At the early hour of seven, I headed out to the convenience store to pick up a few necessities. On the way back to my lodgings, plastic bag dangling from one arm, feet trudging up the slope, I pondered the events of the previous night.
My three compatriots were still in the room, along with all their oppressive intensity. I knew the festering musk of man must hang heavy beyond my door. Did I really want to return to that awful atmosphere after breathing the crisp morning air? The prospect weighed on my heart.
I am well aware that I, too, exude a similar odor. But the fact remains that the musk of another is not one’s own.
For a moment, I was seized with the impulse to flee. I’d run up Mount Daimonji and continue all the way down the other side until I hit Lake Biwa. But in the end, I reconsidered. I’d kick the three of them out so I could catch a nap. I headed back through the entrance of my building fully intending to follow through.
Hazy morning light filled the hallway. I opened the door to my room, and a thick male odor oozed out, more pungent than I’d imagined. It seemed to manifest physically. I could feel long, slimy filaments clinging to me from head to toe.
The blinds were drawn and the interior dim. My nose picked out another strange scent, and I recalled that Takayabu had been “cooking” squid snacks with his lighter again.
On the tatami, I saw my three compatriots lying like prisoners in a tiny cell, their sleeping faces painful to behold. Their limbs and belongings were splayed such that I had difficulty plotting a safe route to the far side of the room.
Ultimately, I cut my way boldly across, caring not whether I disturbed the heap of corpses. I opened the blinds. Light poured in, restoring a moderately healthy ambience to the room. I’d left the door ajar and now threw open the window, too. A rush of fresh morning air whipped through the stagnant interior. Shikama groaned in protest.
“Good gods, it’s cold.”
He was right. But my response was colder yet.
“Time to get up.”
I pulled the lid from my electric kettle and filled it from the sink.
“Good morning,” Ido answered apologetically, rising from sleep just enough to kneel in seiza on the floor.
“Is Takayabu awake yet?”
“Are you kidding?” Shikama replied, voice still heavy with sleep. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that to rouse the slumbering giant.”
I looked over at Takayabu. In the course of a single night, his beard had doubled in volume. Asleep, the man had the appearance of… I wasn’t even sure how to put it. He was bushier than ever. Beyond unkempt. A night on the floor had turned him into something out of the Cthulhu mythos. His massive, shaggy nostrils were swirling vortexes aimed at the heavens. I worried that even a peek into the abyss would be enough to suck me in.
After a moment’s thought, I pulled out a packet of cotton swabs from my recent shopping excursion. I took one swab from the packet and gently lowered it into the void.
Takayabu coughed and sputtered. My nasal expedition was a rousing success.
“Geez. It’s morning?” asked Takayabu.
“More like afternoon,” I replied.
“It’s morning already?” he repeated drowsily.
In the time it took Takayabu to respond to my most pleasant wake-up call, Shikama and Ido had begun crawling about, gathering up their belongings. Shikama was now busy washing the hot pot in the sink—it had come from his apartment to accommodate the previous night’s party.
“I can’t stand morning sluggishness,” he said. “I should have headed home before sunup like I’d intended. It just feels so…pitiful to wake up together after a night of drinking. Why is that?”
“It’s not just after a night of drinking,” I mumbled, pulling back the lid of a foam cup of ramen noodles. “Our whole lives are pitiful.”
Ido groaned. “My whole body aches. Everything from my tailbone to my pubis!”
His joints audibly popped and cracked as he moved.
I supposed he had a point. Lying on a cramped tatami floor with nothing but a draped jacket to keep warm was bound to leave one feeling stiff in the morning. Still, I highly doubted there was any reason for his pubis to ache.
Takayabu eyed my hands blearily. “Oh, man, that looks so good… Why didn’t you get me one?”
I ignored him, poured the now-boiling water into my cup, and replaced the lid.
“Agh, the inside of my ear won’t stop itching,” I said, scratching the canal with one of the cotton swabs.
“Please promise you’ll never wake me up like that again. It was the worst,” whined Takayabu.
“If it works, it works,” I replied. “Are you heading to your lab today?”
“Nah, forget that. I’m going back to my apartment to sleep.”
A great lion’s yawn escaped his maw.
I turned to Ido. “What about you?”
“I’m going home, too. I can’t stand being at my lab.”
The statement was simultaneously polite and dismissive. From what I’d gathered, Ido’s research projects were not going well, and he didn’t get along with his professor, so he’d all but stopped showing up.
Takayabu perked up, suddenly alert. “Oh, hey! It’s time for Kamen Rider!”
He switched on the TV.
✦ ✦ ✦
It was the final days of the shogun, during the short-lived Keio Era. In Shimonoseki, Shinsaku Takasugi’s days as a revolutionary were over. He was enduring a slow, painful death by consumption as he murmured his famous verse about killing all the crows in the universe in order to enjoy a long, leisurely sleep to midmorning—a sentiment I wholly endorse. In Kyoto, the Shinsengumi were strutting down Shijo Street, and Ryoma Sakamoto was restlessly wandering the back alleys, his clothes tattered, one hand clutching a Chinese translation of Wheaton’s Elements of International Law. The nation was days away from learning that the shogun intended to cede his authority to the emperor in a desperate attempt to secure his own future. Wherever one went, people were dropping fat stacks of cash, freshly severed heads, and sixteen-year-old beauties. The Eejanaika Uprising was just getting underway.
The movement spread out gradually from Kyoto, its adherents endlessly proclaiming “Eejanaika,” which roughly equates to a flippant “Why the hell not?”
Eejanaika! Eejanaika! Slap some paper over that slit!
Eejanaika! Eejanaika! If it rips, give it a little spit!
Eejanaika! Eejanaika!
They beat their taiko drums, danced in ecstasy, and paraded all over town in absolute mayhem. It was exhilarating. You couldn’t begin to wrap your head around it. Whenever the ecstatic dancers happened across a lavish manor, they barged their way in, bounced off the walls, and dangled from the chandeliers. Every fine object they laid eyes on, they shouted to the owner, “How ’bout it? Can I have it? Eejanaika! Eejanaika!” And the owner had no choice but to respond, “Sure! Take it! Eejanaika! Eejanaika!” Once the crowd had pilfered everything it could carry, it headed off down the street to the next wealthy home.
Can you imagine anything more electrifying?
There’s a fair bit of history preceding the uprising, and multiple theories exist about how exactly it grew so large. It might have involved anti-shogun elements conspiring to foment unrest behind the scenes. It might have linked back to the tradition of unsanctioned mass pilgrimages to the Ise Grand Shrine. But I’m afraid that any further details are a bit beyond my grasp. You are most welcome to read up on the subject yourselves, dear readers. If you do, I’d recommend first locating a trustworthy academic tome.
But no matter how closely you scrutinize the pages of that solid volume, poring over every word from top to bottom, you will not find the slightest suggestion that the Eejanaika Uprising was instigated by disillusioned youth fed up with the worldly obsessions of Christmastime couples.
Where in the hell had Shikama stumbled upon Eejanaika, and why was he lifting it as the banner for us to rally under now?
Frankly, certain elements of the analogy aroused concern—namely, the talk of frenzied masses dancing their way into the homes of the wealthy to pillage their belongings. Shikama wasn’t hoping to use whatever turmoil we stirred up for his own nefarious ends, was he? I pictured him slinking up behind some terrified couple on Shijo Street, grabbing the girl and lifting her above his head, proclaiming “How ’bout it? Can I have her? Eejanaika! Eejanaika!” and darting off into the night with his prize.
I desperately wanted to believe that if there was anyone in the world above that kind of behavior, it was Shikama. At the same time, I feared that my friend might be the only person in the world capable of devising such a plan.
Shikama, I prayed, I’m begging you: Please remain a gentleman!