To the Most Exasperating Woman I Have Ever Known (April 9–May 21)

April 9

To: Ōtsuka Hisako,

It is I, Morita Ichirō. I hope that you have been well.

I would be honoured if you remembered the poor boy from your lab who was chosen by the professor in all his wisdom to be exiled to a research station in Noto. I have taken the liberty of writing in hopes of reminding you of me and my extraordinary circumstances.

A letter from Komatsuzaki arrived the other day (he is about the only one who still asks after me). I read his letter on the swaying train, and as the train pulled into a station I looked up from the page and saw a mail car being exhibited on the other side of the platform, its deep blue exterior bearing the proud 〒 insignia of the post office. I imagined how it must once have raced tirelessly over the tracks, bearing correspondences between loved ones separated by the tyranny of geography: family, friends, lovers. It must have been some kind of sign, and thus I determined that I should polish my letter-writing skills.

In our highly information-oriented society, a handwritten letter carries enormous power. I shall write enough letters to fill a train car, master the art of capturing a person’s heart via the written word, and cruise through any crisis which life throws my way. I am no longer the Morita Ichirō who happily allowed you to string him along like a marionette. I am a lone wolf who has devoted himself to the positive martial art of letter-writing. O, Japanese samurai, let your pen fly over the page as swiftly as the stroke of a katana!

That is why I hope that you will write, if you have the time.

I assure you, I am not lonely.

But the Noto-Kashima Marine Biological Laboratory is a lonely place.

It lies on the shore of Nanao Bay, but there is nothing else around it, and nothing to do but research: both an ideal environment and a hellish one. Every day I speak only to the jellyfish and to my advisor, Taniguchi. The jellyfish don’t say anything back, and Taniguchi only yells at me. Taniguchi is a strange man who gulps down a peculiar energy drink he brews himself to pointlessly enhance his virility, and each night he can be found crooning and strumming his mandolin. Do you still have that remarkable mandolin with the Heart Sutra plastered all over it? Taniguchi boasts that he taught you the mandolin when he was still in the lab. He commutes to the lab from Nanao by car; the other day he gave me a ride home, treating me to an unvarnished sermon on how to seduce women.

The days pass bleakly one after the next, as unending as the infinite cosmos. There aren’t any of the boutique shops you love so dearly, you know, only vending machines. I’d give you half a day here before you made an attempt to escape. While I was waiting for the train at Noto-Kashima Station I wished on a shooting star to go back to Kyoto. I, Morita Ichirō, am truly pitiful. Pity me, please. No need to be shy.

How are the cherry blossoms in Kyoto? Here they are so-so.

Cherry blossom season also means that your hands must be full with all of the new members flooding into the lab. Komatsuzaki told me in his letter that you immediately lined all of them up in the hallway and made them swear total fealty to you. I must admit that I do have reservations about your reign of terror, reservations which I shall raise from this lonely place by the sea. I urge you to stop going to Kureshima and downing ice-cold beer like it’s water. It will take a toll on your body. You should also stop dictating graduation theses to the newcomers. That is the professor’s job.

Sincerely,

Morita Ichirō

April 19

To: Ms. Ōtsuka

Over here the cherry trees are in full blossom. At Noto-Kashima Station there is a cherry blossom tunnel, and though normally it is a little-used station I sometimes happen upon people who stop there to take pictures. I didn’t attend any cherry blossom parties, but I did take pictures which I have enclosed here. Standing beneath the cherry blossoms in full bloom trying to look nihilistic is Taniguchi, who has been tormenting me for days on end. He categorically denies that you were the one who taught him to play the mandolin. “Don’t ever trust what Hisako says!” he told me. Of the two of you I am more inclined to take his side.

Thank you very much for your account of the cherry blossom picnic. I couldn’t hold back the tears as I reminisced over those banquets on the bank of the Kamo River, and I’m afraid that your letter has gotten rather smudged. Woe is me, that I have been kicked out of Kyoto which I have lived in and loved for so many years; not only have I been swept off to the foreign shores of Noto, but I am not even allowed the chance to meet all of the fresh fourth-years. Pity me, please. No need to be shy.

I would have liked to be at the Kamo River so that I could eat meat and witness the moment Komatsuzaki fell head over heels in love. This senior, Saegusa, is she a looker? I have complete faith in your piercing gaze, but considerably less in Komatsuzaki, who having passed the ripe age of twenty wears his heart on his sleeve. I would hope that he would at least make the pretense of hiding his feelings. Perhaps it might be better if he hid himself so thoroughly that he winked out of existence entirely.

Ibuki is such a fastidious person, attending the picnic even though she’s already graduated and employed in Osaka. Is she doing well? Komatsuzaki and I only went to grad school because we didn’t know what to do with ourselves, but in comparison Ibuki is so put-together. She’s always been like that, ever since I first met her at the ocean practicum in Maizuru. It’s always the idiots who hesitate and dither. It’s pathetic. Deplorable. To hell with them all (including myself).

At the cherry blossom picnic a year ago, you ordered Komatsuzaki and me to cross the Kamo River. It was still freezing at that time of year, and I still resent you for it. That was when I first experienced physically how cold and harsh the world of grad school would be. But the warmth of the towel that Ibuki lent us as we stood there shivering…that was when I learned how warm humans can be. Ibuki is always prepared for everything.

At Komatsuzaki’s request I have been advising him on matters of romance. I’ve rolled up my sleeves and waded into the fray, but it really is a drag. To be frank I couldn’t care less about it. I just told him to pray at Yoshida Shrine. If that kind of advice somehow helps him find love, I will have won a resounding victory over life.

It really is tiresome, spending each day head down in experiments and being wound up by Taniguchi. If it’s all the same I’d rather be wound up by a ravishing beauty. I’d pirouette around and around for her like the world’s best wind-up ballerina.

Yours,

Morita Ichirō, the Prima Ballerina of Noto

May 2

To: The Empress of Late-night Ramen

Late last night, Komatsuzaki called me out of nowhere. Apparently you and he were drinking together. I was shocked to read in one of his letters a declaration that he would not change his underpants until his love was fulfilled―a declaration that would make the most pioneering idiot proud―but now I see that you must have instigated this. Please stop putting worthless ideas into his head just because you think it’s funny.

Thank you for the update on Ibuki. It’s great that she’s doing well in Osaka. But I’m not being that nosy, so I would appreciate it if you’d stop making me sound like some sort of creep. You always jump to conclusions. I’m only not writing to Ibuki because I’m sure she’s got enough on her plate getting settled into her new job. It’s not that deep.

In fact, I’d say that you’re the one being nosy about my private life. I haven’t met anyone. The research station is surrounded by a forest on one side and the ocean on the other. I haven’t found any women washed up on the beach or stumbling down the mountainside. The only one I can spill my soul to is the dolphin at the Notojima Aquarium. It’s not as if new acquaintances are swarming out of the woodwork.

I think Komatsuzaki is plotting something over Golden Week. Please make sure that he doesn’t do anything for which he could be found criminally liable in the heat of his passion. And let’s not egg him on. Our proteges are not toys to be played with.

Lately my research is looking more and more like a losing battle. I could manfully bow out of the fight, but then my master’s thesis would go up in smoke. I conduct one experiment, fail completely, start another experiment, get an earful as well as a dose of mysterious virility enhancement from Taniguchi (when he’s angry he looks just like Fudō Myōō), write an interim report for the professor, and train myself in written correspondence by responding to the myriad letters which flood into my mailbox. I can barely keep up with it all.

One of my few joys in life is crisping up slices of Tengu Ham from the butcher, drinking beer, and coming up with a list of things to do when I get back to Kyoto. At the top of the list is eating Neko Ramen. The other day when Taniguchi and I went to Wakura Onsen we stopped by a ramen joint, which made me long for Neko Ramen. Taniguchi waxed nostalgic for it too, and he even boasted, “I’m the one that introduced Neko Ramen to Ōtsuka, you know.”

Sometimes when I’m working on my thesis late into the night, I think about the night you introduced me to Neko Ramen. That was the first and last time you ever did anything mentor-like for me.

Retreating from both romance and research,

Ichirō Morita

May 15

To: One of those people who just want to watch the world burn

Thank you for your letter. Spring is such a wonderfully refreshing season. The forest and the islands are all bathed in the verdant green of new foliage. Sunlight dances upon Nanao Bay.

“You sound like you’re mocking me,” you wrote. But I assure you that a lowly worm such as myself would never dream of mocking you, not in a million years. I, Morita Ichirō, am your humble servant.

There is, however, one thing I would like to clarify.

I am not here in Noto chasing after female dolphins. I merely went to the aquarium to talk to the dolphin as a form of amusement. I ask that you stop your grassroots campaign of getting people to send me dolphin plushies because I am “chasing dolphin tail”. If people start to think that I lust after cetaceans my plan to make a triumphant return to the lab and become the spiritual leader of the youth will be ruined.

Speaking of ruined plans, Komatsuzaki tried and failed to present his poem to Saegusa over Golden Week. I hear that he used to be a rising star in some special band called “Marshmallow Magus and Li’l Benzaiten”. That poem showed how “special” he is; I could hardly bring myself to read to the end. “Lovely, lovely” is still seared into my brain. He was right not to present it to her.

It was you that goaded him into writing a poem, wasn’t it?

You lectured him from dusk till dawn with a glass of sweet potato shōchū in one hand; for this he wrote to me, “Ōtsuka is a good person; she gave me such a nurturing pep talk.” What a sweet young man. I couldn’t help but shed a tear for him. There’s no way you would ever nurture anyone except yourself. You’re just enjoying yourself at his expense. Do you deny it?

Sincerely,

Baron Dolphin

P.S. Thank you for telling me about Ibuki. It was very much appreciated.

May 21

To: Empress Ōtsuka Hisako

Spring sunshine smiles upon the gentle swells of Nanao Bay. The new greenery is magnificent.

It has been splendid leaving behind the tumult of Kyoto and reexamining myself here in this quiet seaside town. My father has apparently begun to write an autobiography, and looking back over all that I have accomplished and learned I am considering doing the same. It may well help prepare me to begin my job search.

Now that you have secured a job, the professor is hardly worth your contempt, and your master’s thesis is only a formality. The lab lies completely under your dominion; there is nothing left for you to fear. I envy your station. But then again, you never were afraid of anything, were you? That’s what Taniguchi tells me. If you would be so kind, I would love to hear what they fed you when you were a kid to make you grow up so fearless.

Thank you so very much for telling me all about Ibuki and her blissful love life.

You didn’t have to make a report to me just because you happened to run into her. Perhaps you meant to add insult to the injury of being washed away to this desolate beach. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am not so easily daunted. Like a solitary monk I have endured through suffering and witnessed the cruelty of life, and if you thought that this would be enough to perturb me you are sadly mistaken. Your attempt to harass me merely tickles my cheek like the wind whispering over the sand. I hope you are not losing your touch.

But enough of that. What sort of scumbag is Ibuki’s new boyfriend? Knowing more about him may come in handy. Ignorance is not always bliss.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Your servant,

Know-nothing Morita

P.S. The Tengu Ham you requested is on its way. Please enjoy.