hers.” I strongly felt he was a wonderful person. What a purehearted man. “Young lady, the constructive way to worry is to ask yourself what happiness is to you. If you never stop asking yourself that question, life will be worthwhile,” he declared. “What is happiness to you, Mr. Todou?” He took my hand in his. “Meeting a passerby and having a fun time with them like this. This right now may very well be my happiness.” He took a small wooden carving out of his bundle and placed it in the palm of my hand. “I’ll give you this charm for protection.” I guess it was a small sculpture, or a netsuke? It was a strange object shaped like a cannon pointing diagonally upward. When I rolled it around in my hand to admire the details, it started to seem like a slimy deep-sea creature. I thought maybe it was a koi fish sculpted in a bizarrific way. “Take good care of it.” “They say koi fish that climb waterfalls become dragons—in other words, koi are a symbol of success in life. Like those koi-shaped streamers. They’ve been auspicious fish for a long time. One of the floats in the Gion Festival is decorated with an enormous koi fish climbing the Dragon Gate Falls. Do you know the saying about making it up to the dragon gate? It’s…” Between knowledge dumps, he stared at my hands, sighing, “You have nice hands” and “Cute hands.” There’s absolutely nothing interesting about my hands. I’m sure a pastry shaped like a maple leaf is much cuter. “Ahhh, I’m drunk. You’ve been drinking, too, huh?” “Are you all right? You won’t get a hangover, will you?” “What? As long as I have fun drinking, I’ll be fine. I’m content right now.” As he said that, he put his arm around me. Then he shook me a bit and said, “Cheer up!” “Oh, I’m cheerful,” I replied. I noticed his hand had slipped into the vicinity of my chest. Apparently, he was fondling my breasts as he was shaking me around. Mr. Todou was a purehearted person, so there was no way he’d act so shamelessly in public. You know what? When he put his arm around me to cheer me up, the alcohol probably got to him and made his intentions go haywire. But it tickled so much, I couldn’t help it. “Excuse me, Mr. Todou. Your hand.” “Hmm? What about my hand?” “It’s on my chest.” “Oh, sorry. Beg your pardon.” As he said that, he removed his hand, but after a little while, it was back, touching my breasts again. It tickled so much, I had no choice but to push Mr. Todou away. We were grappling—well, technically, I was being groped—but we were grappling when a woman’s voice suddenly called from behind us, “’Ey, Todou!” I turned to look and saw a tall woman with regal eyebrows. “Up to your old tricks again, I see, you pervy old fart.” “Agh, when did you get here?” He abruptly lost his dignity and appeared pitiful. She puffed out her chest and pressed him. “If you want to grope some breasts so bad, touch mine. Here, go on.” “No, I’m not interested in those shameless things.” “You bastard, get outta here.” Mr. Todou stood up in a panic and tried to grab his bundle, but instead, it came undone, and its contents emptied across the floor. It was a lot of old pictures. There were some men and women tangled together like puzzle rings and some kind of monster coiled around their private parts. I stared fixedly as I helped pick them up, and when I wondered, “What are these?” Mr. Todou snatched them out of my hand in a hurry. “They’re shunga,” he barked brusquely as he picked up the erotic ukiyo-e prints. “I came to sell these off today.” He seemed so sad, I tried to stop him in spite of myself, but in haste, with an air of finality, he packed away the pictures and was gone like the wind. I glanced at the charm he’d given me. It was neither a cannon nor a koi, but unmistakably the monster from the pictures—that is, though I hesitate to say it, a specimen of so-called manhood. I sighed. The woman who chased off Mr. Todou sat next to me. “Are you okay?” she asked kindly, and I gazed intently at her face: It was truly majestic with those strong eyebrows. Ignoring my fascination, she called out in a spirited voice to order a beer. Then she turned around and said, “Higuchi, you too, c’mon.” A man stood leisurely, wearing a faded, casual kimono, a yukata. “Hi there, good evening to you.” The man who came to the bar smiled adorably. “You musn’t let your guard down around shady characters you meet out at night. It goes without saying that you shouldn’t show us any weakness, either.” And that’s how I met Ms. Hanuki and Mr. Higuchi. Ms. Hanuki drank beer like water. There’s that phrase drink like a fish, but this beautiful lady almost seemed as if she had a fish inside her. I watched her chug her beer as if I were appreciating a refined performing art. Her associate Mr. Higuchi didn’t appear to care for alcohol much and swirled his single drink around in a serious manner, seeming to enjoy watching Ms. Hanuki toss back hers. She was a dental hygienist, but I don’t know what Mr. Higuchi’s occupation was. He said something strange. “My job? I’m a tengu.” He was referring to a cocky, mischievous Japanese goblin with supernatural powers and an abnormally long nose. “Well, pretty much.” And Ms. Hanuki didn’t deny it. “Man, though, I’m so glad we were here. Todou’s such a scumbag.” She was even angrier than I was. I actually couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He had imparted all that wisdom to me, shared his view on life, and above all bought me drinks. He was groping around in the darkness of this night, trying to come to terms with the crisis of his destroyed koi fish center. In light of his situation, what was a breast or two (well, I only have two, but…)? Why couldn’t I be the kind of person who could just shrug that off? “I’m sure Mr. Todou was suffering. I was cold to him.” “That’s fine. Be even colder!” “But he was so kind to me.” “Didn’t you just meet him?” “But he shared his wonderful view on life with me. I don’t think he’s a bad person.” “Okay, okay, calm down. For now, have a drink. It’s on me.” Ms. Hanuki ordered me a beer. “View on life? I mean, any dude with more than a few years under his belt can ramble about that sort of thing, you know?” she said. “Higuchi, even you can probably come up with some meaning-of-life mumbo jumbo, right?” “Hmm, I dunno. I don’t really try,” Mr. Higuchi said evasively with a noncommittal reply. When I told them about the destruction of the koi fish center, Ms. Hanuki frowned. “Well, that is sad.” “He might throw himself into the Kamo River,” said Mr. Higuchi. “Shush! You think he’s really that sensitive?” “But losing your business is no normal disappointment. He may have looked his cheerful self on the outside, but perhaps this was meant to be his last hurrah.” “Higuchi, do you have to say shit like that?” She drained her beer. “Ah, I feel sick. I want to go somewhere else, but, Higuchi, are you meeting someone?” “I haven’t been meeting anyone in years.” “Shall we go hole up somewhere?” “As you wish. Let’s change spots.” “We’re going to hop to a new bar. Want to come with?” She leaned in, looking right at me. “You’re probably safer with us.” “Yes, I think I’ll join you.” “You shouldn’t trust us. Who knows who we are!” Mr. Higuchi warned me with a serious look on his face. “Don’t lump me in with you.” Then Ms. Hanuki valiantly swept her hair back and stood up. When we left through a small iron door and came out on the emergency stairway around the back of the building, we could see a busy, unfamiliar view of the scene below. The lone row of short commercial buildings extending north and south created a series of uneven shadows, with neon lights and streetlights shining here and there in the darkness. A Japanese barbeque restaurant’s big lit-up sign blinked on its building’s roof. Power lines lay like a blanket over the houses. I assumed we were in an entertainment district, but there was an old house with its laundry pole hanging outside; it seemed just like a remote island or a secret fort. The long stretch of indistinct glowing in front of me must have been Ponto-cho. And the small streets below were like a maze, jammed between Ponto-cho and Kiyamachi. We climbed down the emergency stairway and came out into a narrow parking lot piled high with bicycle parts. “Oh? What’s this?” Mr. Higuchi crouched down next to the bicycles and picked up something floppy that looked like a giant sheet of seaweed. He waved it in the darkness. “It’s a pair of pants, isn’t it?” “Why would something like this be here?” “Someone must have taken them off. I’m sure there was a reason. Put them down.” Ms. Hanuki stacked bicycles, loudly scraping them against each other, and then casually clambered atop the pile. Mr. Higuchi moved past me to leisurely join her. As he scrambled up the mountain, the skirt of his yukata flipped wide open, and I was nearly exposed to an indecent scene, but I was saved by the fact that at some point, he’d put on those pants belonging to who knows who. “Wherever are you going?” “Shhh.” Ms. Hanuki put a finger to her mouth. “Over this wall.” On the other side was a quiet place, maybe the garden of a restaurant. Little round lanterns illuminated the foliage. I was delighted to see such a peaceful scene exist quietly alongside the concrete buildings in this neighborhood. “Are you planning to steal drinks or something?” “What would people say if they heard that? Don’t lump me in with Higuchi.” “All I did was pick up a little something someone dropped,” Mr. Higuchi countered, unfazed. “It’d be annoying to carry them to the nearest police box, so I’m wearing them.” “Ew, you’re wearing those pants, Higuchi? Cut it out, agh.” Wise readers, how long it has been since last we met? I hope you are well. The reason I’m interrupting now is that I imagine you’ve all forgotten about me, standing despondently on Kiyamachi, by this point. Please shower me in more of your overflowing love. When she encountered the misfortune of that detestable Todou fellow grappling and groping her, I should’ve boldly risen to the occasion and saved her—that goes without saying. But, you see, I was in no position to do so, as I was shaking in rage and from the cold in the dark of an alley that led from Kiyamachi to Ponto-cho. The reason for that? I was naked from the waist down. To those readers who have nothing to say but to curse me with You pervert, I sympathize, but you’re being too hasty if you’re blaming me. After watching her go with Todou down the Takase River and into the building on Kiyamachi, I thought I’d wait a little while and then head into the bar to see what was going on. I didn’t know the relationship between the two of them, but if some man she didn’t know was chatting her up and she needed saving, I had to be the one to rescue her. It was an admirable plan, if I do say so myself. But all of a sudden, I was attacked by some thug, dragged into an alley, and—of all things—robbed of my pants and underwear. The streets at night are filled with manifold dangers. It was too dark, and the whole thing was so unexpected, I couldn’t get a good look at the filthy criminal’s face. All I remember is he smelled awfully sweet, almost like a strange flower. It’s totally bizarre that a tough guy like me would be stripped by some gangster smelling like a bouquet. Clearly, no one would believe me. My resistance futile, I was forced to expose myself to the whole world. Well, not exactly. To reveal as little as possible, I hid in the alley and held up a beer crate I found. Oh, to think I’d end up entrusting my fate to a crate in a back alley when all I wanted was to rule the night and enjoy a romantic evening with this girl. I couldn’t be further from playing the lead role. If a police officer found me like this, I’d be branded as a shameless delinquent, and all my lofty ambitions would go up in smoke. I was done for. It seemed as though my fate was to end up as a pebble by the wayside, watching from afar as she enjoyed making her way through the night. Young men and women mingled in the spacious tatami room—it was truly the climax of the party. They were members of an organization in the humanities department, the Sophistry Debate Club. The party was a send-off for a former member before he went to study abroad in the UK. Fittingly for his glorious new beginning, they were passing around champagne. “They say champagne goes down easy, so people tend to drink too much, but you’ll be fine, huh?” Mr. Higuchi observed. “Then let’s drink to the shining future of this guy going to the UK, whoever he is!” And so we savored our free drinks, but Ms. Hanuki fit in as if she were everyone’s old friend and went buck wild. Grabbing the nearest person, she licked their face, regardless of whether it was a guy or a girl, as they desperately tried to flee from her grasp. She had a tendency to do that when she was drunk. “This isn’t half-bad. Come closer, my dear.” “Wah, stop it! Eegh!” “Meanwhile, this lady’s having a fine time watching.” “Ahhh, not the ears, not the ears!” Watching Ms. Hanuki work her strange mayhem, I had to admit I was impressed. This fish-woman wanders through the streets of Kiyamachi and, upon finding her pockets rather lonely, stands up with steadfast resolve, crashes the party of some person she’s never met in her life, easily fills her belly with free alcohol, and goes around willfully licking everyone’s faces—what could I call it but an unparalleled delight? She’d ambushed a disgracefully drunk student on his way back from the bathroom, hung all over him, and pretty much coerced him to go along with her. And just like that, hooting and hollering, she entered the party. Times like these, you can’t be shy. Crashing the celebrations of a stranger is a do-or-die challenge; a moment’s hesitation can be fatal. You have to infiltrate the very heart of the event, practically force everyone to get excited, and destroy their completely justified doubts of Who is this person? We walked quietly down the path our hero opened for us. “Wandering the streets at night reminds me…” Mr. Higuchi’s cheeks were rosy from the champagne, and he couldn’t hold back his laughter. “There’s this weird old guy named Rihaku. Lately, we don’t come across each other much, but there was a time when I went around eating and drinking with him. That’s just his nickname, by the way. In any case, he’s an eccentric character. During the day, he’s amazingly parsimonious, but at night, he splashes out. Thanks to that, I managed to eat for a while.” He spoke merrily. “Old Man Rihaku has two hobbies. One is to have entertainers—like me—assault men walking the streets at night to steal their underwear. The other is to hold drinking contests with faux electric brandy.” “Oh, I’ve heard so much about faux electric brandy. I’d love to try it.” “Easier said than done. I’m pretty sure it’s bootleg, so they won’t have it at any of the places around here. I don’t know much about it myself. But I know he has lots of money and faux electric brandy.” Mr. Higuchi took a cigar from the breast pocket of his yukata and brought it to his mouth. “Why does he have so much money?” “He’s a lender.” He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “I owe him a bit of a debt myself, so I’m not too keen on meeting him anytime soon.” A man came crawling out of the lawless zone, which was now under the rule of Ms. Hanuki. “So who are you anyway?” he asked. “I don’t know you, either,” answered Mr. Higuchi. The two stared at each other blankly for a time. Eventually, the man exhibited some generosity: “Well, it doesn’t matter who you are.” He was already plastered. Perhaps that’s why he said, “Hey, you know…,” and continued slurring, “If you have a choice between marrying a man you love and a man you don’t love, a man you don’t love is the better choice, right?” It was a random thing to bring up so abruptly. “That’s a novel theory.” “Well, if you’re in love, you lose all reason and ability to make accurate judgment calls. By choosing a man you don’t love, you can make more rational decisions. You need to exercise caution on top of caution to choose the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with. Romantic feelings can’t be explained rationally, which means they’re a poor way to pick your partner. “Also, when you marry a man you love, you have to experience the sad decline of your passion over time, whereas if you marry a man you don’t love, there is no decline—because there was no passion to begin with. An added bonus is that if you’re not in love with him, you don’t suffer if he cheats on you—because there’s no jealousy. You’d be free of that useless agony. If you think about this logically, I’m sure you’ll understand. Women should marry men they don’t love. So why do they do the opposite? Can none of them see the truth?!” The man drunkenly slobbered. I used a hand towel to wipe away his drool and gave it to him. He kept repeating the name of a woman, Naoko. “I shouldn’t be at this going-away party. Naoko is celebrating her marriage tonight, so I should be there.” “Then what are you waiting for? Get going.” “I can’t. This is my going-away party.” “What? So you’re the one going to study in the UK?” “Plus, what could I possibly say to Naoko if I saw her now? It’s pointless to say anything to an illogical woman who’d go and marry a guy she’s in love with, isn’t it? Don’t you think so?” The man was grasping at Mr. Higuchi, who pushed away and caused him to tumble into a corner of the tatami with a strange groan, something like “Hoogya!” He stopped moving. As he lay there like a sea lion sulking in bed, he seemed so pitiful from behind. It seemed his sophistry hadn’t been effective when he confessed his love. “Now theeen, it’s about tiiime to encourage Kosakaaaa with the Sophism Sambaaaa!” A woman who seemed to be presiding over the event stood up as she made the announcement. “Where’s Kosaka?” “What are you doing sulking over there? You think you can make us dance by ourselves?” “What idiot came up with this dance anyhow? This will be our eternal shame.” “Doesn’t matter. Get him up.” “Whoa, Kosaka, you’re drooling like an ox, man.” The immobile Kosaka roared like a lion, spraying drool everywhere, screaming, “Waaagh! Naokoooo!” The club members surrounding him all jumped back. “Naoko’s not here. And she’s married now.” “C’mon, let’s do the Sophism Samba. Make a clean break and go abroad!” His associates consoled him as they helped him up until he stood there swaying on the tatami. He was surrounded by younger club members, but it seemed less as if they were encouraging him and more as if they were relentlessly making jabs at him. “Go get ’em, Kosaka.” “Thanks, gentlemen. I’m glad to be sent off by such a fine crew.” “Make something of yourself—and never come back!” “We’ll be fine without you. Please don’t worry about us.” “We shall never meet again—how wonderful! Good-bye.” As the joyful voices rang out, Kosaka was bumped and jostled by the younger club members as he walked through them, eventually raising his hands over his head, placing his palms together, and wriggling his hips. He began to parade around the room. That was the Sophism Samba. It actually looked like fun. Mr. Higuchi and I were more than happy to slip into the line of dancers. And so we celebrated Kosaka’s most glorious departure with our bodies and souls until Ms. Hanuki appeared and dragged us wriggly dancing fools out into the hallway. Sneaking out of a party before the end—during the height of its chaos—was the closing act of her free-booze technique. Upon exiting the restaurant onto Ponto-cho, we walked north atop the stone pavement. Looking up, we could see only a thin slice of night sky between the buildings with lots of electrical lines running through them that were crowding the street. Light leaked from bamboo blinds drawn over second-story restaurant windows. Crimson paper lanterns, illuminated signs, lanterns fixed to the eaves of buildings, vending machines, and display windows glowed all along the narrow road like festival lights. And passing through the midst of all that were small groups of merrymakers. I even saw a group of men with stately physiques casually enter an establishment that had pillars as high as the Great Wall of China. So this is the elegance of Ponto-cho. I was sure unimaginably stylish adults (at least from our perspective) were enjoying amusements for and by adults just a little way through these gates and down to the end of the stone-paved alleys. Yes, indeed. It was so very exciting. “So what should we do now?” Ms. Hanuki murmured. “You’re out of ideas?” “No… I guess we should go back to Kiyamachi.” A cat ran past my feet. Turning to chase it with my eyes, I saw a geisha apprentice down the street. She passed in front of a giant paper lantern before slipping into an alley stretching west. When I looked back, Ms. Hanuki and Mr. Higuchi were gone. I wondered if they’d gone down an alley, but when I checked, I couldn’t find them. Without those two, there was no one in the Ponto-cho area I could rely on. I had no idea how to continue my voyage through the night. This was no good. “Hey, you. All alone?” A drunk man spoke to me, but I remembered Mr. Higuchi’s warning not to let my guard down around shady people on the street, so I bobbed my head quickly and hurried past. Out of the blue, a big apple fell onto the stones in front of me. I instinctively looked for an apple tree, but it’d be weird for one to be growing in the middle of Ponto-cho. First of all, it wasn’t an apple. I stared back at the pouting Daruma doll—a round, red Japanese doll of a grouchy, bearded man. All right, wise readers. Long time no see. It’s me, the one flustered by an unusual liberation of my lower body in a dimly lit alleyway. Sorry to interrupt. Todou saved me from the brink of getting convicted for exhibiting my bodily obscenities after he’d been kicked out of the bar. He came staggering down the alley, and when I asked for help, he left, saying, “Just a minute,” and came back with an old, faded pair of pants. He’d gotten the secondhand garment from a used bookseller he knew who lived in the Ponto-cho district. Todou had a grim look on his face and seemed liable to hang himself at any moment. He told me to come with him, saying he’d show me a good time because he didn’t care about anything anymore and our meeting must be fate. His desperation made him formidable. I was mildly frightened. In the end, he forced my hand, so I ended up going for drinks with the creepy old man who’d groped the girl’s breasts—although, of course, I didn’t know that yet. We exited the alley, and he brought me to a Ponto-cho bar facing the Kamo River. It was on the second floor of a small building, a real hole-in-the-wall. It had nothing but a bar that was crawling with cats and Daruma dolls for some reason or another. Todou suddenly broke down crying before me and his drink. “Dammit! This sucks, this sucks,” he wailed. “Ahhh, what should I do?” he murmured. But he immediately answered himself: “There’s nothing you can do.” Then he tearfully recounted the same story he’d rambled off to her. Perhaps it was difficult to rein in his anger? He repeatedly cursed some elderly fellow named Rihaku. He said Old Man Rihaku was hounding him for some money he owed. “That dirty nobody!” Todou denounced him loudly but glanced around to make sure no one heard. I figured running into the girl again was a dream within a dream, stuck as I was with this middle-aged stranger. I started to feel like crying myself. Shedding tears for our respective reasons, we made a sad spectacle not unlike that one Eigo Kawashima song. How did it go? “Booze and tears and man and man”? As Todou got drunker, he became more boisterous, which led to him constantly getting on my case like “Don’t hold back!” and “Drink!” I can’t actually tolerate alcohol, so I got predictably wasted. The entire bar rocked as if it had floated out onto the Kamo River. Eventually, Todou’s bookseller friend showed up, and the number of middle-aged dudes suddenly doubled. “Hey, sorry I’m late. My water heater’s broken, so I’m fresh from a dip at the Sakura bathhouse.” The bookseller drained his craft beer, relishing it, before leaning in. “So you’re really going to sell them?” Todou nodded and opened his bundle to line up some shunga. He said he’d decided to sell his precious stash by auctioning it off to the Bedroom Investigation Commission. It was a distressing choice brought on by his current financial troubles. He figured he could manage to earn a little money from this, then make his break from Rihaku. “What’s the Bedroom Investigation Commission?” I ventured. “It’s a club for people who collect articles of amour. You know, things like erotic toys and antiques, smutty films, or shunga like what this guy’s carrying. Stuff like that,” the bookseller explained. “Investigation Commission? It sounds to me like it’s just a bunch of perverts,” I muttered. “How dare you. These things are keepsakes of cultural heritage.” “They’re what I live for,” stated Todou. I don’t actually care. I was too drunk for this, so I went to the window facing the street to get some air and try to sober up a bit. Standing unsteadily, I opened the window and looked down on Ponto-cho’s cobblestones. As I was resting my chin on the cool window frame and breathing deeply, a familiar petite maiden came waltzing down the path below. When I realized it was her, I wanted to call out to stop her, but my voice wouldn’t work. In a panic, I grabbed a Daruma from a corner of the bar counter. I paid no attention when the bartender asked, “What do you think you’re doing?” as I leaned out the window and threw it. She stopped. She picked up the Daruma in front of her and gazed at it curiously. I turned to go to her, but I was so drunk, I couldn’t quite find my footing. The floor was pitching and rolling. And just like that, my stomach did a loop as if I’d dropped off a cliff. “So who’s this guy?” the bookseller asked, pointing at me. I’m not that drunk—she’s right there. If I don’t go to her now, all of this will have been for nothing. I groaned and collapsed onto the dirty floor where the cats were scampering around. And there I was forced to once again make an exit. As I was strolling along hugging the Daruma to my stomach, I saw Mr. Higuchi pop his head out of an alley leading to Kiyamachi. “Hey, this way, over here,” he beckoned. I happily raced over. “Oh, good. I thought I’d lost you.” “What’s with the Daruma?” “I found him.” “That’s a <good> one.” He showed off some English. I proceeded down that narrow alley after him. At our feet, paper lanterns lit the way. Maple trees planted in huge flower pots rested in front of a wooden fence, and a pair of cats crouched beneath their verdant leaves as if trying their best to hide. A round window like the kind you’d expect to find on a submarine was set in a wall decorated with tiles. There was light on the other side. Mr. Higuchi opened the door. Behind the bar, bottles sparkled like a chandelier, while the interior was filled with a whiskey-colored glow. Ladies and gentlemen sat in a row down the long bar, and they all stared at us when we entered. Ohhh, how awful, I thought, feeling terribly inadequate, but when we slipped past the bar, I noticed Ms. Hanuki in a dimly lit hideaway chatting with four attractive middle-aged men. All the men, sitting on red sofas, wore red ties. Ms. Hanuki was as carefree as always and took every opportunity that came her way and turned it into alcohol, so she was already getting along with them famously. “Your son got married? Congratulations.” Cheers. “Is it something to be congratulated for? Dammit.” “Well, well…” Cheers. “I raised him, but now he acts like he raised himself.” “Children grow up even without their parents.” “So you’re saying it wouldn’t have made a difference if I was there or not?” “No, of course I’m not saying that, Mr. President.” Cheers. I quietly asked Mr. Higuchi, “Why is everyone wearing red ties?” “Apparently, it’s someone’s sixtieth birthday.” They were all friends from their university years and made time in their busy schedules to gather in Kyoto for the occasion. Dr. Uchida from Kamigyo Ward said, “We have plenty, so don’t be shy,” and poured me some Akadama Port Wine from its iconic bottle emblazoned with a red circle. “Thank you. I love Akadama Port Wine.” “We got a bunch to go with the whole sixtieth birthday theme, you know, symbolizing a new start, rebirth, and a time for reflection on life, but…we actually can’t drink that much, so we have a lot left over.” “Boy, life sure goes by fast.” “Don’t even go there. You’ll ruin the mood.” “This fellow’s always been more philosophical than political.” “It’s a bit late to talk like such a young man. Are you regressing?” “It’s our sixtieth birthday, after all.” “Oh, is that what turning sixty is all about?” “In other words, it’s time for us to relive our youth.” “It’s a perpetual cycle.” “But no actual youth, just the angst? That’s just hell, isn’t it?” “It’s only because it’s nighttime.” “What is?” “You’re only thinking such dark thoughts because it’s nighttime.” “I think about this stuff even during the day.” “That’s no good. A dangerous sign.” “Your children have grown up fine, haven’t they? That means all is well.” “Their lives are their own. They have nothing to do with me.” “What an absurd thing for a parent to say.” “I’m shocked.” “I’m turning sixty, and I still don’t know: What is life?” “What’s the purpose of life?” “Give birth and multiply.” “Don’t be an idiot.” “What’s the use of debating now? We’ll die partway through.” “I’m scared to die.” “I thought it would be less scary as I got older, but it only scares me more.” “Oh? That’s not how it works for me.” “You’ve always been like that.” “It’s strange if you think about it, isn’t it? Before being given life in this world, we were dust. Then once we die, we return to dust. We’re dust for a much longer period of time than we’re human. Which actually means it’s normal to be dead, and being alive is a brief exception. Why are we so afraid of death?” Our corner of the bar grew quiet and seemed to be sinking like a luxury ocean liner. “Well, it’ll all be fine if we drink,” said Dr. Uchida. The men lost themselves in their own thoughts and sipped their Akadama Port Wine. Ms. Hanuki had dozed off, but this was the moment she opened her eyes and broke the silence. “So much of this boring talk and nothing else! C’mon, Higuchi, entertain us!” He stood up from the sofa and firmly planted his feet. Taking a cigar out of the breast pocket of his yukata, he frowned in concentration, then began puffing up a storm. Thick purple smoke filled the air and wafted out of our corner to lap at the bar under the amber light. The people over there who’d been drinking quietly turned around in confusion. “Now, step right up. Those without anywhere to go, stay a while and have a look. Though I shall humbly perform my unmastered trade, I do not accept any coins, whether thrown or tossed. That said, if you enjoy my show and would like to treat me to food or drink, there would be no reason for me to refuse. Well then, feast your eyes on this.” Amid the billowing smoke, Mr. Higuchi began moving as if busily working an invisible pump with both hands, pretending to inflate a balloon at his feet. Suddenly, the men sat up on the couches. Mr. Higuchi’s body had levitated, bobbing there about a foot off the ground. No matter how you looked at it, he really seemed to be floating. As we gazed up at him with stupefied looks on our faces, he kicked against the wall and floated all the way to the ceiling. When I threw the Daruma to him, he curled up around it and then spun around next to the big light hanging from the ceiling. He blew smoke into the lamp. In a pose like a great reclining Buddha, he glided toward the bar. The other customers looked up, stunned at the yukata-clad man floating over their heads. Ms. Hanuki started clapping her hands, and before long, we were all doing the same. Soon, it became a thunderous round of applause. Mr. Higuchi did a flip turn off the opposite wall like a swimmer, launching himself back our way before alighting and giving a polite bow. “Wow, you’re fantastic.” Mr. Akagawa, the president of a dye company, sighed. He was the one with the son who just got married. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. What are you, a magician?” “I’m a tengu goblin.” “A tengu? Amazing.” The president burst out laughing. “I hope you’ll come perform at one of my dinner parties.” “Here, have a drink.” Dr. Uchida picked up a bottle of Akadama Port Wine, but it was empty. He grabbed the bottle next to that, but it was empty, too. I felt my cheeks getting hot, not because of the alcohol but because of embarrassment. Shamelets, shamelets. “Did you drink all of this?” Dr. Uchida asked, taken back. “Are you all right?” “Looks like we have another goblin with us.” The party grew merry again. With spirits high as kites, the president and Dr. Uchida raised their hands, put their respective palms together, and did a wriggling dance. It was unmistakably the Sophism Samba. These were old Sophistry Debate Club members, and it was they who had invented the Sophism Samba. In their youth, back when they used to confound anyone who dared listen to their slippery, specious half logic, a great deal of curses were hurled their way, but the one that stood out the most was “those eel bastards.” They took a liking to it and proclaimed to all the world, “We are compelled to employ sophistry like the slimy, slippery eel.” They wove the practice of dancing like eels into the club’s mission statement at every single party they held and forced unwilling younger members to join in. That’d continued for thirty years to the point that current members said things like “By the way, which idiot came up with this dance?” Turns out that once, back in the day, a comrade was leaving to study abroad, so they went with him to the airport and saw him off with the Sophism Samba. “But he died overseas,” said the president. “Ahhh, those were the days!” We were all getting along so well that we Sophism Sambaed our way out of that bar and walked Ponto-cho as if we were conducting a night raid. The president seemed to know a lot of people. No matter where we went, everyone knew who he was. No matter which bar we meandered into, he had an acquaintance soon laughing “Bwa-ha-ah-ha!” and frothing beer at the mouth. It was now the middle of the night in Ponto-cho, so things were much quieter. Only our group remained lively as ever, weaving our way through the peaceful silence. I’d said I wanted to try faux electric brandy, so the president kept repeating, “Are you here, Rihaku?” hunting for him at every bar we visited, which brought to my mind the image of the mythical namahage looking for naughty children to admonish. There was a bar crawling with cats and Daruma dolls, a café managed by twin brothers, an elegant jazz bar, a pub like an underground jail… Drinks appeared one after the other. Door after door, drink after drink. It was a dizzying journey, but as long as I could savor delicious liquor, I knew I’d enjoy myself to the utmost no matter what happened. “You sure toss ’em back. You’re bottomless,” remarked the president. “What’s your limit?” I proudly puffed out my chest. “It’s however much alcohol is available.” “That’s the spirit. You should have a drinking contest with Rihaku. Then you can drink as much faux electric brandy as you like,” he pointed out. “I’d bet my money on you.” Everywhere we went, he asked about Mr. Rihaku, but no one had seen him all night. Most people seemed to think he was holed up in the vehicle he called his home, reveling in his used books, or out in the streets stealing the pants off drunkards. “You want to challenge him to a drinking contest? Don’t you ever learn, Akagawa? You can’t beat him.” “No, she’s the one who’ll drink. I’ve discovered a talent that comes only once in a hundred years.” “Whoa, whoa, don’t be ridiculous.” “Don’t judge people by their appearances.” We were having a tough time finding Mr. Rihaku, but we did end up running into the current members of the Sophistry Debate Club, which was great. They were doing that strange Sophism Samba in a corner of the jail-themed cellar pub, so there was no mistaking them. The older and younger members were all incredibly moved to meet one another across the thirty-year gap. They danced like crazy and got along so well they threw their arms over one another’s shoulders and broke into the nonsensical “Song of Sophistry.” The men with the red ties fired a concentrated barrage of encouragement at Kosaka, the one headed to the UK: “Be a proud son of Japan,” “Study hard,” “Sleep four hours and pass; sleep five and fail,” “Don’t die!” Overwhelmed, Kosaka blinked furiously and said, “I’ll do my best.” It seemed he hadn’t given up his feelings yet, and whenever there was a free moment, he could be heard murmuring, “Naoko, Naoko.” We ended up taking them all with us. Ms. Hanuki had sunken into an abyss of silence after surrendering to her intoxication and was now being carried on Mr. Higuchi’s back. She was promptly dubbed a “sleeping lion” by the group. But as soon as she opened her eyes, she shouted, “What’s yours is mine!” and began indiscriminately drinking other people’s beers. Then she screamed, “Ponto-cho rocks!” and licked my cheek. Once our lion had awakened, we had no way to tame her. Meanwhile, Mr. Higuchi dragged out whole koi streamers from his mouth, flew out the window into the night sky, pulled distastefully golden lucky cats out of his ears, and generally put his outstanding tengu skills on display and basked in the resulting applause everywhere we went. The koi streamers went on to float down the streets of the Ponto-cho area, so they must have startled people out making the most of their night. The golden lucky cats gave birth to ever smaller lucky cats, like matryoshka, and when the bartender was furious that his establishment was crammed full of lucky cats of every size, Mr. Higuchi escaped by floating up to the ceiling and grinning where no one could catch him. He was less “tengu-esque” than simply “a tengu,” the long-nosed, winged creature of legend. As for myself, I sat in a corner of the party drinking and hoping we’d encounter Mr. Rihaku and faux electric brandy. Bringing such energy from bar to bar, we were like an extremely strange circus troupe wandering the night or perhaps holding our own Gion Festival. Soon we reached the northern edge of Ponto-cho by the Kaburenjo Theater and ran straight into a group coming out of a café that was closing for the night. And I’ll be damned. If it wasn’t the after-after-after-(etc.)-party of the wedding reception. It was certainly the bride and groom who’d overawed everyone with their passion, unafraid of the gods and practically glued to each other. Seeing our boisterous crowd heading toward them, their group seemed to brace itself. “Naoko.” Kosaka stopped dead in his tracks, and the Sophistry Debate Club members raised up a cry. “Oh, Yasuo!” The president sniffed, and the former members of the Sophistry Debate Club all murmured in surprise. Encounters on the streets of the night: a student headed west and the woman he pines for, who is already someone’s wife; a father who is now sixty and his son who just got married. An uncanny solemnity enveloped the area, and as everyone was surely racking their intoxicated brains to come up with ways to break this bizarre silence, several scraps of old paper fluttered down out of the sky. Ms. Hanuki picked one up and sighed. “Ooh, I know what this is.” The sixty-year-olds and the Sophistry Debate Club members also gathered a few papers and examined them curiously. I grabbed one, and it turned out to be part of one of those erotic shunga prints with a man and woman entwined in the most outlandish way. And along with these papers, a piercing scream rained down on us. “It’s the end for meee!” We all looked up. To the west was a café; to the east was a splendid restaurant. On the third story, with a leg up on the railing, Mr. Todou was leaning out over the street like a Kabuki actor. With the drama of Ishikawa Goemon, he glared down at late-night Ponto-cho, ripped up his treasured shunga with a furious grimace, reached as far out into the air as his arms would allow, and scattered the bits and pieces as if he were driving off evil spirits. With each fistful, he let loose a pitiful “Damn it all!” A great number of men’s and women’s figures went flying into the sliver of night sky between the eaves, raining down one after the other onto the cobblestones, dancing in the narrow alley, then eventually blowing away somewhere. To me, it seemed as if his soul were riding the wind away. “What a beautiful scene,” Mr. Higuchi murmured, flabbergasted. There were other people up on the third floor of the restaurant. I could hear voices attempting to calm his disturbed mind, but he shouted threats like “If you come anywhere near me, I’ll jump headfirst!” and “I’ll kill myself!” Mr. Todou was crying. I shouted, “Mr. Todou!” and the one who murmured after me was the bride: “Father.” Wise readers, hope you are well. In the wee hours, I was in the corner of a traditional Kyoto cuisine restaurant called Chitoseya sulking like a sad piece of over-grilled mochi. I didn’t get to meet the girl. The bookseller who joined us was a nasty drunk, so I was having a terrible time, and I missed my opportunity to leave—I was stuck indefinitely sharing their fate. After several savage parties, we arrived at the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s irregular auction. Though it was after midnight, the young restaurant proprietor was a member of the commission and accepted Todou’s outrageous request. It seems people with strange tastes don’t listen to reason. Todou looked at the many shunga prints lined up before him with his mouth twisted into a frown. The sliding-door room dividers were all open, and the large space felt empty. Here and there, trays with teapots and cups all rested on the floor alongside cushions that resembled purple sweet buns. A glance out the window facing the Kamo River revealed the dark water and the lights of the area around Keihan Sanjo Station. After a while, shopkeepers, bankers, and more—of both sexes—entered the tatami room with sleepy faces. Apparently, there was even a barber who rode his bike down from the Kyoto U area. These commission members sat in small groups to have a smoke, sip their tea, and not speak much more than necessary. The bookseller called the meeting of the Bedroom Investigation Commission into session. Just as Todou’s collection of the night was about to disappear into the pockets of these people with their peculiar predilections, everyone’s phones started going off. They were all excited by the rumor going around. “Hey, Old Man Rihaku’s going to have a drinking contest!” the barber shouted. The rumor said some monster was prowling the area, ready to challenge Rihaku to a once-in-a-lifetime battle. It was said to be a giant, well over six feet, dressed in a ratty old yukata garment—a nonobservant monk known as the “sleeping lion,” a great man who spit out a never-ending torrent of koi streamers. Supposedly, he came all the way from Oshu to defeat Old Man Rihaku. He sounded less like a great man and more like a mythical monster to me. The commission members started chatting. “It’s been quite a while since Rihaku’s last drinking contest.” “I haven’t seen him tonight, though.” “I wonder where they’ll do it.” “I kind of want to go watch.” This commotion had nothing to do with Todou’s collection and filled the room. He’d been sitting quietly enduring the agony of Ah, I hate this. I can’t stand the idea of surrendering my beloved stash to this rabble so simply, but as the tension in the room dissipated, he snapped. The separation from his wife and child, his debt to Rihaku, his lost koi fish, his collection that was about to shrink… His feelings about everything pressed in on him, and he must have been fed up with the idea of going through with his plan. I don’t care about anything anymore. Rather than suffer the insult of selling my precious treasures, I should just do away with them by my own hand before I do away with myself. Maybe that’s what he had decided. Todou raced to the window facing the road with a handful of shunga prints, put a foot up on the railing, and leaned over. “I’m not selling these to anyone!” he shouted. Then he began ripping up the pictures. Everyone in the room was shocked. This idiot had summoned everyone in the middle of the night, and now what was he doing? The Bedroom Investigation Commission members rose to try to pin Todou down, but once he screamed, “If you come anywhere near me, I’ll jump headfirst!” their hands were tied. No one could stop the invaluable pieces of cultural heritage from being ripped to shreds. I was lounging around, languidly sipping some tea as I watched this whole affair, but when I heard her voice from the street below, I jumped up. “Mr. Todou!” she’d screamed. “Mr. Todou, weren’t you searching for your next step in life?” I shouted up at the railing. “You mustn’t give up!” “Do you really mean that?” He stared intensely down at me. “I’m the man who just threw shunga everywhere, the man who groped your breasts.” “But you shared such a wonderful perspective on life with me.” “Philosophizing about life is merely a way to pass the time.” Mr. Todou gritted his teeth and ripped more prints. “Will musing about life get me out of this dead end?” “Didn’t you say you would do anything for your daughter’s happiness?” “Father, calm down!” “Huh? What are you doing here?” He finally realized his daughter was present. “Dammit, dammit.” He grew angry again and ripped his erotic treasures. “What horrific shame! And in front of my daughter!” “Father, I’m not worried about that! I don’t care if you’re a pervy old man!” “It’s no good. I’ve had enough.” As this delicate exchange was going on, Mr. Higuchi was observing in his usual detached fashion, when he suddenly turned around and said, “Oh, Old Man Rihaku is coming.” I turned to look and gasped. Something like a tall train radiating bright lights was heading our way from the southern part of dark, narrow Ponto-cho. It was an eccentric triple-decker vehicle like Eizan Railway cars stacked on top of each other, and I could see a bamboo grove growing thickly on top. Lamps hanging from each corner of the frame illuminated the deep-red body. Streamers of all colors, including those of little koi, and a big bathhouse curtain hung like the flags of the world along its sides. The many windows were all filled with a glow as if they were coming from a comfy living room, and a small but splendid chandelier swayed as the vehicle proceeded. Through the first-floor windows, I could see shelves crammed with books and ukiyo-e hanging from the ceiling. For a second, I forgot all about Mr. Todou and was mesmerized by the magic box that drove back the dark night. The people had all gone, but the train brightened that corner of dark Ponto-cho as if it were a festival. At the same time, it was frightfully quiet. As the train soundlessly approached, I noticed an enamel sign fixed to the front of it. In big, bold cursive it read RIHAKU. When the crowd in the street started murmuring, “It’s Rihaku,” “Rihaku’s coming,” Mr. Todou up on Chitoseya’s railing stuck his neck out. “What?! Rihaku?” The people gathered on the third floor took that opportunity to jump him and hold him down. As Mr. Todou flailed to free himself, he scattered the remaining shunga prints. “I don’t have any money to give him! I’m doomed! Rihaku will tear me apart!” he screamed. “Just let me die and be done with it all!” I reached into the air and caught pieces of Mr. Todou’s happiness as they fluttered down from the railing. The lamps from the triple-decker train cast orangey light on the indecent figure of a bewitching woman and her heavily accessorized hair. There must be some reason we met this night. As the decked-out triple-stacked train approached without a sound, I stood and puffed out my chest as if to ward it off. I looked sharply up at Mr. Todou. “Mr. Todou, I’m going to have a drinking contest with Mr. Rihaku, and I’m going to bet your debt,” I shouted. “I’m sure I’ll win.” We went up to the third floor of the traditional Kyoto cuisine restaurant Chitoseya. In the large tatami room, a pile of people restrained the still-resisting Mr. Todou. At the same time, Mr. Rihaku’s triple-decker train quietly parked next to Chitoseya. From just beyond the railing, a bright light streamed in—because a single lamp twinkled on the train’s garden roof. The room fell silent. No one tried to board Mr. Rihaku’s train. But I needed to meet him. I made up my mind to go ahead of everyone else, crossed the railing, and climbed aboard. Others wordlessly followed. The roof of the train was covered in swaying grass. An old pond brimming with water and with algae floating on top was surrounded by a thick bamboo grove. “Oh, a firefly,” someone said, pointing, and when I looked, sure enough, there was a little firefly winking cutely at us from the shade of some bamboo leaves dangling over the water. A lantern hung in the grove as if inviting us in. Deeper inside was a sooty brick chimney and a spiral staircase leading down. When we descended, we found ourselves in a small room with a traditional earthen floor, the kind born from a harmony of soil, lime, and bittern. Steam came pouring out as soon as we opened the clouded glass sliding door. There was an attendant’s booth that gave off the feeling of a watchtower, and wooden lockers with brass keys took up the wall space. Baskets for clothes were lined up on top of the drainboards over the floor. “There’s a bath in the back here,” explained Mr. Higuchi. “The banquet hall is downstairs.” When we moved in a herd down another spiral staircase, we came out into a long room. It had thick red carpeting as well as a scattering of round tables and sofas that gleamed expensively. The tables were already set with refreshments and drinking vessels. In the back of the room, a grandfather clock stood swinging its silver pendulum, and next to it, a phonograph played some scratchy tunes. Just as I glanced past a celadon vase large enough for me to fit in, I noticed a statue of a mythical raccoon dog holding a gourd and a globe so big, it could be used for the giant ball–rolling event on field day. Masks of the contorted face of a female demon, a fox, and a crow-faced tengu goblin, along with a brocade woodblock print of koi fish climbing a waterfall and an oil painting of a creepy shrimp, were crowded willy-nilly along the wood-plank walls. Directly beneath the chandelier illuminating that odd collection was a happy-looking round-faced old man who was snug in a chair as soft as a marshmallow. He smiled as he smoked his hookah, making bubbling sounds. “Everyone, good day to you.” He removed his lips from the pipe and spoke in a cheerful tone. “The one who wants to challenge me is that young lady?” The party was now beginning, combining a wedding reception, the free-booze crew, a big send-off, and a sixtieth birthday celebration. It was arranged that I would sit face-to-face with Mr. Rihaku, across from each other’s drinking cups. A big silver bottle and two silver cups were on the round table. The contest was exceedingly simple. Mr. Rihaku and I would each drink a cup, and to prove it was empty, we would tip it upside down before the other’s eyes. Then the next cup would be poured. Once one of us announced we couldn’t drink anymore, or got too drunk to hold their cup, or Dr. Uchida judged one of us to be in danger, the contest would be decided. The faux electric brandy poured into our cups was clear as pure water but also had a faintly orange tint to it. I picked up my cup and gently inhaled the scent. At that moment, I hallucinated a huge flower blooming before my eyes. The president, Mr. Todou, and Mr. Higuchi bunched up next to me. “She’ll drink while wagering all your debts, is that right? But if she loses, I’ll double what you owe. There’ll be no mercy from me.” The three men nodded heavily in response to Mr. Rihaku’s terms. Just then, the grandfather clock in the back of the room announced it was three in the morning. “Very well, please begin,” said Dr. Uchida, ordered to be the designated witness. How should I describe the first time I tasted faux electric brandy? It wasn’t sweet or dry. It wasn’t, as I imagined, a drink that zapped your tongue. Perhaps I should say it was a tasteless drink with a robust fragrance. I’d thought smell and taste were the same at their root, but that wasn’t the case for this drink. Every sip I took made a flower bloom and, without leaving behind any unnecessary flavor, slipped down into my stomach, where it became a tiny mote of warmth. It was honestly so charming, as if my insides were turning into a field of flowers. As I drank, I became happy from the pit of my stomach out. I think that was why, even though we were dueling, Mr. Rihaku and I smiled at each other. Ahhh, this is great. This is so great. I wish I could drink like this forever. That was how I enjoyed partaking in the faux electric brandy. Before long, the noises of the people around us faded into the background, and I felt, mysteriously, as if it were only Mr. Rihaku and I drinking together in a quiet room. If you’ll forgive some hyperbole, the flavor of faux electric brandy warmed my entire life from the bottom up. One cup, two cups, three cups. Absorbed in drinking to the point that I forgot about time’s passing, I started to suddenly feel safe and sound, as if Mr. Rihaku were my grandfather, even though we hadn’t been talking at all. But it felt as if he was chatting with me without words. “Living itself is enough.” I had the feeling he said that to me. “All I need is to drink—one cup, then another, and then another.” “Are you happy, Mr. Rihaku?” “Of course.” “I’m very glad to hear that.” He smiled contentedly and whispered, “The night is short—walk on, girl.” As I poured more faux electric brandy into my stomach, I was having the time of my life. It was delicious. I could drink it forever. And though I wished this drinking contest would never end, the next thing I knew, Mr. Rihaku had stopped moving. His cup was on the table, his wrinkled palm placed over the top of it. “I can’t drink anymore,” he said. “Hey, you, let’s leave it at that.” Suddenly, the buzz of reality surrounding me returned. The party closed in tight around Mr. Rihaku and me. The president clapped me on the shoulder; Mr. Higuchi simply smiled with his hand on his chest. And the most critical person of them all, Mr. Todou, sat on the carpet with a face like crumpled straw paper. Even after the drinking contest, the strange party continued. Faux electric brandy was served, and everyone smelled wonderful. The amicable yet somewhat bashful atmosphere mellowed out the whole room. Mr. Todou and the president sat on a sofa smoking burbling hookahs, while the other men in red ties and Kosaka congratulated the bride and groom. A crowd of people gathered in front of the pictures and other weird items hanging on the wall to debate how much they were worth. Some people went upstairs to take a bath. Ms. Hanuki had thrown herself on a sofa and was drinking coffee with Mr. Rihaku. Mr. Higuchi spun the huge globe and grabbed the nearest person to deliver a loud speech. “Why did we all meet up tonight in the first place?” I heard someone ask. It was interesting to have unsteady feet for the first time in my life, and I wandered the banquet hall doing my signature bipedal robot dance until my buzzed mind thought it would be fun to go up to the roof. I must have been wobbling precariously on the spiral staircase, because Mr. Todou raced over and announced he’d go with me. “Are you going up to the roof to catch fireflies?” he asked. We climbed the stairs and ended up next to the old pond. As we were hunting for fireflies in the bamboo, an icy wind blew, rippling the surface of the pond. The faux electric brandy’s stupor had been wrapped around my head but hopped aboard that chilly gust and scattered into the night. “I’ve never had a night as weird as this one,” said Mr. Todou. “Yes, you really can’t tell what will happen next.” “If only my koi would come back, too— Nah, I know that’s asking too much.” But he called each of his beloved fish by name. “Yuuko! Jirokichi! Teijiro!” That’s when it happened. As if responding to his plea, the water in the pond made a huge splash. It seemed as though something had fallen in. We backed away. “Is it a meteorite?” he asked. With no regard for us, we watched in shock as meteorite-esque things fell one after the other, sending the pond water flying. From beyond the night sky, objects came raining down, gleaming red, white, black, gold. Their colors were momentarily caught in the lamplight and reflected on the surface of the pond, before splashing water everywhere. Mr. Todou and I gaped up at the sky. Faint clouds that reminded me of pulled cotton floated in the deep blue. Scattered among them were a handful of gold specks. At first, they seemed like a flock of birds flying away, but before I could take another breath, I realized they were coming toward us. It was a flock of koi fish. The group of flip-flapping koi fish glimmered like gold in the city lights. I felt as if I could see every individual fin and scale. The moment Mr. Todou wrapped around me to shield my body, the koi fish fell all at once into the pond. The bamboo grass surrounding the pond rustled as if it were caught in a squall. The spray of water made the whole area hazy. The whole time the fish were raining down, Mr. Rihaku’s triple-decker train rocked ker-clack, ker-clack as if it were running down train tracks. Once the mist settled, Mr. Todou peered into the pond. “Woo-haa! Is this even possible?! It can’t be!” He shook his fist at the sky as if he was angry. “Don’t screw with me!” “What is it?” “These are my koi. It just rained my koi.” Then he took me in his arms and, of all things, tried to kiss me. How shameless. I thought I should be faithful to the words of my elder sister I respect so much. Which was why I threw a friendly punch full of love and knocked Mr. Todou into the pond. It’s me, the guy who doesn’t know when to give up. I followed her onto Rihaku’s train, but I couldn’t get anywhere near her during that frightful one-on-one showdown, and in the meanwhile, I ran into that nasty-drunk bookseller, who immediately forced me to drink. While I was embroiled in that unpleasant drunkenness, I realized that Rihaku was the one who stole my pants and that Higuchi was wearing them, but I didn’t have the energy to confront either of them about it. When she won the contest, I thought to go say hello, but I felt so incredibly nauseated that I escaped upstairs to the roof. Hiding in the shade of the bamboo trees, I tried to throw up everything that was making my chest tight while watching the fireflies by the pond. That was when the girl and Todou came up the stairs and began their search for those same fireflies on the opposite side of the pond. He was talking her ear off about how much he had loved his koi fish that had flown off and been scattered to the winds, but who would believe that a tornado could do that? The girl’s a saint, so she listened with tears in her eyes, but it would be best if he didn’t get any ideas because of it. She was right there in front of me. If I didn’t say something to her then, I wouldn’t have another chance. I rinsed out my mouth with pond water and made a move toward the girl I longed for. I stumbled out of the grove and looked up at the night sky just as I inhaled. By the time I noticed something strange was coming toward us, it was too late. Whatever it was, it sparkled a beautiful color in the lamplight as if dusted with gold, and the next moment, I received a heavy blow to the head, flipping me over backward. The vertigo made it hard to tell up from down, but nevertheless, I managed to groan, “This side up” as I crawled back into the bamboo. Someone should praise me. Eventually, the glittering pack of koi fish rained into the pond, splashing water everywhere. Poor me. I got soaking wet, but still I refused to give up. When Todou shouted “It just rained my koi” and threw his arms around her, not only was I livid, but I trembled with a sense of mission. At the end of this long, futile journey here—finally, I found my chance. If I saved her from Todou’s clutches, emphasizing my usefulness, I would get to talk with her on familiar terms. This was a once-in-a-million-years chance. All the good deeds I had no memory of committing must have added up to something. I clenched my fist, but that iron ball was soon worse than useless—because she calmly knocked Todou into the pond with her own. Realizing the gods were plotting for me to appear inept, I lay on my back next to the pond and prepared to spit at the heavens when suddenly she was peering into my face. Her short, neatly trimmed black hair hung down just a little, shining in the lamplight. Maybe in part due to the faux electric brandy, her beautiful eyes were gleaming moistly as she stared at me. “Are you all right?” she asked. I groaned in the affirmative. “There’s a doctor downstairs—I’ll call him. Don’t overexert yourself.” I noticed she was making her fist in a peculiar way. When I tried it out for myself, her face softened into a smile. It was a smile bestowed upon me by the gods of the night and faux electric brandy. It contained truth, goodness, and beauty. “This is the friendly punch.” The last thing I saw before I blacked out drunk was her little fist like a soft rice cake. Unable to secure the lead role and having to make do as a pebble by the wayside, my record of distress ends here. I swallow back my tears as I say this: Farewell, wise readers. The fellow was a member of the same club, though a few years my senior, and took a koi fish right to the head, knocking him down. He was carried to Mr. Rihaku’s study, where Dr. Uchida examined him. The fact that we were in the same club and yet I didn’t know his name struck me as a moral failing on my part. I didn’t get much time to talk to him, but I thought to myself that I’d like to chat the next time I saw him, learn his name, and share memories of this spirited night. After making sure he would be all right, I crept off the train and stood on the chilly stone pavement of Ponto-cho. The sky was still dark, but I could faintly sense dawn. A maiden’s modesty demands she be in bed before sunrise. Mr. Rihaku’s triple-decker train blocked the street, shining like a magic box. The others must have been enjoying the gleeful end of the party. Mr. Todou was surely up on the roof surrounded by his beloved koi, smiling. Suddenly, I noticed Mr. Rihaku watching me from a window on the second floor of his train. When I bowed, he raised his silver cup in cheers. As if that were a signal, the triple-decker train silently began to move. I watched the bright lights until they disappeared to the south. Then the area was dark, and I was all alone. I set off walking down Ponto-cho’s dimly lit stone pavement. At the time, I couldn’t remember why I’d embarked on such a voyage into the night. That’s pretty funteresting in and of itself, and I learned so many things. Or maybe I just felt as if I’d learned things. But none of that matters. In any case, I would continue on like a little chickpea and look toward living a beautiful, harmonious life. I gazed proudly up at the sky and remembered something Mr. Rihaku had said while we were drinking together. It made me feel so cheerful, I felt I wanted to recite it like a spell to protect me. I murmured it to myself.