THE SONG OF THE CICALA
Forever, throughout everything, rises day and night
from the whole country the song of the cicalas, ceaseless,
strident, and insistent. It is everywhere, and
never-ending, at no matter what hour of the burning
day, or what hour of the refreshing night. From
the harbor, as we approached our anchorage, we had
heard it at the same time from both shores, from both
walls of green mountains. It is wearisome and
haunting; it seems to be the manifestation, the noise
expressive of the kind of life peculiar to this region
of the world. It is the voice of summer in these
islands; it is the song of unconscious rejoicing, always
content with itself and always appearing to inflate,
to rise, in a greater and greater exultation at the
sheer happiness of living.
It is to me the noise characteristic of this country—this,
and the cry of the falcon, which had in like manner
greeted our entry into Japan. Over the valleys
and the deep bay sail these birds, uttering, from time
to time, their three cries, “Ha! ha! ha!”
in a key of sadness that seems the extreme of painful
astonishment. And the mountains around reecho
their cry.
MY FRIEND AND MY DOLL
Chrysantheme, Yves, and little Oyouki have struck
up a friendship so intimate that it amuses me.
I even think that in my home life this intimacy is
what affords me the greatest entertainment. They
form a contrast which gives rise to the most absurd
jokes, and unexpected situations. He brings into
this fragile little paper house his nautical freedom
and ease of manner, and his Breton accent; and these
tiny mousmes, with affected manners and bird-like
voices, small as they are, rule the big fellow as
they please; make him eat with chop-sticks; teach
him Japanese pigeon-vole, cheat him, and quarrel, and
almost die of laughter over it all.
Certainly he and Chrysantheme take a pleasure in each
other’s society. But I remain serenely
undisturbed, and can not imagine that this little
doll, with whom I play at married life, could possibly
occasion any serious trouble between this “brother”
and me.
MY JAPANESE RELATIVES
Japanese relatives, very numerous and conspicuous,
are a great source of amusement to those of my brother
officers who visit me in my villa on the hill—most
especially to ‘komodachi taksan takai’
("the tall friend").
I have a charming mother-in-law—quite a
woman of the world—tiny sisters-in-law,
little cousins, and aunts who are still quite young.
I have even a poor second cousin, who is a djin.
There was some hesitation in owning this latter to
me; but, behold! during the ceremony of introduction,
we exchanged a smile of recognition. It was Number
415!
