Kusamakura

“There’s a pretty daughter there too, isn’t there?â€

“You wanna watch out for her.â€

“Why so?â€

“Why? Wel , I shouldn’t be tel in’ tales, but she’s back from a failed marriage, she is.â€

“Is that so?â€

“‘That’s so’ to say the least of it! There weren’t no cause for her to come back home real y. She left because the bank went bust and they had to watch their pennies—no sense of duty. Al very wel while the old gentleman’s stil on his pins, but when worse comes to worst, wel , it’l be a bad state of affairs.â€

“Wil it then?â€

“’Course it wil . There’s bad blood with the older brother in the main house.â€

“There’s a main house, is there?â€

“Main house is up on the hil . Go take a look. Great view up there.â€

“Hey, a bit more soap there, please. It’s hurting again.â€

“These whiskers of yours do a lot of hurtin’, I must say. Too tough, that’s their problem. You need to put the razor to these at least once every three days, sir. If you think my shavin’ hurts, you won’t stand a chance with any other barber.â€

“I’l do that. I could come along every day, if you like.â€

“You plannin’ on spendin’ that long here, are you? Watch out. Better not. No good wil come of it. You let yourself get hooked by that good-for-nothing girl, there’s no tel in’ what wil happen.â€

“Why’s that?â€

“That girl of yours looks good, but she’s a loony.â€

“Why?â€

“Why? Look, the whole vil age says she’s crazy.â€

“There must be some mistake there, surely.â€

“No, no, there’s more than proof enough. Look, best just drop the idea. Too risky.â€

“Don’t you worry about me. So what proof is there?â€

“It’s a weird story. Here, settle down and have a smoke if you like, and I’l tel you. Wash your hair for you?â€

“No, let’s leave it at that.â€

“I’l just get rid of the dandruff, eh?â€

Without further warning, the barber brings ten filthy claws down hard onto my skul and commences to scrape them fiercely back and forth. His nails thrust themselves between every hair on my head, to and fro, with the speed and ferocity of a giant’s rake whirling about over a barren wasteland. I don’t know how many thousands of hairs my head holds, but as his fingers go gouging about, each one of them seems to be being ripped from its roots, and the surface that remains feels as if it’s hatched al over in raised welts. The ferocious energy of those fingers transmits itself down through the skul and rattles my very brains.

“How’s that? Feels pretty good, eh?â€

“You certainly have astonishing powers.â€

“Eh? A fine massage like that gives everyone a lift.â€

“I feel as if my head’s about to fly off.â€

“Feeling limp and feeble, are we? It’s al to do with the weather. Spring sure does make the old body go al floppy, doesn’t it? Ah wel , have a smoke. You’l be feeling bored, al alone there at Shioda’s. Drop over for a chat. We old Tokyoites, we got lots in common the others wouldn’t understand, eh? So that girl comes along and says hel o to you, does she? No sense of right and wrong, that’s the trouble with her.â€

“Weren’t you just going to tel me something about her when suddenly dandruff was flying around and my head almost went with it?â€

“True enough, true enough. Can’t keep a story together in this sil y head of mine. Right, so then that priest fel er gets al funny for her . .

.â€

“What priest is that?â€

“That useless underling of a fel ow at Kankaiji temple.â€

“I haven’t come across any priest in the story yet, underling or otherwise.â€

“That so? Sorry, I’m a bit hasty. Fine figure of a fel er he was, sort of priest who’d be hot for the ladies, bit of you-know-what. Ends up he sends a letter—hey there, hang on a moment. Did he come after her? Nah, it was a letter right enough. And then—there was, um—gone’n gotten a bit muddled here. Ah, right, yes, that’s it. Big surprise, right?â€

“Who got surprised?â€

“She did.â€

“She got a surprise when she received the letter?â€

“Wel , it’d be another matter if she was the modest sort who’d get surprised, wouldn’t it. Dear me, no, not her, nothing’d surprise that one.â€

“So who got surprised, then?â€

“The fel er what came after her.â€

“But you said he didn’t come after her.â€

“Right. Got it around my neck a bit, too impatient. Gets a letter.â€

“So it was the woman, then.â€

“No, no, the man.â€

“You mean the priest.â€

“Sure, the priest.â€

“So why was the priest surprised?â€

“Why? Wel , he’s in the hal saying sutras with the abbot when suddenly in she rushes.†The barber snickers. “She’s a loony right enough.â€

“Did she do something?â€

“‘If you love me so much, let’s make love right here in front of the Buddha,’ says she, just like that, and she throws herself around Taian’s neck.â€

“Good heavens.â€

“Real y shook ’im up, it did. Goes and sends a letter to a loony, and now just look at the shame she’s caused him. So that night away he creeps, and puts an end to ’imself.â€

“He died?â€

“Must’ve. How could he live after a thing like that?â€

“How bizarre.â€

“Darn right. Stil , if the other party’s a loony, you’d be pretty depressed if you’d put an end to yerself, so maybe he’s stil alive, who knows?â€

“It’s a fascinating story.â€

“Fascinating? Why, the whole vil age was laughin’ fit to bust. But as for her, she’s crazy of course, so she just went about calm as you please, didn’t turn a hair. Wel , a fine sensible gentleman like yerself, sir, there’d be no trouble of that sort, but bein’ who she is, you’d only have to tease her a bit, say, and who knows what mightn’t happen.â€

“Perhaps I’l tread a bit careful y, then,†I say with a laugh.

A salty spring breeze wafts up from the warm shore, and the barbershop curtain over the door flaps drowsily. The reflection of a swal ow flashes across the mirror as the slanting shape comes diving in beneath the curtain to its nest under the eaves. An old man of sixty or so is squatting under the eaves of the house across the road, quietly shucking shel fish. Each click of his knife against a shel sends another red sliver of flesh tumbling into the depths of the bamboo basket, fol owed by a sudden glitter as another empty shel flies across a shimmering band of light to land two feet or so away. Is it oysters, or surf clams, or perhaps razor clams, lying there in that high mound of empty shel s? Here and there the midden has col apsed, and some of its shel s have slipped down to lie on the floor of the sandy stream behind, carried out of the transient world to a burial in the realm of darkness. No sooner is a shel ’s burial completed than a fresh one is added to the pile beneath the wil ow. The old man works on, tossing shel after shel through the shimmering sunlight, never pausing to ponder their fate. His basket seems bottomless, his spring day an endless tranquil expanse of time.