We'll see for how long. The master's fancies, like these cat eyes of mine, are in constant flux. He's not the type to soldier on. Furthermore, while he confides to his journal such grave concerns for his digestive disorders, to the outside world he presents a brave face. That scholar friend of his, the one who called the other day, postulated that all ailments arise from either one's own sins or the sins of one's forebears. He seemed to have thought it all through, and he argued eloquently, with clear logic and orderly reasoning. Regrettably, the master lacks both the intellect and the scholarship to refute him. However, given his own digestive ailments, he felt compelled, it seemed, to push back in his own defense. "Your theory intrigues me, but I would remind you that Carlyle, too, suffered from poor digestion." He seemed to infer, on the basis of nothing, that Carlyle's digestive suffering somehow elevated his own. "Carlyle may have numbered among those with dyspepsia, but I don't see that that necessarily puts dyspepsia sufferers in the company of Carlyle." His friend laid the matter to rest, and the master fell silent. Much as the master's dyspepsia feeds his vanity, truth be told he'd rather see it go. I can't but laugh a bit to imagine him drinking each night. On second thought, though, this morning's feat of zōni consumption may well be due to those glasses he emptied with Kangetsu last night. And speaking of zōni, I wouldn't mind some myself.