To a Promising Young Lad (April 9–May 13)

April 9

To: Mamiya

How are you doing? I am doing very well.

Have the cherry trees in the garden blossomed yet? Around here the branches are still bare.

I’m a long way from Kyoto, in a place called the Noto Peninsula. It’s a piece of land that juts out from the island of Honshu into the Sea of Japan. Have you learned about it in social studies yet? If you haven’t you should look it up in an atlas. Remember, you can’t slack off on your studies if you ever want to become an upstanding grownup.

Of course, not all grownups who know where the Noto Peninsula is are upstanding people. But that doesn’t mean that it’s ok to slack off and not look it up. In the grownup world that’s called “sass”, and whenever someone says “You givin’ me sass?” it usually leads to a bloodbath. A “bloodbath” is when you get in a fight and get beaten to within a millimeter of your life. Study hard so you can avoid bloodbaths when you grow up.

The Noto Peninsula is shaped a little bit like a hitchhiker’s thumb. I am working at a lab called the Noto-Kashima Marine Biological Laboratory, which sits near the crook of the thumb. Not too many people live around here. There aren’t even any convenience stores. Next to Noto-Kashima Marine Biological Laboratory is Noto-Kashima Station, where a little train stops on its way down the Noto Railway. It looks a lot like the little Eizan Railway trains, but unlike the Eizan Railway the tracks here run along a lonely seashore. At night it’s so dark you can’t even make out the ocean and the mountains. But the stars in the sky are very beautiful. I wished on a shooting star that I would win the Nobel Prize.

If you’re wondering why your old tutor is at the Noto Peninsula, I was sent to this faraway place by my teacher (who is a very important professor) to do research. I spend my days here studying jellyfish. But because I’m still a greenhorn, I am learning about all sorts of things from a teacher called Taniguchi (who is not quite as important as the professor). Taniguchi’s hair is very shaggy, and he’s very good at playing the mandolin. Have you ever seen a mandolin before?

I’m not your tutor any more, Mamiya, but I wrote you this letter because I wanted to know how you’re doing. Are you being a good boy for your new tutor? You’re a promising boy, but your mind tends to wander. You also like to slack off. Also you can be a little bit spiteful. I wrote a report on how far we’d gotten in your studies and gave it to your mother, so don’t even think about trying to trick your new tutor. Yes, I am bullying you. What about it?

The school year has started, hasn’t it? Have you made any new friends?

Chin up, you’re in fourth grade now. Don’t forget what I taught you: play hard every day, and study just as hard. Tell your father, mother, and granny that I said hello. Squeeze Tamotsu’s little paw pads for me too. I always thought Tamotsu was a funny name for a cat with so much contempt in its eyes.

I hope you’ll write back.

Morita Ichirō

April 16

To: Mamiya

Thanks for your letter.

I’m glad to hear you’re well. “Salutations” is a very advanced word, I’m impressed.

Having to study with a home tutor every week must be a real drag. I don’t think there are very many students in elementary school who have to do that.

When I was around your age, all I did was play in the backyard with Natsu. Natsu was my dog, and he loved to dig holes. We were almost inseparable. Why was Natsu always digging holes? He didn’t seem to have any idea, but then again neither did I. Basically I used to be a dumb kid who wasn’t any smarter than a dog. I worked very hard so that I wouldn’t be a dumb kid anymore, but Natsu stayed a dumb dog for the rest of his life, and he dug a lot of holes for us to remember him by.

That’s why I understand what you mean when you write things like, “I wish home tutors would all die in a fire!” and “I want to go to the steam locomotive museum!” If my parents had told me when I was your age that they were forcing me to study with a home tutor, I probably would have thought, “Gimme a break! Can’t I just go and dig a humongous hole?”

I was so obsessed with digging holes that sometimes I’d get up early before I had to go to school to move some dirt. It used to make my mom cry. She was really worried about me. I guess all moms are big worrywarts.

That goes for your mom, too. She worries about you; she thinks that if you study a little harder than everyone else, you’ll always be one step ahead. There’s a saying that goes “early to bed and early to rise,” and another one that goes “the early bird gets the worm.” Remember them both, they’re bound to show up on a test one of these days.

I think those sayings have an element of truth, but I’m skeptical that being early is always for the best. I told you that when we climbed Mt. Daimonji together, if you recall.

But do you know what’s most important right now?

Whether your mom thinks it’s for the best.

You don’t think so. I don’t think so. Your dad doesn’t think so. Your granny doesn’t think so. Tamotsu…is probably napping out on the veranda. But none of that matters. Scream and shout all you want, your mom isn’t going to change her mind. And as long as she doesn’t budge, you’re going to have to put up with the home tutor. You can fight it all you like―lock them in the bathroom, spill tea all over their notes―in the end it won’t matter, because even if one tutor leaves, another will just take their place.

I’m not telling you to study from dawn till dusk. When the tutor comes, be polite, and start getting to know them. The tutor isn’t your enemy, they’re your friend. But they won’t be your friend for long if you lock them in the bathroom.

In your letter it sounds like your current tutor is very straight-laced, so it might take a little longer to get them on your side. Try asking them what they’re studying in college; they’re sure to tell you all sorts of things. People are always eager to share new things that they’ve learned. Once you’ve gotten to know them, you should study hard until your mom brings in the tea; after that you can just chat with them about all sorts of things, like we used to do.

In other words, what you need to do is find a compromise.

Once you do that, your mom will be satisfied that you’re not acting up. Your tutor will be satisfied because they’re getting money in their pocket. And you’ll be satisfied because you won’t have to keep thinking of ways to get out of tutoring. And you’ll all live happily ever after.

I’ve enclosed a picture of a Noto Railways train that I took at Noto-Kashima Station. Isn’t the cherry blossom tunnel pretty?

Take care of yourself. And try to get along with your tutor.

Morita Ichirō

April 23

To: Tits McGee

Thanks for your letter.

Every morning I get on the Noto Railway and commute to the research station by the seashore. The cherry blossoms have all fallen, but the Noto days are slowly warming, and the sea is placid.

Thanks for the picture of Tamotsu and your granny. I see that Tamotsu is giving off his usual aura of contempt; that’s what you call “being in one’s element”. I see why he was named after one of your uncles: he does remind me of a middle-aged man, with his big paunch and how he’s always lounging around on the veranda. By the way, can I ask why there’s a daruma balanced on your granny’s head?

I must say I was a bit disappointed to hear you couldn’t stand your tutor anymore. Why is that? You were so well-behaved when I was tutoring you.

Your mom must be furious. You might feel like hot stuff having chased the tutor away, but if I know your mom she’s definitely not going to let this go. The next tutor’s probably already on their way, and this time they could very well be a scary Abarenbō-Shogun-from-hell type. Grownups call this “digging your own grave.” Just like poor old Natsu: when he died, we buried him in one of the holes he dug.

The tutor tried to assert their authority over you, didn’t they? Of course they scolded you for suddenly starting to talk about boobs. Tutors don’t come to your house to teach you about dirty things like that.

While I was out taking a walk along the beach I started to think about whether I’d led you astray. I prayed that your thoughts of boobs would stay far from your head. I even made a wish on a shooting star. I prayed that those thoughts would be sent to my head instead. And lo, my wish was granted. But I didn’t start to smirk. My heart didn’t even start to beat fast. That’s because your former tutor is a sagacious grownup.

In addition to math and science, I taught you about those things because you were so worried that you were a pervert. You told me it kept you from sleeping at night (though I’ll bet you slept just fine). There’s a fine line between perverts and non-perverts, but I’ll say this much for certain: if you’re a pervert, then that would make me a pervert too. That’s why I told you that it’s normal for your heart to race when you think about those things. I definitely didn’t say it to fill your head with dirty things.

As you wrote in your letter, there’s a complicated connection between why girls make your heart race and how babies are made. Your mom made a face when you asked because that connection is supposed to be a secret. But it’s not what you’re imagining it is. If making babies was that easy, they’d be swarming all over the streets.

But if you just forget about studying and walk around daydreaming about that stuff all day, you’re going to turn out to be a dummy.

All this boob talk reminded me: did you know that since dolphins are mammals, they have breasts? Yesterday, I crossed the ocean to Noto Island and saw a dolphin at the aquarium. They’re slick, beautiful, mysterious creatures. It must be difficult to breastfeed underwater. I wonder if it tastes salty.

I’ve enclosed a picture of the dolphin. The person beside the dolphin glaring at me is my teacher (Taniguchi). Don’t you think his scruffy hair and his sunglasses are right out of an old detective show? You turn your back on him and he might just whip out a pistol. He looks like a scary person, and in fact he is a very scary person, so I have to be on my guard at all times. What do you think it’d be like if he came to your house to tutor you? If it were me, I’d probably get on my knees and beg for mercy.

Try to find the dolphin’s breasts in the picture. And just so we’re clear, it’s not like I’m always looking for dolphin breasts. You need to grow up and get over boobs, just like I did.

Morita Ichirō

May 13

To: Mamiya

The weather is fine today, and the seas are calm.

Please thank your mother for sending me the ajari-mochi. As a token of my gratitude I’m sending a package of Tengu Ham; please share it with your family. I often buy a few fresh slices from the butcher at the shopping arcade. It’s quite exquisite toasted. I bet Tamotsu wouldn’t mind a slice or two as a pick-me-up after giving birth.

I can’t believe Tamotsu is a girl! I always thought she was a he. I know you said that she resembles your uncle, but naming her after him is just asking to confuse people. And you might find it funny, but you shouldn’t balance a daruma on your granny’s head…too often.

I’m glad to hear that you’re listening to your new tutor and studying hard. Ms. Mari sounds like a wonderful person. You’ve changed quite a bit too in such a short time; I think it’s great that you’re trying hard to avoid bringing up dirty things. Ms. Mari must have given you a real earful.

But I’m a little hurt.

A degenerate is a person who doesn’t know shame. It means that Ms. Mari thinks that your old tutor, Mr. Morita, is a waste of space for teaching you those bad things and would be better off dead. Oh, I can’t tell you how discouraged that makes me feel.

I don’t think that telling you that you’re not a pervert was a bad thing. Please explain this to her and clear the air. And remember, from now on don't tell Ms. Mari about any of the things I taught you. Some secrets should stay just between men.

I don’t know very much about Ms. Mari, but anyone who reads books by Morimi Tomihiko is a little strange. There’s nothing weird about writing letters to the author of a book. I’m not sure what you’re worried about, but those are called fan letters, which are not the same thing as love letters. Sometimes authors get worked up when they receive those letters anyways. Morimi Tomihiko is an idiot. I know him personally. I’m a clever person, but I have a lot of idiot friends.

If you’re so worried, try this: write to Morimi Tomihiko and ask him to stop hitting on Ms. Mari. I’ll give you his address.

All of that said, I’m glad that you’ve been having fun.

As I write this letter I am sitting in a Mister Donut across from the train station eating a donut.

There’s a cram school outside the station, and in the window is a huge poster that says, “Studying is serious business”. That sounds pretty hardcore. I bet the teachers there are all the Abarenbō-Shogun-from-hell type. You’re so lucky to have a kind tutor. I’m almost jealous of you.

Is Ms. Mari pretty?

Morita Ichirō