The baggage problem seemed to be the main difficulty and, after the elimination of all but the absolutely essential, various makeshifts - from the employment of a carrier, to “going on the wallaby, humping one's swag,” when despatch ahead was impracticable - were resorted to. Many years previously, when leaving the train the Pilgrim, having considerably less regard for les convenances than the little he has at this later date, “went Fantee,” (going native) so to speak, and donning kimono and geta thus solved the baggage problem.
But again it is a case of “other times other manners,” as rather more appears to be expected from the father of a growing family and eke (absent) member of the Kirk; hence the methods of by-gone days were, Alas! not to be considered. (Mem. for incorporation in forthcoming work on philosophical maxims. The enjoyment of the traveller is in inverse ratio to the amount of his baggage.)
At the end of a long, solitary tramp one day a most untoward and distressing happening occurred. For the first time, the writer's Japanese vocabulary completely and effectually broke down. Fluency in this most attractive and difficult of languages was never claimed, but whether in town or country the Pilgrim has always hitherto been able to make himself understood. It is a painful confession, but on the occasion referred to, all his polite honorifics met with absolutely no result beyond a muttered “shirap” (vulgar, I don't understand).
The obtuse, monosyllabic gent referred to seemed to be a stone mason of sorts, employed with others about the repairing of a nearby house. It was at a place where the road forked and although that on the right looked the more inviting, as being the easier of negotiating, the Pilgrim had vague doubts as to it being the correct one to take, hence his cheery and polite “Good day” and enquiry of the obtuse one.
This was a problem that required thinking out so a seat was taken on a convenient stone and the perspiration wiped away from his heated brow. What had happened? Had increasing years brought on senility with loss of memory, or what was it? As a test, the writer went through the multiplication table, including the “nine times” column thereof that had ever been a stumbling block. Result, letter perfect, so it could not be loss of memory.
While mentally debating the point and planning an attack upon the obtuse one from a new angle, one of his fellow workmen came along, communication was immediately re-established and the necessary information as to the right road to be taken elicited. The newcomer explained further that the obtuse one was stone deaf and the only method of communication with him was writing. A knowledge of the katakana being one of the writer's accomplishments, the passer by, had there been one, might have discerned him apologising to the afflicted one by means of characters drawn with a stick in the dust of the road.
The Back of Beyond, date uncertain
The Pilgrim was sick. There was no doubt about it, very sick. Something had gone wrong with the works, either a touch of old Sol, over-exertion, or some cog in the internal economy had slipped. One afternoon, after a long tramp, the Pilgrim reeled into a Japanese inn, to which his baggage had been sent in advance, with a splitting headache, coughing and sneezing, and all the symptoms of an acute attack of influenza.
Tojitsu-michi
The host and his staff were kindness itself and did their utmost. One motherly old dame, (may the Peace of Allah rest upon her household!) credited with a knowledge of herbs and simples, took the patient in hand and after drenching him with an abominably tasting brew, which, however, seemed to allay the most distressing symptoms, went over him, inch by inch, muscle by muscle in massage, which resulted in a deep and refreshing slumber.
"I stood on the bridge"
It was some seven miles to the nearest doctor and desiring his services, one of the staff immediately set out, with the information that a foreign “danna san” lay sick at -- and required his professional services.
Country Scene near Unzen
"Mountains Clothed with Pines"
En passant it may be remarked, that the ensuing consultation and medical examination was no private interview; a clinic comprising all hands and the cook, a number of neighbours, one yellow dog and some chickens, appearing to display a considerable amount of interest in the condition of the afflicted stranger within their gates, an interest which would have been embarrassing had it not been amusing. It must not be assumed, however, that the afore said multitude were actually inside the sick chamber as, apart from considerations of space, apparently the “front seats” were strictly reserved for mine hostess and the staff. Again, the “shoji” (paper windows) though drawn, seemed to be rather an advantage than otherwise, as by placing a finger in his, or her, mouth and wetting it, if said finger was lightly pressed against the paper a small hole resulted by means of which the observed could see without being seen.
When physician and patient ‘conversed’ in English it was as deep calling unto deep. True, there was but little of it, as the “real” business of the session was conducted in Japanese. Such as it was, however, it provided much food for subsequent comment and more-or-less giggling at the ditto unsuccessful attempts at imitation and reproduction, among the attendant “nesans”, in the adjacent cook-house, or at meetings at the local ladies Country Club - the communal “ igawa” (well).
As far as can be recalled, the extent of the pourparlers conducted in the future Universal language was as follows: -
Doctor. “A-ah! (with audibly indrawn breath) Good morning.”
Patient. “ Good morning, Doc.” It must have been several hours after sunset but the patient forbore debating the point.
D. “And what is your sick?” This while taking the pulse and warming up the thermometer. The patient intimated that giving it a name was up to him, but opined that it appeared to be a dose of super-flue and that he, the patient, was about all in.
However, whatever his limitations as a linguist, the old gentleman knew his business and after patting, pounding, pressing, listening to the wheels going round inside the patient; putting the latter through an examination as critical as that to which the applicant for a life policy is subjected, he departed, promising to send along the necessary medicine.
This arrived in due course, a quantity of bottles and packages sufficient to set up s small drug store. There were gargles draughts and two kinds of powders the latter in white and blue papers, all duly labeled with the name of the patient, date and directions. Unlike the familiar paper label pasted on the bottle to which one is accustomed, in Japan it appears to be the regular thing to affix a small wooden “tally” by a string to the neck of the bottle.
Thus passed two days when in consequence of professional skill and the care and attention of the hostess and her staff, the patient, shaky on his pins but fit to travel, set out on his return to Nagasaki.
Shimabara Castle
Shimabara Castle
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