To a Moat-Filling Friend (July 10–July 30)

July 10

To: Mr. Komatsuzaki

I am as busy as ever. Lately so many letters have been piling in that my humble quarters have come to resemble a post office. I fill up one page, then turn it over and fill up the other side; repeat ad nauseam, like a master swordsman practicing the same swing over and over.

Slugs have begun to ooze out of the woodwork recently, and I am at my wits’ end. What do slugs live on? Why do they exist? Why must they be so slimy? If you know any good ways to drive them away I am all ears.

My research proceeds as slowly as ever, and my spirits wax and wane. The other day I took a tooth-shattering bite out of the _daruma _that lies by my pillow having mistaken it for an apple, only to have my spirits lifted on the train by the sight of a rainbow breaking through the skies that have been so cloudy of late, only to then have them promptly sunk by the arrival of a threatening letter from my sister demanding that I repay the three hundred yen she lent me in third grade. It’s fortunate that Taniguchi has been in a good mood. The other day I spotted his beloved car stopped by the seaside, and Taniguchi himself looking out onto Nanao Bay strumming his mandolin. I ignored the sight and tried to board the train, only to hear him shout to me, “Are you enjoying your youth, Morita?” He really seemed to be feeling himself.

I must say that I was astounded by your letter. Though you ever so mildly attempted to lay blame on me, it was not I who gave her an upset stomach. You were the one who decided to get carried away on the romantic night of Tanabata and make her eat some “bubble-bobble chimaki” made of who knows what. It makes no sense to blame me when you were the one who picked the food, and I’m willing to take the case all the way to the Supreme Court. What was in that bubble-bobble chimaki? I’m quite surprised that she ate it; it seems that the princess has a surprisingly daring side.

You are a grown man. You have the right to vote. You also have the right to fill in the moat in order to win her over. But with great rights come great responsibilities. That’s why this is all your responsibility. Stop trying to evade it by claiming that you’re just a marshmallow. Even marshmallows have some pride.

It is how one faces adversity that reveals one’s true worth. Only by rising up to the present challenge can you truly call yourself a man. Will you allow yourself to forever be labeled as the Marshmallow Man who forced her to eat a weird chimaki and gave her an upset stomach? Or will you succeed in revising it into a beautiful, fabricated memory that years from now you will both look back on fondly? It all depends on what you do next.

You must pay her a visit. I recommend you bring flowers. From my limited experience, women love receiving flowers. I had to pause and consider whether a gaudy display like that is the best course of action, but I believe it will make her happy after all.

My own Tanabata was a brutish affair. It may as well not have been Tanabata at all.

Yours,

A first-rate slug exterminator

July 15

The rain has not stopped for several days, and the oppressive clouds hang low. The sea is black. During a discussion about experiment results my negligence was exposed, incurring Taniguchi’s wrath once again. The way things are going I am in danger of being shoved into Nanao Bay wearing concrete boots. But when I ponder my employment prospects as I wait under the brooding clouds for the train to arrive at Noto-Kashima Station, I sometimes notice uncharacteristically weary thoughts going through my head; perhaps sinking beneath the waves wouldn’t be so bad after all. And that was when I received your letter, which has brought me to the end of my tether. “I can’t believe she’s allergic to carnations!” you wrote, but that is none of my concern. Who in their right mind would bring someone carnations on any day other than Mother’s Day? You did your homework, you should have known that she was allergic to them, you revolting stalker. I withdraw my support for your romance; I wash my hands of the affair. What happens now is none of my concern. Morita out.

July 22

To: A friend in need

My last postcard was rather testy on account of my foul mood. I’ll never make it in the love letter ghostwriting business like that. It has been four months since I washed ashore on the shores of the Noto Peninsula. It’s high time that I take a good hard look at myself and grow up.

Taniguchi said that when he was in our lab doing his doctoral program, he once took “his girl” out to the Gion Festival during Yoiyama. It was so hot and muggy and crowded that the mood soon soured, and they came to blows under the Naginataboko float. When I told him how surprised I was that he’d once been young and in love too, he said, “You and me are nothing like each other, cherry boy.” “What do you know about my life! And don’t call me a cherry boy!” I wanted to say, but he was right on the money so I couldn’t say anything. After not only giving Saegusa an upset stomach but also triggering her allergies, I thought there was no way that you could possibly invite “your girl” to a date during Yoiyama, Kyoto’s biggest romantic event. “My man!” I was thinking to myself, when your postcard came.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

After what you did to her, how did you manage to still meet her for Yoiyama?

What stupidity did you get up to?

And why did she bail on you in the middle of the crowd?

Your sentences were completely disjointed, and as you omitted any sort of explanation in favor of moaning about how “it’s all over”, I am at a loss as to how to respond. I request that you reply with the details immediately.

As your friend, allow me to say one thing.

Don’t skip the country and fly to India.

Your concerned friend,

Morita

July 30

To: A friend racing down the course of love

The rainy season here has finally ended, and the woods behind Noto-Kashima Station reverberate with the cries of cicadas. The sun beating down upon me tells me that it is well and truly summer. When I see the pure white thunderheads rising up behind Noto Island, I think of how hot Kyoto must be right now. As a summery sort of man, I would like nothing better than to go stroll along the beach in pursuit of a summer fling, but as things stand my pitiful research output makes it difficult to ask for a vacation. I’m sure if I tried Taniguchi would just tell me to go to hell.

I received your pictures from the Gion Festival.

The instant I saw the picture of Saegusa my blood started boiling. Whatever happened to the “woman who smiles weakly, speaks little, and is always chewing on her hair”!? The woman in the picture looks more like the goddess Kannon leading a boy along by the hand! She doesn’t look anything like you described her. I was so annoyed that my gums started to bleed, and with the taste of copper in my mouth I couldn’t stop myself from yelling out at Nanao Bay, “What the hell!”

The odds of your marshmallow ass succeeding with such a ridiculous romantic strategy involving praying at Yoshida Shrine, force-feeding her a funny chimaki, triggering an allergic reaction with carnations, following her and her student around during Yoiyama, calling out to her pretending to have randomly run into her, and then actually reading her that “lovely” poem out loud in the middle of all those crowds, has to be smaller than the odds of the earth itself being swallowed up by a black hole. The fact that you did succeed means that there are going to be a lot more idiots that get the wrong idea and end up getting their heart broken.

Why would she run away from you out of embarrassment, only to turn around and end up accepting the confession of a pervert like you? The way I see it, Saegusa loves marshmallows, and must be mistaking you for a gigantic marshmallow. You are dreaming a good dream out of happenstance, while I am having a nightmare. We both need to wake up soon and face up to the cold light of reality.

You claim that “she always had eyes for me.” I don’t believe that for a moment, but supposing I did, what was the point of all those letters I’ve been eking out time from my busy schedule to write since spring? What was the use of all those hours I lost writing night after night? What of the dreams I couldn’t dream? The youth I couldn’t experience? My plans for the future?

You said you couldn’t have done it without me. But that certainly isn’t true.

You said that she thanks me as well. Exactly what is she thanking me for?

You no longer need to send me pictures or updates. There is nothing interesting about a romance fulfilled. I have known you a long time, but from this moment on our correspondence is over. Goodbye.

On Friday night, as I was howling at the sea after reading your letter, Taniguchi stopped his car for me and took me to Wakura Onsen.

Inside Sōyu we were relaxing and making onsen tamago, when we struck up a conversation with a beautiful woman who was visiting from Kyoto. At her invitation we went to the top floor of the ultra-luxurious Kagaya resort, but all we found was a conga line of grubby old men jostling about. While we were drinking, the beautiful lady disappeared, and I got into a tussle with all those old boozehounds. Taniguchi composed a song on his mandolin with your poem as the lyrics, and performed it to thunderous applause. “Go to hell!” he shouted, and I found myself shouting defiantly along. That’s the last thing I remember. When I came to, dawn was breaking over Noto, and from the window I could see shimmering Nanao Bay, and then I realized that both Taniguchi and I were lying naked on the floor. The woman reappeared, took one look at us, and let out a snort of laughter. After that, Taniguchi and I stopped by the Shimamura fashion center, still nursing our hangovers, and then went home.

How do you intend to make amends for the hollowness I feel?

Congratulations, Komatsuzaki. And goodbye. Life is nothing but a series of goodbyes. Lap up the luscious nectar of love, and erase my pitiful existence from your cold heart.

Summer has arrived.

Yet my life remains the same.

I shall continue my training on the path of the writer with my spirit unbroken, and rewrite the history of failures I have recorded at this research station by the sea. Sitting at my desk I shall glare at jellyfish and indulge in vicarious fantasies of red-hot romance on the beach of love, as Taniguchi futilely enhances his virility.

Sincerely,

Morita Ichirō, an ordinary man