The Wild Geese - Mori Ougai

Chapter One

THIS STORY happened long ago, but by chance I remember that it occurred in 1880, the thirthteen year of Emperor Meiji's reign. That date comes back to me so precisely because at the time I lodged in the Kamijo, a boarding house which was just opposite the Iron Gate of Tokyo University, and because my room was right next to that of the hero of the story. When a fire broke out inside the house in the fourteen year of Meiji, I was one of those who lost all of their possessions when the Kamijo burned to the ground. What I'm going to put down, I remember, took place just one year before the disaster. 

Almost all of the boarders in the Kamijo were medical students, except for the few patients who when to the hospital attached to the university. It's been my observation that a residence of this kind is controlled by one of its members, a lodger who rises to a position of authority because of his money and shrewdness. When he passed through the corridor before the landlady's room, he always makes it a point to speak to her as she sits by the square charcoal brazier. Sometimes he'll squat opposite her and exchange a few words of gossip. Sometimes he seems to think only of himself when he throws sake parties in his room and puts the landlady out by making her prepare special dishes, yet the truth is that he takes care to see that she gets something extra for her troubles. Usually this type of man wins respect and takes advantage of it by having his own way in the house. 

The man in the room next to mine was also powerful in the Kamijo, but he was of a different breed. 

This man, a student called Okada, was a year behind me, so he wasn't too far from graduating. In order to explain Okada's character, I must speak first of his striking appearance. What I really mean is that he was handsome. But not handsome in the sense of being pale and delicately thin and tall. He had a healthy color and a strong build. I have hardly ever come across a man with such a face. If you force me to make a comparison, he somewhat resembled the young Bizan Kawakami, whom I got to know later than the time of this story, and who became destitute and died in misery. Okada, a champion rower in those days, far surpassed the writer Bizan in physique. 

A good-looking face may influence others, but it alone does not carry weight in a boarding house. Personal behaviour must also be considered, and I doubt if many students lived as well-balanced a life as Okada did. He wasn't a bookworm who worked greedily for examination marks each term and who wanted to win a scholarship. Okada did the required amount of work and was never lower than the middle of his class. And in his free time he always relaxed. After supper he would take a walk and would return without fail before ten. On Sundays he rowed or set off on a long hike. Except for periods of living with his crew before a match or of returning to his home in the country for the summer vacation, the time never varied when he was in or out of his room. Often a boarder who had forgotten to set his watch by the signal gun at noon went to Okada's room to find out the time. And occasionally even the office clock in the Kamijo was put right by Okada. The more we observed him, the stronger became our impression that he was reliable. Even though Okada didn't flatter the landlady or spend much money above his room and board, she began to praise him. Needless to say, the fact that he paid his rent regularly was one of the reasons for her attitude. 

She often said: "Look at Mr. Okada!"

But, anticipating her words, some of the students would say: "Well, we can't all be like him."

Before anyone realized it, Okada has become a model tenant. 

Okada had a regular routes for his daily walks. He would go down the lonely slop called Muenzaka and travel north along Shinobazu pond. Then he would stroll up the hill in Ueno Park. Next he went down to Hirokoji and, turning into Naka-cho- narrow, crowded, full of activity- he would go through the compound of Yushima Shrine and set out for the Kamijo after passing the gloomy Karatachi temple. Sometimes he made a slight variation in a particular route, such as a right turn at the end of Naka-cho, so that he would come back to his room along the silence and loneliness of Muenzaka. 

There was another route. He occasionally entered the university campus by the exit used by the patients of the hospital attached to the medical school because the Iron Gate was closed early. Going through the Red Gate, he would proceed along Hongo-dori until he came to a shop where people were standing and watching the antics of some men pounding millet. Then he would continue his walk by turning into the compound of Kanda Shrine. After crossing the Meganebashi, which was still a novelty in those days, he would wander for a short while through a street with houses on only one side along the river. And on his way back he went into one of the narrow side streets on the western side of Onarimichi and then came up to the front of the Karatachi Temple. This was an alternate route. Okada seldom took any other. 

On these trips Okada did little more than browse now and then in the secondhand bookstores. Today only two or three out of many still remain. On Onarimichi, the same shops, little changed from what they formerly were, continue to run their businesses. Yet almost all the stores on Hongo-dori have changed their locations and their proprietors. On these walks Okada hardly ever turned right after leaving the Red Gate because most of the streets narrowed so much that it was annoying. Besides, only one second-hand bookshop could then be found along that way. 

Okada stopped in such shops because, to use a term now in vogue, he had literary taste. In those days the novels and plays of the new school had not yet been published; as for the lyric, neither the haiku of Shiki nor the waka of Tekkan had been created. So everyone read such magazines as the Kagetsu Shinshi, which printed the first translation of a Western novel. In his student days, Okada read with interest the happenings of the new era written in the style of classic Chinese literature. This was the extent of his literary tastes.

Since I've never been very affable, I didn't even speak to those students I met quite often on the campus except when I had a reason. As for the students in the boarding house, I seldom tipped my cap in greeting. But I became somewhat friendly with Okada because of the bookshops. On my walks I wasn't as rigid in my direction as Okada was, but since I had strong legs, I let them direct me through Hongo to Shitaya and Kanda, and I paused in every second-hand bookstore. On such occasion I often met Okada inside. 

I don't remember who spoke first, but I do recall the first words between us: "How often we meet among old books!"

This was the start of our friendship.

In those days at the corner down the slope in front of Kanda Shrine, we came across a shop which sold books on its stalls. Once I discovered the Kimpeibai, and I asked the storekeeper how much it was. 

"Seven yen."

"I'll give you five," I said.

"A while back Okada offered six."

Since I had enough money with me, I gave the dealer what he asked. 

But when I met Okada a few days later, he said: "You acted quite selfishly - you know I found the Kimpeibai first."

"The man at the shop said you bargained, but that you couldn't agree. If you must have it, buy it from me."

"Why should I? We're neighbours, so I can borrow it when you're through."

I agreed.

In this way, Okada and I, who had not until now been acquainted even though we lived at such close quarters, often began to call on each other.