Produced by MFR, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: SHIO YA SAKAE] WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN BY SAKAE SHIOYA _ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_ [Illustration] BOSTON LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. Published, August, 1906. COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. _All Rights Reserved._ WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN. Norwood Press Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U. S. A. PREFACE Japanese boys have not been introduced very much to their little American friends, and the purpose of this book is to provide an introduction by telling some of the experiences which are common to most Japanese boys of the present time, together with some account of the customs and manners belonging to their life. I can at least claim that the story is told as it could be only by one who had actually lived the life that is portrayed. I have endeavored to hold the interest of my young readers by bringing in more or less of amusement. The little girl companion is introduced to widen the interest and add somewhat more of the story element than would otherwise be present. The sketches composing the various chapters are necessarily disconnected, but they form a series of pictures, priceless at least to the author, which foreign eyes have seldom been allowed to see. SAKAE SHIOYA. YALE UNIVERSITY, 1905. CONTENTS CHAPTER I.: MY INFANCY. How I Looked--My Name--Walking--In Tea Season--My Toys--âKidnappedâ--O-dango 9 CHAPTER II.: AT HOME. Introduction--Dinner--Rice--Turning to Cows--A Bamboo Dragon-fly--A Watermelon Lantern--On a Rainy Evening--The Story of a Badger 23 CHAPTER III.: THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. A Mimic School--Preparations--The School--How Classes Are Conducted--Out of Tune--A Moral Story--School Discipline--Playthings--âKnife Senseâ 35 CHAPTER IV.: IN TOKYO. Where We Settled--A Police Stand--Stores--âBroadwayâ-- Illumination--The Foreign Settlement 51 CHAPTER V.: MY NEW SCHOOL. Tomo-chan--The Men with Wens--A Curious Punishment--How I Experienced It--Kotoro-Kotoro 62 CHAPTER VI.: CHINESE EDUCATION. My Chinese Teacher--How I Was Taught--Versification--My Uncle--Clam Fishing--A Flatfish 76 CHAPTER VII.: AN EVENING FÃTE. My Father--His Love for Potted Trees--A Local FÃªte--Show Booths--Goldfish Booths--Singing Insects--How a Potted Tree Was Bought 91 CHAPTER VIII.: SUMMER DAYS. A Swimming School--How I Was Taught to Swim--Diving--The Old Home Week--Return of the Departed Souls--Visiting the Ancestral Graves--The Memorable Night--A Village Dance 102 CHAPTER IX.: THE ENGLISH SCHOOL. A Night at the Dormitory--Beginning English--Grammar-- Pronunciation--School Moved--Motherâs Love 114 CHAPTER X.: A BOY ASTRONOMER. What I Intended to Be--My Aun View--My Parentsâ Approval--My Uncleâs Enthusiasm--The Total Eclipse of the Sun 128 CHAPTER XI.: IN THE SUBURBS. A Novel Experiment--Removal--Our New House--Angling--Tomo-chanâs Visit 143 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE SAKAE SHIOYA _Portrait Frontispiece_ A JAPANESE HOUSE 22 A JAPANESE SCHOOL SCENE 40 THE JAPANESE âBROADWAYâ 56 A TYPICAL JAPANESE STREET 90 A JAPANESE SCHOOL OF THE PRESENT DAY 120 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN CHAPTER I MY INFANCY How I Looked--My Name--Walking--In Tea Season--My Toys--âKidnappedâ--O-dango. I suppose I donât need to tell you exactly, my little friends, when and where I was born, because Japanese names are rather hard for you to remember, and then I donât want to disclose my age. Suffice it to say that I was once a baby like all of you and my birthplace was about a dayâs journey from Tokyo, the capital of Japan. I wish I could have observed myself and noted down every funny thing I did when very small, as the guardian angel, who is said to be standing by every cradle, will surely do. But when my memory began to be serviceable, I was well on in my infancy, and if I were to rely on that only, I should have to skip over a considerable length of time. How I should dislike to do this! So, my little friends, let me construct this chapter out of bits of things my mamma used to tell me now and then. When I was born, my father was away. Grandma was very proud to have a boy for the first-born, and at once wrote him a letter saying that a son was born to him and that he was like--and then she wrote two large circles, meaning that I was very, very plump. Do you know how a plump Japanese baby looks? I have often wondered myself, and have many a time watched a baby taking a bath. Let us suppose him to be one year old and about to be put into warm water in a wooden tub. His chin is dimple-cleft, his cheeks ripe as an apple, and his limbs are but a continuation of his fat trunk. And how jolly the elfin is! After the queer expression he has shown on being dipped has passed away and he realizes what he is about, he will make many quick bows--really, I assure you, to show his thanks for the trouble of washing him. At this, mother, sister, and the maid assisting them give a burst of laughter, when, with a scream of immense delight, he will strike his fists into the water, causing a panic among the well-clad and not-ready-to-get-wet attendants. With royal indifference, however, he will then try to push his fist into his mouth, and not grumbling at all over his ill-success, he will set about telling a story with his everlasting mum-mum. Now he is taken out and laid on a towel. Glowing red, how he will move his arms and legs like an overturned turtle! Well, that is how I looked, I am very sure. In Japan, in christening a child, we follow the principle of âA good name is better than rich ointment.â I was named Sakae, which in the hierographic Chinese characters represents fire burning on a stand. The idea of illumination will perhaps suggest itself to you at once, and indeed, it means glory or thrift. And my well-wishing parents named me so, that I might thrive and be a glory to my family. So I was bound to be good, wasnât I? A bad boy with a good name would be very much like a monkey with a silk hat on. Now begins my walking. Now and then mamma or grandma would train me, taking my hands and singing: âAnyo wa o-jozu, Korobu wa o-heta.â But my secret delight--so I judge--was to stand by myself, clinging to the convenient checkered frames of paper screens, which covered the whole length of the veranda. When I went from one side to the other, at first without being noticed--of course walking like a crab--and then suddenly being discovered with a shout of admiration, I used to come down with a bump, which, however, never hurt me--I was so plump, you know. I must describe here a sort of ceremony, or rather an ordeal, I had to pass through when I was fairly able to stand and walk without any help. For this I must begin with my house. My house stood on the outskirts of the town, where the land rose to a low hill and was covered with tea-plants. We owned a part of it hedged in by criptomerias. We were not regular tea dealers, but we used to have an exciting time in the season preparing our crop. Lots of red-cheeked country girls would come to pick the leaves, and it was a sight to see them working. With their heads nicely wrapped with pieces of white and blue cloth, jetting out of the green ocean of tea-leaves, they would sing peculiarly effective country songs, mostly in solos with a short refrain in chorus. But they were not having a concert, and if you should step in among them, they would make a hero of you, those girls. And then we had also a good many young men working at tea-heaters. Here they likewise sang snatches of songs, but their principal business was to roll up steamed leaves and dry them over the fire. But when work is combined with fun, it is a great temptation for a boy, and I, a lad of five or six, I remember, would have a share among them, and, standing on a high stool by a heater and baring my right shoulder like the rest, would join more in a refrain than in rolling the leaves. But I was going to tell you about the ceremony I had to pass through, wasnât I? Well, it happened, or rather somebody especially arranged it so, I suspect, that I should have it just at the time of this great excitement. The ceremony itself is like this. They take a child fairly able to walk, load him with some heavy thing, and place him in a sort of a large basket shaped like the blade of a shovel. Now let him walk. The basket will rock under him, the load is too heavy for him, and he will fall down. If he does, it is taken for granted that he has in that one act had all the falls that he would otherwise meet in his later life. So, if he appears too strong to stumble, he will be shaken down by some roguish hands before he gets out of it. I was to go through this before august spectators--country girls. They liked to see me plump, because some of them were even more plump than I. At any rate, from everywhere they saluted me as âBotâchan,â âBotâchan.â If I had returned every salute by looking this way and that, I should have broken my neck. But it was customary to make a bow anyway, and I was ordered by my mamma to do so. On this occasion I made two snap bows with my chin, which excited laughter. Now a basket was produced, a brand-new one, I remember, and I was loaded with some heavy rice cake. I stood up, however, like Master Peachling of our fairy-tale, who is said to have surprised his adopted mother by rising in his bathtub on the very day of his birth! I was then placed in the basket and made to walk. I looked intently at the basket, not because it was new, but because it gave me a queer motion, the ups and downs of a boat, a new sensation to me, anyway. Attracted, however, by the merry voices of the crowd, I looked at them, and suddenly, being pleased with so many smiling faces, raised a cry of delight, when down I came with a loud noise. A roar of laughter broke out with the clapping of hands. The noise buried my surprise and I also clapped my hands without knowing who was being cheered. As the first-born of the house, I must have had lots of playthings. But there were two things I remember as clear as the day. One was a sword, all wood, however. As the son of a samurai, I should have had to serve my lord under the old rÃ©gime and stake my life and honor on the two blades of steel. And so even if the good old days were gone, something to remind us of them was kept and made a plaything of. But really, I liked my wooden sword. The other thing was a horse--a hobby-horse, I mean. I donât know just how many horses I had, but I wanted any number of them. I had some pictures, but they were all of horses. If not, I would not accept the presents. And with these two kinds of treasures I enjoyed most of my childhood days, the sword slantingly on my side, and the horse, which I fancied trotting, under me, while I shouted âHaiyo! haiyo!â Although I had my own name, people called me âBotâchan,â as I have said, because it is a general term of endearment, and papa and mamma would call me âBÃ´â or âBÃ´ya.â Among those who addressed me thus, I remember very well one middle-aged woman who often came to steal me from mamma, and by whom I was only too glad to be stolen. We had a long veranda facing the garden, on which I passed most of my days. There I rode on my hobby-horse or played with my little dog Shiro, who would go through all sorts of tricks for a morsel of nice things. Suddenly my laugh would cease and nothing of me would be heard. Wondering what the matter was, mamma would open the paper screen to see, and lo! not a shadow of me was to be seen. Even Shiro had disappeared. Attacked with a feeling something akin to horror, she used to picture--so I imagine--a winged tengu (a Japanese harpy) swooping down and carrying me away to some distant hill. But soon finding recent steps of clogs on the ground, coming to and receding from the veranda, she would nod and smile at the trick. She knew that I had been kidnapped by a good soul! Now I want to give you some reasons why I liked this woman. First of all, it was because she always carried me on her back. The only way to appreciate what it is to be tall, would be to be a grown-up man and a small child at the same time. And that is exactly the feeling that I had. I could see lots of curious things over the forbidden hedges. I could even see things over the house-tops; they were all one-story, and built low, though. In a word, I always felt while on her back like a wee pig who had first toddled out into a wide, wide world. And then she would carry me through town. What life there was! After crossing a bridge which spanned the stream, coming from the beautiful lake on the north and going a little way along a row of pine-trees, we would come on a flock of ducks and geese on their way to the water. What a noise they made,--quack, quack! Then we would begin inspecting rows of houses, open to the street and in which all sorts of things were sold. Men, women, and children, as well as dogs, seemed to be very much occupied. Then I would spy some horses laden with straw bags and wood. Real horses they were, but I was rather disappointed to find them so big and their appearance not half so good as in my pictures. My faith in them always began to shake a little bit, but still I used to persist in thinking that my hobby-horses and pictures were nearer the reality than those we met on the street. And wasnât it curious that my belief was at last substantiated by seeing a Shetland pony in America after some twenty years? Ah, that was exactly what I had in mind! Then I would hear a merry prattle on a drum--_terent-tenten, terent-tenten_. Ah, here would come boy acrobats dressed in something like girlsâ gymnasium suits, with a small mask of a lionâs head with a plume on it, on their heads. A funny sort of boy, I thought, but on my womanâs giving them some pennies, they would perform all sorts of feats which interested me never so much. The woman used to shake me to make sure that I was not dead, as I kept very quiet, watching. The womanâs house was just behind the street, and she was sure to take me there. Here was another reason why I liked her very much. She seemed to know just what I wanted. She would set me on the sunny veranda and bring me some nice o-dango (rice dumpling). This she made herself, and it was prepared just to my liking, covered well with soy and baked deliciously. I was in clover if I only had that! I will describe one of my visits, which will well represent them all. The day was calm and bright, and while we were feasting--she had some of the good things, too--her pussy sat on one end of the veranda and was finishing her toilet in the sun. Even the sparrows in this peaceful weather forgot that they were birds of air, and fell from the trees and were wrestling noisily on the ground. Only the pussyâs move broke up their sport. By this time we were very near the end of our business. Turning from the sparrows, my woman glanced at me and sat for a moment transfixed with the awful sight I presented. There I was with my cheeks and nose all besmeared with brown soy, stretching my sticky hands in a helpless attitude, and licking my mouth by way of variation. She now broke into laughter and was scrambling on the floor, weak with merriment. But my mute appeal was too eloquent; indeed, I was all ready to shed tears with an utter sense of helplessness when she hastened to bring a wet towel and wipe my face and hands clean and nice, with, âOh, my poor Botâchan!â [Illustration: A JAPANESE HOUSE.] CHAPTER II AT HOME Introduction--Dinner--Rice--Turning to Cows--A Bamboo Dragon-fly--A Watermelon Lantern--On a Rainy Evening--The Story of a Badger. Our family consisted of father, mother, grandmother, and two children besides myself, at the time when I was six years old. I donât remember exactly what business my father was in, but my impression is that he had no particular one. He had been trained for the old samurai and devoted most of his youthful days to fencing, riding, and archery. But by the time he had come of age, that training was of no use to him professionally, because, as quickly as you can turn the palm of your hand, Japan went through a wonderful change from the old feudal rÃ©gime to the era of new civilization. So my father, and many, many others like him, were just in mid-air, so to speak, being thrown out of their proper sphere, but unable to settle as yet to the solid ground and adapt themselves to new ways. My mother came also of the samurai stock, and, like most of her class, kept in her cabinet a small sword beautifully ornamented in gold work, with which she was ready to defend her honor whenever obliged to. But far from being mannish, she was as meek as a lamb, and was devoted to my father and her children. My grandmother was of a retiring nature and I cannot draw her very much into my narrative. But she was very good to everybody, and her daily work, so far as I can remember, was to take a walk around the farm every morning. She was so regular in this habit that I cannot think of her without associating her with the scent of the dewy morning and with the green of the field which stretched before her. She died not many years after, but I often wonder if she is really dead. To me she is still living, and what the great poet said of Lucy Gray sounds peculiarly true in her case, too. â--Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. âOâer rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.â Only you would have to make Lucy seventy years old to fit my grandmother. The introduction being over, let us attend a dinner, or rather give attention to a description of one. We do not eat at one large dining-table with chairs around it. We each have a separate small table about a foot and a half square, all lacquered red, green, or black, and sit before it on our heels. A rice bucket, a teapot, some saucers, a bottle of soy, and so forth, are all placed near some one who is to specially serve us. We used to sit in two rows, father and grandmother facing each other, mother next to father, with the young sister opposite my brother and myself. The younger children usually sit next to some older person who can help them in eating. No grace was said, but I always bowed to my elders before I began with âitadakimasuâ (I take this with thanks), which I sometimes said when I was very hungry, as a good excuse and signal to start eating before the others. Rice is our staple food and an almost reverential attitude toward it as the sustainer of our life is entertained by the people. And I was told time and again not to waste it. Once a maid, so my mother used to tell me, was very careless in cleaning rice before it was cooked. She dropped lots of grains on the stone floor under the sink day after day, and never stopped to pick them up. One day, when she wanted to clean the floor, she was frightened half to death by finding there ever so many white serpents straining their necks at her. She really fainted when the goddess of the kitchen appeared to her in her trance and bade her to take all those white serpents in a basket and wash them clean. As she came to herself, she did as she was told, trembling with horror at touching such vile things, some of which, indeed, would try to coil themselves around her hands. But as the last pailful of water was poured on them, lo! what were serpents a moment ago were now all turned into nice grains of rice ready to be boiled. Now if there is one thing in the world I hate, it is a serpent; the mere mention of it makes my flesh creep. So you see I took care to pitch every grain of boiled rice into my mouth with my chop-sticks before I left my table. Another story was told me concerning the meal. The Japanese teach home discipline by stories, you know. This was a short one, being merely the statement that if anybody lies down on the floor soon after he has eaten his meal, he will turn into a cow. Now a number of times I had found cows chewing their cuds while stretched upon the ground. So I thought, in my childish mind, that there must be some mysterious connection between each of the three in the order as they stand: eating--lying down--cow. So, naturally, I avoided the second process, and, after eating, immediately ran out-of-doors to see what our man, Kichi, was doing. Kichi worked on our little farm, and I usually found him cleaning his implements after the dayâs work. We were great friends, and he used to present me with toys of his own making, which were very simple but indeed a marvel to me. Once he picked up a piece of bamboo and made a chip of it about a twelfth of an inch thick, a third of an inch wide, and three inches and a half long. Then he sliced obliquely one-half of one side and the other half of the same side in the opposite direction, so that the edges might be made thin. He also bored a small hole in the middle and put in a stick about twice as thick as a hairpin and about four inches long, the sliced side being down. He then cut off the projecting end of the stick, when it was tight in the chip. The dragon-fly was now ready to take flight. He took the stick between his palms and gave a twist, when lo! it flew away up in the air. I was delighted with the toy, and tried several times to make it fly. But when I used all my force and gave it a good long twist, why, it took such a successful flight that it hit the edge of the comb of our straw roof and stuck there, never to come down. I was very sorry at that, but Kichi laughed at the feat the dragon-fly had performed, and said that the maker was so skilful that the toy turned out to be a real living thing! It was perched there for the night. Well, I admired his skill very much, but did not want to lose my toy in that way. So I made him promise me to make another the next day, reminding him not to put too much skill in it. It was summer, the season of watermelons. We had a small melon patch and an ample supply of the fruit. Here was a chance for Kichi to try his skill again. One evening he took a pretty round melon and scooped the inside out so as to put in a lighted candle. So far this was very ordinary. He scraped the inner part until the rind was fairly transparent, and then cut a mouth, a nose, and eyes with eyebrows sticking out like pins. He then painted them so that when the candle was lighted a monster of a melon was produced. How triumphant a boy would feel in possessing such a thing! I hung it on the veranda that evening when the room was weirdly lighted by one or two greenish paper lanterns, and watched it with my folks. I expressed my admiration for Kichiâs skill, and with boyish fondness for exaggeration mentioned the fact that a toy dragon-fly of his making had really turned out to be a living thing. All laughed, but of course I made an effort to be serious. But no sooner were we silent than, without the slightest hint, the melon angrily dropped down with a crash. I screamed, but, being assured of its safety, I approached it and found the skull of the monster was badly fractured, in fact, one piece of it flying some twenty feet out in the garden. The next morning I took the first opportunity to tell Kichi that his toy was so skilfully made that it sought death of its own accord. Well, I started to tell what I did evenings, but when it was wet I had a very tedious time. Nothing is more dismal to a boy than a rainy day. To lie down was to become a cow. So one rainy evening I opened the screen, and, standing, looked out at the rain. But this was no fun. The only alternative was to go to one of the rooms. Now there is no chair in a Japanese house, and to sit over oneâs heels is too ceremonial, not to say a bit trying, even for a Japanese child. So my legs unconsciously collapsed, and there I was lying on my back, singing aloud some songs I had learned. Presently I began to look at the unpainted ceiling, and traced the grain. And is it not wonderful that out of knots and veins of wood you can make figures of some living things? Yes, I traced a manâs face, one eye much larger than the other. Then, I had a cat. Now I began to trace a big one with a V-shaped face. A cow! The idea ran through me with the swiftness of lightning, and the next moment I sprang to my feet and shook myself to see if I had undergone any transformation. Luckily, I was all right. But to make the thing sure, I felt of my forehead carefully to see if anything hard was coming out of it. The room now lost its attraction. And I ran away to the room where my grandmother was. Opening the screen, I said: âGrandma!â âWell, BÃ´?â âMay I come in? I want you to tell me the story of a badger, grandma.â I was never tired of hearing the same stories over and over again from my grandmother. There was at some distance a tall tree, shooting up like an arrow to the sky, which was visible from a window of her room. It was there that the badger of her story liked to climb. One early evening he was there with the cover of an iron pot, which he made with his magic power appear like a misty moon. Now a farmer, who was still working in the field, chanced to see it, and was surprised to find that it was already so late. He could tell the hour from the position of the moon, you know. So he made haste to finish his work, and was going home, when another moon, the real one this time, peeped out of the wood near by. The badger, however, had too much faith in his art to withdraw his mock moon, and held it there to rival the newly risen one. The farmer was astonished to find two moons at the same time, but he was not slow to see which was real. He smiled at the trick of the badger, and now wanted to outwit him. He approached the tree stealthily and shook it with all his might. The badger was not prepared for this. Losing his balance, he dropped down to the ground, moon and all, and had to run for his life, for the farmer was right after him with his hoe. I laughed and grandma laughed, too, over her own story, when the paper screen was suddenly brightened. âThe badgerâs moon!â I cried, and climbed up to my grandmother. âYes, I am a badger,â said a voice, as the door was opened. And there stood my mother with a paper lantern she had brought for the room. CHAPTER III THE VILLAGE SCHOOL A Mimic School--Preparations--The School--How Classes Are Conducted--Out of Tune--A Moral Story--School Discipline--Playthings--âKnife Sense.â At the age of six I was sent to school. For some time before the fall opening, I was filled with excitement and curiosity and looked forward to the day with great impatience. As our neighbors were few and scattered and I did not have many playmates, I wondered how I should feel on coming in contact with so many boys, most of whom were older than I. And then there was study. I had a faint idea what a learned scholar such as Confucius was, and felt as if a plunge into school a day or two would half convert me into that obscure ideal. Weeks before, I insisted on having a mimic school at home to prepare myself a little for the august event, and with my mother as teacher I learned the numerals and the forty-eight letters of the Japanese alphabet by heart. I wished to do just as I would at school, and so I used to go outdoors and with measured steps approach the porch. Entering the house, I sat down before a table and bowed reverentially. When my mother was there before me, I cheerfully began to study, well, for five minutes or so, but when I found her not quite ready I was mercilessly thrown out of humor, and only her exaggerated bows for apology would induce me to dry my sorrowful tears. The few days before the opening of the school were taken for my preparation. I needed copy-books, a slate, an abacus, which is a frame strung with wires on which are wooden beads to be moved in counting and reckoning, and a small writing-box, containing a stone ink-well, a cake of India ink, a china water-vessel, and brushes. I must have also a round lunch set, the three pieces of which can be piled one upon another like a miniature pagoda, and then, when empty, be put one within another to reduce the size. A pair of chop-sticks went with the set of course. Now all must be purchased new as if everything had a new start. And then a new school suit was procured together with a navy cap. These were all ready a day before, and were exhibited on the alcove. My younger brother was possessed of the school mania at the sight of these last, and insisted that he would have his set, too. And so mimic ones were procured, and these formed a second row together with his holiday suit. And then came the night before I was to go. I played the part of a watch-dog by sleeping right near my property. In fact, I went to bed early, but I could not sleep till after everybody had retired for the night. And then I dreamed that my abacus stood up, its beads chattering on how to start the trip in the morning. It was joined by the copy-book, made of soft, Japanese paper, which parted hither and thither in walking, as a ladyâs skirt,--a Japanese ladyâs, I mean. The chairman was my navy cap. I did not know how they decided, but they must have come to a peaceful agreement, as they were found, when I awoke in the morning, exactly in the same place, lying quiet. The next morning I set out with my father for the school. The faces of every one in the house were at the door looking at me. I made every effort to be dignified in walking, but could not help looking back just once, when my face relaxed into a smile, and I felt suddenly very shy. But as I heard my younger brother struggling to get away from my mother to follow me, I hastened my steps to turn round a corner of the road. The school was a low, dark-looking building, with paper-screened windows all around like a broad white belt, and with a spacious porch with dusty shelves to leave clogs on. When we arrived, we were led into a side room, where we met the master or principal, and soon my father returned home, leaving me to his care. I felt somewhat lonesome with strangers all around, but kept myself as cool as possible, which effort was very much like stopping a leak with the hands. A slight neglect would bring something misty into my eyes. But now all the boys--and girls, too, in the other room--came into one large room. Some forty of the older ones and fifteen of those who had newly entered took their seats, the older ones glancing curiously at the newcomers. But we were all in back seats and so were not annoyed with looks that would have been felt piercing us from behind. The desk I was assigned to was a miserable one; not only was it besmeared with ink ages old, but cuts were made here and there as if it were a well-fought battleground. But I did not feel ashamed to sit there, as I thought that this was a kind of place in which a Confucius was to be brought up. Looking awhile on what was going on, I found the boys were divided into three classes. The method of teaching was curious; one class alone was allowed to have a reading lesson, while the other two were having writing or arithmetic, that is, the teaching was so arranged that what one class was doing might not disturb the others. I was struck, even in my boyish mind, with the happy method, and learned the first lesson in management. And then reading was done partly in unison with the master, in a singsong style, and the effect was pleasing, if it was not very loud. The class in arithmetic, on the other hand, sent out a pattering noise of pencils on the slates, which in a confused mass would form an overtone of the orchestra. A writing lesson taken in the midst of such a company was never tiresome. Indeed, anything out of tune would send the whole house into laughter, and such things were constantly happening. [Illustration: A JAPANESE SCHOOL SCENE.] I was not slow in becoming acquainted with the boys. As I went into the playground for the first time, I felt rather awkward to find nobody to play with. But soon two boys whom I knew thrust themselves before me and uncovered their heads. And from that moment the playground became a place of great interest to me. Two friends grew into five, eight, ten, and fifteen, and in three days I felt as if I possessed the whole ground. As things grew more familiar, I found almost every boy was striving a little bit to be out of tune. When singsong reading was going on, pupils echoing responsively the teacherâs voice, some wild boy would suddenly redouble his effort with gusto, and his voice, like that of a strangled chicken, would soar away up, to the great merriment of the rest. And then often a boy, whose mind was occupied with a hundred and one things except the book, engaged in some sly communication with another, unconscious of the teacherâs approach, when he would literally jump into the air as the masterâs whip descended sharply on his desk. We sat by twos on benches, and when one boy saw his companion carelessly perching on the end of the bench, just right for experimenting the principle of the lever, he would not miss a moment to stand up, presumably to ask some question. But no sooner had he called to the teacher, than the other fellow would shoot down to the floor with a cry, and the bench come back with a tremendous noise. But this was not all. When the boys could not find a pretense to make a noise, they would stealthily paint their faces with writing brushes. Two touches would be enough to grow a thick mustache curling up to the ears. When the teacher faced a dozen of those mustache-wearing boys who were unable to efface their naughty acts as quickly as they had committed them, he could do nothing but to burst into undignified laughter. One day a strange method of discipline was instituted. The teacher must have been at a loss to bring the urchins to behave well. It was the last hour, the only hour, I think, the boys kept quiet. They did so partly because the course bore the great name of ethics, but more because moral stories were told. And the boys did not care whether the stories were moral or not, as long as they were interesting. Here is one of the twenty-four Chinese stories that teach filial duty: There was once a boy by the name of Ching who had an old mother. He was a good boy, and did what he could to please her. The mother, however, often asked for things hard to get. One day in winter she wanted some carp for her dinner. It was very cold, and the lake where Ching used to fish was all frozen. What could he do? He, however, went to the lake, looked about the place to find out where the ice was not thick, and, baring himself about his stomach, lay flat to thaw it. It was a very difficult thing to do, but at last the ice gave way, and to his great joy, from the crevice thus made, a big carp jumped out into the air. So he could satisfy his motherâs want. Not only the boys who listened intently, but also the teacher, got interested as the story grew to the climax, and the latter would gesticulate and eventually impersonate the dutiful boy, showing surprise at seeing a carp jumping ten feet into the air. This called forth laughter which was meant for applause. But the teacher soon came to himself and called silence. One day, after telling this story, he said that it was yet half an hour before the time to close, but he would dismiss us. âBut,â he continued, âyou can go only one by one, beginning with those who are quiet and good. This is to train you for your orderly conduct in study-hours, and if any one cannot keep quiet, even for half an hour, he shall stay in his place till he can do so.â This was a severe test. An early dismissal, even of five minutes before the time, had a special charm for boys, but to-day we could march out half an hour earlier. And then what a lovely day it was in autumn! The warm sun was bright, and the trees were ablaze with golden leaves. Persimmons were waiting for us to climb up and feast on them. After a moment the boys were as still as night. One by one a âgoodâ boy was called to leave; they went like lambs to the door, but no sooner were they out, than some stamped on the stairs noisily and shouted and laughed on the green, which act showed that the teacher did not always pick the right ones. I naturally waited my turn with impatience. I thought I was a pretty good boy. At least I had Confucius for my ideal, and those who had it were not many. I never did mischief, except once, and that was really an accident. I dropped my lunch-box in my arithmetic class, and chased it, as it had rolled off quite a distance. Half the school laughed at me, and that was all. I was now musing on my ill-luck when a call came to me at last. It was still a quarter of an hour before closing time, and I thought the teacher knew me, after all. Within a month after I entered the school, I made a new discovery as to a schoolboyâs equipments. I had thought that they consisted only of books, copy-books, an abacus, and such things. But these form only a half of them. The other half are hidden to view: they are in the pockets, or in the sleeves, I should have said. During the recess a strong cord will come out and also a top about two and a half inches in diameter, and with an iron ring a quarter of an inch thick. A Japanese top is a mad thing. When it sings out of the hands and hits that of the opponent, sending it off crippled, it makes you feel very happy. Another thing is a sling. It is as old as the time of David, but it was perfectly new to me. When a pebble shoots out and vanishes in the air, you feel as though you were able to hit a kite circling away up in the sky. And another thing! It is a knife, the broad-bladed one. With it they cut a piece one and a half feet long out of a thick branch of a tree and sharpen one end of it. Selecting a piece of soft ground, the boys in turn drive in their own pieces and try to knock over the others. The game depends much on oneâs strength and the kind of wood one selects. But there is a pleasure in possessing a cruel branch that will knock off three or four pieces at a blow. Oh, for a knife and a top! I thought. I disclosed the matter to my mother, who thought a top was all right and bought me one. But as for the knife, she gave me a small one, fit only to sharpen a pencil with. I felt ashamed (I blush to confess, though) even to show it to my schoolmates. If I had had money, I would have given my all just for a knife. But money was a mean thing; the possession of it was the root of all evil--so it was thought, and, indeed, I was penniless. But I must have a decent knife--decent among boys. If I could only get one I would give my Confucius for it. One day I saw my Kichi--we had kept up our meeting ever since. I talked to him about a knife. He did not tell me how I could get one because I talked only about what the possession of a good knife would mean to a boy. It was a rather general remark, but I disliked to go right to the point. It would be too much to presume on his kindness, you know. And then I rather wanted him to offer. He, however, produced his own favorite knife and cut a thick piece of deal right away to show how sharp it was. Well, I thought he had a knife sense, anyway. So I kept talking about it day after day, and each time I talked of it he showed me his, and tried it on a piece of wood. One day there was a town festival and in the evening I was allowed to go with Kichi to see it. Kichiâs manner that night was very strange; he appeared as if he had a chestful of gold. He asked me in a fatherly manner what I liked, and said he could buy me all the booths if I wished him to. I never felt so happy as then. I thought my patience had conquered him at last. And to make a long story short, I came to own a splendid knife, better than any other boyâs at the school! That night I slept with it under the pillow. The next morning the first thing I did was to go to thank Kichi. âHello, Kichi,â I shouted. âThank you very much for the knife.â âOh, good morning, Botâchan. Let me see your knife,â he said. âBut I am sorry that I played a joke on you last night. It was your mother who paid for it. You must go and thank her for it.â âWell, never!â I gasped. But being told how she handed him the money when we started, I gave him a slap--a mild one, though--on his face and ran immediately to my mother, thinking that after all she had something more than a mere knife sense. CHAPTER IV IN TOKYO Where We Settled--A Police Stand--Stores--âBroadwayâ--Illumination--The Foreign Settlement. About two years after I entered the village school I had to leave it for good and all. My father, as I have said, was in mid-air between the heaven of old Japan and the prosaic earth of the new institution. He would fain have remained there, had he had a pillar of gold to support him. And it is wonderful to see how this glittering pillar does support one in almost any place. It was a very serious matter for him to launch in the new current without any helpful equipment. But he had to do it, and made up his mind to try his fortune at the very centre of the new civilization, Tokyo. And so one day we said good-by to our friends who came to see us off, and started for the capital. âParting is such sweet sorrow,â as the poet sang, but I hardly remember now whether I shed tears or not. As I, however, look back to the day, I cannot but be grateful for the new move, for the immeasurable benefit it brought at least to us children. In Tokyo we settled very near where my aunt lived. The street was by no means in a noisy quarter, but I can hardly think of anywhere in the city which was so well situated for being in contact with so many places of interest, at least for a boy just from the country. It was near to the âBroadwayâ of Tokyo, and just as near to the foreign settlement and to the railroad station, the only one of the kind in the city in those days. And if I wanted a touch of the old order of things, there was a big temple, a block on the east, which made its presence known to the forgetful people by striking a big bell every evening. I cannot say they rang the bell, because the bells at Buddhist temples do not chime, but boom. They are so big--bigger than a siege-gun. I liked the sound very much, as it brought to me like a dream the vision of a hillside sleeping under the setting sun. But I must not forget to mention a large piece of grassy ground very near us, where we could romp, fly kites, or play at a tug-of-war. Now the first thing I did when I came to the new place was to familiarize myself with the neighborhood for the sake of running errands, or just to keep myself informed. First I started eastward and turned the corner to the left, where I found a wee bit of a house, or rather a box, six feet by nine, where two policemen were stationed. It was the first time I had ever seen any of them, and I thought they were a queer sort of people, who looked at me suspiciously whenever I looked at them in that way. But I thought as long as I did not do anything wrong, they would have no reason for coming at me. I also had great faith that if a thief should break into our house, they would soon come to our help. So I made
{'title': 'When I Was a Boy in Japan by Sakae Shioya', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}