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nuisance. So I asked them about various things.
    Among the names of places they mentioned most frequently during their discussions were Yoshiwara and Okuyama, the red-light districts. Yoshiwara was the paradise they were always dreaming about. And the grandeur of that paradise was more or less kept sacred by the influence and power of the estate of their master. The stewards lent their master's money at high rates of interest to certain persons in Yoshiwara. It was in this connection apparently that whenever these stewards went there, they were warmly received. So one after another they rambled on about their experiences at Yoshiwara. Even though I listened carefully, I couldn't understand half of what they said. And the half I did understand wasn't the least bit interesting. Once one of these men said to me:
    "Next time, should I take you with me? A pretty strumpet will fondle you!"
    When he said that, everyone laughed.
    Okuyama never entered the conversation without their bringing in the name of a man called Hanno. Almost each one of these stewards had a pockmarked face, a pug nose, and buckteeth, their features leaving much to be desired! Quite unlike any of them, this Hanno was tall, his complexion white, his long pomaded hair parted down to his nape. I didn't know what kind of position he had, but I assumed he was superior in rank to our stewards, perhaps drafting letters or something of the sort. The stewards offered statements like the following:
    "If they made as much of a fuss over us as they do Hanno, we'd head straight for Okuyama, but even though we pay to 'draw our bows,' they don't even want to talk to us. We're really a worthless lot!"
    To those fellows Hanno was an Adonis. Before long I was to have the chance to see many girls, Aphrodites and Persephones, serve this man.
    Once during that time of day when the locusts in the garden gradually become noisier and as I was idling away the hours during my father's absence, a steward called Kuriso shouted out to me:
    "Shizu, are you at home? I'm off on an errand. Come on along. I'll take you to Asakusa Kannon, to the temple dedicated to Kannon."
    My father had once brought me to see this Kannon. Joyfully I slipped into my wooden clogs and went out with him.
    We crossed Azuma Bridge, came out on a road lined with trees, and did our shopping. Then we retraced our steps and strolled leisurely along a street lined with shops on both sides. Holding many toys shaped like tortoises suspended on strings, one fellow kept calling, "Moving turtles! Take whichever one you want, whichever you want!" The neck, tail, and four legs of the toy animal quivered as they moved. Kuriso paused in front of a shop that sold prints. While I was looking at the colored prints of the Satsuma Rebellion, he picked up a book covered with a paper wrapper on display at the front of the shop. "Madam," Kuriso said to the elderly attendant, "are there still some poor souls tricked into buying this kind of thing?" And he laughed.
    "Now and then we sell some. Though what's written inside is quite dull." And she laughed too.
    "How about selling me the real thing?"
    "You're joking! These days the police are very strict."
    Printed on the cover of this volume wrapped in paper was a woman's face and above it in large letters were the words A Funny Book. In the print shops in those days were many such books that dupe the customer. Inside were short stories or something of the sort, the volume deliberately wrapped in paper to make it appear as if it contained something secret. These books were sold to those eager for erotic drawings.
    Even though I was only a child, I could roughly understand the meaning behind their words. But what attracted my attention much more than the implications behind their dialogue was the way Kuriso made free use of Tokyo expressions. I wondered why at home he used our dialect when he spoke so well with a Tokyo accent. Of course it was quite natural for people from the same province to