YAIDZU, August, 1899.
DEAR MITCHELL,--Went to that new hotel this afternoon, and discovered
that the people are all liars and devils and.... Therefore it would
_never_ do for you to go there. Then I went to an ice and fruit seller,
who has a good house; and he said that after the fourteenth he could let
you have sleeping room. The village festival is now in progress, so that
the houses are crowded.
If this essay fails, I have the alternative of a widow's cottage. She is
a good old soul--with the best of little boys for a grandson, and sole
companion; the old woman and the boy support themselves by helping the
fishermen. But there will be fleas.
Oh! d--n it all! what is a flea? Why should a brave man tremble before
a nice clean shining flea? You are not afraid of twelve-inch shells
or railroad trains or torpedoes--what, then, is a flea? Of course by
"a flea" I mean fleas _generically_. I've done my best for you--but
the long and the short of it is that if you go anywhere outside of the
Grand Hotel you _must_ stand fleas--piles, multitudes, _mountains_ and
_mountain-ranges_ of fleas! There! Fleas are a necessary part of human
existence.
The iceman offers you a room breezy, cool,--you eat with me; but by
all the gods! you've _got_ to make the acquaintance of some fleas! Just
think how many unpleasant acquaintances _I_ run away from! yet--I have
Buddha's patience with fleas.
At this moment, a beautiful, shining, plump, gathered-up-for-a-jump flea
is walking over my hand.
Affectionately,
LAFCADIO.