“Masks”

During my days at the University of Tokyo, I associated with a group of writers who were known for their contributions to the third and fourth editions of Shinshich¯o. It was because of their bad influence that I ended up becoming a writer against my wishes. Admittedly, I’m overstating the point, since I was also under the spell of a literary group from Waseda University, and if they didn’t turn me into a writer, they certainly corrupted my penchant for healthy living. The Waseda group consisted of Ko¯nosuke Hinatsu, Yaso Saijo¯, and Tari Moriguchi, and together they had founded and edited a magazine called Masks. More than once, the poet Makoto Sangu¯ and I visited Saijo¯ in his dormitory near the Waseda campus. Saijo¯’s room was illuminated by a lamp with a red conical shade, and it was here that I was introduced to the formidable Professor Kogan Yoshie, as well as Hinatsu and Moriguchi. I don’t remember what we talked about, only that someone told a ghost story that was so effective that on my way home, hours later, I raced in fear through the drizzly night along the deserted streets of O¯ kubo.

After that gathering, I lost touch with the group, first with Professor Yoshie, then with Saijo¯, Moriguchi, and finally Hinatsu. Some years later, while I was living in the O¯ machi neighborhood of Kamakura, I ran into Hinatsu, who had relocated to Hase, near O¯ machi, and we started seeing each other again. The townhouse he was renting had a central parlor with an alcove that whistled fiercely whenever the wind blew, even with the doors closed around us. Hinatsu eventually moved away from Hase, and we’ve been out of touch ever since.

All of the people I mentioned above are alive and well. Occasionally I read one of Hinatsu’s longwinded poetry critiques in Ch¯ok¯oron. But from what I gather, these days he writes in a room that doesn’t whistle.

May 1924