Nureki Chimuo Archive

The Talking Theater came to an abrupt halt once again.

R-san’s eyes are scary.

I’ll explain.

I’m extremely busy right now.

I’m really swamped.

I’m so busy I’m out of R-san’s sight.

Long, long ago, my elders warned me not to go around proudly boasting, “I’m so busy I could die…” They said it was a base, vulgar act…

I wondered if there were words like “to act busy” or “to pretend to be busy,” so I opened the Kojien dictionary to check, and sure enough, they were there.

“Isogashigaru”: To feel busy. To appear busy.

The Kojien did not list the word “isogashiburu.”

I seem to recall using it in the same way as “to act superior” or “to act rich.”

“That guy’s acting all high and mighty for no reason. I can’t stand it.” Or, “That jerk’s acting like he’s rich. What a jerk.” Or something like that.

By the way, the word “eragaru” (to act arrogant) was in the Kojien.

It means “to think of oneself as great, to act superior, to strut.” That’s what it means.

About fifty-odd years ago, it was Shozo Numa-san (not the Shozo Numa commonly spoken of, but the real Shozo Numa-san) who advised me, “Everyone is busy. Don’t go saying you’re busy, just keep serializing ‘The Birth of Yellow Orami.’”

At that time, I truly felt ashamed of myself.

However, I was still very busy at the time and, unable to meet Shozo Numa-san’s expectations, I ended up interrupting the novel I was serializing in Kitan Club.

No, I’m busy right now, so I don’t have time to ramble on about things like this.

But I have to make an excuse.

I have received many letters from various people.

Most of the letters sent to me are what you might call handwritten. They are very carefully written in the sender’s own hand.

And their contents are all serious and heartfelt.

I know I must reply to them, but I simply don’t have the time and I just can’t bring myself to write them.

To those of you waiting for a reply from me, I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m being lazy. Even though I keep telling myself I must write, I just can’t seem to get around to it.

I simply have too much work.

(Ah, here I go again, pretending to be busy!)

But I’m already quite old, and there’s no point in working this hard at my age.

Yet one job after another keeps piling up and there’s simply no way to stop it.

In a book written by a doctor that goes by the title of “End-of-Life Planner,” there’s a passage that says, “The appropriate age for a human to die is around eighty.” I read that and thought, “That makes sense.”

In other words, around eighty is when your mind and body are still sound, and you can pass away peacefully without being a burden to anyone.

An “end-of-life planner” is someone who thinks about and plans how to end one’s life, I suppose.

I am, as it happens, exactly eighty years old right now.

I really shouldn’t have to work anymore. It’s the ideal age to die.

Essentially, now is the time to die.

So, even if someone asks me to do something, I could just put on airs and say, “I’m at the time to die, so I can’t take this on,” and stubbornly refuse. But since I was born and raised in Asakusa, I just can’t bring myself to say no.

I’ve always been a frivolous, easygoing sort of person, so when people flatter me, before I know it, I end up agreeing to do it. It’s a real problem.

Some jobs pay well, and some don’t.

The ones that don’t pay are actually more enjoyable.

Even after they’re over, the pleasant afterglow lingers for a long time, and there are moments when I think, “I’m glad I took that on.”

At times like that, I feel as though my life has been extended by about three years.

Nureki Chimuo’s rope does things that would make anyone who doesn’t know him fall off their chair in shock, thinking, “Wait, he’s doing this too? No way!”

“...At this moment, from beyond the high, high sky, and beyond that, from the far, far reaches of the sky, someone flies in, letting out a loud laugh. Who else could it be but our champion of justice, Golden Bat, wrapped in his red cape. Wahahahaha…”

In fact, I was doing that job, shouting lines like that and laughing out loud just yesterday as well.

A man who, the day before, had been tying up a woman and dripping wax onto her bare breasts, the very next day, “I am the champion of justice, Golden Bat!”

Who could possibly imagine the sight of him screaming, yelling, and laughing until his sides shook in front of a large audience.

But, in reality, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

He’s doing it because he finds it amusing and he takes pride in it.

It is precisely because I am doing things like this that I have been unable to write replies to the letters I have received from you all.

My apologies.

Even at a hundred, a sparrow never forgets to dance.

Yesterday, believe it or not, I was performing that “Golden Bat” act in the sacred lecture hall of a certain top-tier university, right in front of the students.

That’s right, I’ll go ahead and shamelessly share here the script for the street kamishibai performance I gave at that time.

After performing the “Golden Bat” paper theater, I used this script as a basis to give a lecture on the history of street performance, sounding quite convincing, for about thirty minutes in front of the students and teachers. Hello, I am the author of the kamishibai “Golden Bat vs. Dr. Death” that I just performed, and I am the one who drew the illustrations. This “Golden Bat,” a monster with a skull for a face, his entire body completely covered by a red cape, who flies freely through the sky despite having neither wings nor feathers, is said to have first appeared on the kamishibai stage long, long ago, around 1930. In other words, that was eighty years ago. Before I tell you the story of Golden Bat, I wanted to talk a little about the history of kamishibai itself, but since that would take too long, I will skip that part for now. At that time, there was a form of street kamishibai, and it was extremely popular with children. “Street” is written with the characters for “street” (machi) and “head” (ata), meaning it was kamishibai performed right in the streets. Performers would load a stage and a box of candy onto the back of a bicycle, moving from street to street to set up shop in places like parks, vacant lots, or alleyways where there were no passersby. So, if it rained, they couldn’t perform. On rainy days, they took the day off. It is said that back then, there were over two thousand of these kamishibai performers in Tokyo alone.

There were reportedly more than twenty companies, or rather, workshops, producing these kamishibai in the Tokyo areas. However, since they were all small-scale operations, they would open and then go out of business, only to be replaced by new ones that would also fail, so no exact figures have been preserved. It is said that an artist named Takeo Nagamatsu, who belonged to one of these workshops, created “Golden Bat” together with a scriptwriter named Ichiro Suzuki. This “Golden Bat” became the biggest hit in the history of street kamishibai. It was enjoyed not only by children but also by adults, and sequels were produced one after another. Back then, there was no such thing as copyright, or perhaps there was, but since the world of kamishibai involved performing on street corners while selling candy to children, it wasn’t a big deal. Each panel of this street kamishibai was hand-drawn. They weren’t mass-produced. Even if they had printed identical copies, it wouldn’t have been a viable business. However, because “Golden Bat” became so popular, similar kamishibai were created all over the place, and those too were welcomed by the children of the town. It was an era without television, and this was the cheapest and most accessible form of entertainment. Even now, eighty years later, when older people hear the word “kamishibai,” they say, “Ah, Golden Bat, that was fun,” with a nostalgic smile. Why did “Golden Bat” become such a beloved character, one that remains in people’s memories to this day? As you can see, “Golden Bat” is, quite literally, preposterous. You can’t even figure out what he is or who he really is. Is he human, an alien, or perhaps some kind of ghostly entity? It’s impossible to tell. Its eerie, skeletal face and head don’t look like they’re wearing a mask.

He’s supposed to be a hero, so why does he have such an ominous, terrifying face? It’s a mystery. No one knows where he lives or where he flies in from. No one knows what he eats to survive either. Unlike Superman from America, there is absolutely no plausible explanation of his origins, from his birth to his flight through space and arrival on Earth. He never says a single word about having come to protect the Earth. Anyway, whenever the Japanese protagonist is in danger, he suddenly flies in. Then he shouts, “I’m the hero!” and laughs loudly, defeating the villains. Then he leaves. We don’t know any of the details. I don’t think even the creator who first made this knew. Perhaps they found it too much trouble to come up with a logical explanation. I believe it was this very lack of anything, this freshness, that captured people’s inexplicable interest and led to its popularity. After all, in the human world, even when we understand the logic, things rarely go according to plan. Even though we don’t really know what’s going on, and even though we’re not entirely sure if he’s truly a hero, Golden Bat, who laughs loudly, declaring himself a hero for the time being, and flies in from somewhere, still hasn’t faded from the public’s memory. Perhaps that’s exactly why.

That’s how it is.

I embellished this story and told it in a funny way. Everyone watched and listened intently. It was so much fun!

After “Golden Bat” wrapped up and I was taking a breather, I received a request from a local history museum to stage a “Standing Illustration” performance.

“Standing Illustration” (Tachi-e) is a form of street performance that was popular from a period during the Meiji era through the Taisho and early Showa eras. It’s considered the precursor to kamishibai. I’m the only person left today who can actually perform it.

So I couldn’t refuse. Once I accepted, my already hectic schedule piled up even more, and I found myself completely tied up.

If I miss my time to die and just drag out my life, moping around due to illness or something, it will end up being miserable.

The season for the theater festival held in my neighborhood is also approaching. Since there are personal connections involved, I just can’t turn this one down.

The manuscript for “The Life and Work of Minomira Ko,” which the publisher has commissioned me to write. This is my main profession and a major undertaking. I have to write a total of four volumes.

I also have to write a novel on short notice for another publisher. An eighty-page mystery.

When I count them all up, there are still plenty more.

Oh, right, the play I’m going to see with Rakka-san. I absolutely must go to this, even if it means sacrificing everything else!