Kappa by Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Bag kindly introduced me to a kappa named Lap, but Lap acquainted me with the most unforgettable, a poet named Tock. Not unlike our human poets, Tock had long hair. Sometimes I'd go to his house to pass the time. Tock was always lining up his plants in a narrow room or writing a poem while smoking tobacco; he led a very comfortable lifestyle. In the corner of that room was a female kappa (Tock was not married, so I wouldn't call her his wife) knitting or some other task.

Tock smiled when he saw my face. (A kappa smiling is not a pleasant thing. It took a while for me to get used to it.) "Hey, I'm glad you came. Have a seat."

Tock enjoyed discussing the kappa lifestyle or kappa arts. His belief was that a kappa's life was usually spent on trivial things. Parents, spouses, siblings, their main pleasure in life is caushing trouble for eath other. The family system was more ridiculous than anything else.

Tock pointed out his window, "Just look at that idiocy!"

Outside the window went a young kappa, breathing heavily, with several others hanging about his neck, including his two decrepit parents. I admired the devotion of the young kappa, and praised his vigor.

"Hmm," said Tock. "You may have the qualifications to become a citizen of this country. Are you a socialist?"

I answered "qua" a kappa word meaning affirmative.

"So for a hundred people, you wouldn't mind sacrificing one genius?"

"What are you advocating for, then? I was told Tock speaks like an anarchist, but..."

"Me? I'm a superman." A closer translation to his words would be super-kappa.

I enjoyed debating with Tock. He had a curious way of thinking, and believed that art should be without cultural influence, for it's own sake. To an artist, good and evil is of no concern, and they must be a superman. This was not the opinion of Tock alone. Many among Tock's fellow poets held this belief. Sometimes I'd go with Tok to his super-kappa club. There gathered poets, writers, playwrights, critics, artists, musicians, sculptors, and amateurs in the arts. In a salon brightly lit with electricity, they'd have cheerful conversations, sharing their triumphs. They'd also demonstrate their superior qualities. I witnessed a sculptor passionately embracing a younger kappa behind a large potted fern. Another time, a certain female novelist, while standing on a table, drank sixty bottles of absinthe. Then passing out, she fell beneath the table and died.

One evening I linked arms with the poet Tock as we returned home from the club. Tock was in an unusually sullen mood, not saying a word. We happened to pass by a small window, through which a husband and wife kappa and their three children, could be seen eating dinner at the table. Tock sighed, and spoke to me:

"I have intended to be a super-kappa even in romance, but seeing a family like that, I still feel envious."

"If you think about it, isn't that a contradiction?"

But he stood for a moonlit moment with his arms crossed, watching that peaceful supper scene. Then answered, "They say you can't make an omelette without breaking an egg -- Love is even more of a mess."