Having witnessed enough of the tubs, I turn my attention next to the wood-planked floor. Myriad Adams, none of whom you'd ever choose to sketch, are lined up in various postures and poses, washing away to their hearts' content. Two Adams in particular stand out. One is one his back, gazing up at the light of the lofty dormer. The other is belly-down, peering into the drain. Both of these Adams, it would seem, have nothing to do but while away the day. A priest is crouched on the floor, his face to the stone wall, as a junior apprentice kneads his shoulders. The apprentice, as hierarchy demands, is serving as attendant. There's also, in fact, a genuine attendant. Seemingly under the weather, he's wrapped in a padded vest in spite of the warmth. Hefting oval-shaped buckets, he douses the patrons' shoulders with warm water. Tucked in next to the big toe of his right foot is a silk-gauze exfoliator cloth. Closer to me is a fellow who covets buckets. He's using three at once, all the while offering soap to his neighbor, whom he's engaged in a long-winded discourse. Wondering what it's about, I listen in. "Firearms are a Western invention. In days past it was sword against sword. Westerners are cowards. Why else would they devise such things? It wasn't the Chinese. No, sir, it was Westerners. In Watōnai's time there were no firearms. Watōnai was a Minamoto, descended from Emperor Seiwa. Yoshitsune left Ezo and made his way to Manchuria, taking with him a savvy advisor. Yoshitsune's son then assailed the Ming regime. The Ming, finding themselves in dire straights, sent an envoy to the Third Shōgun, requesting a force of three thousand men. The Third detained the envoy, barring his return. -- That was ... -- Such or someone envoy ... -- At any rate, the envoy was held for two years and set up with a courtesan in Nagasaki. That courtesan then gave birth to Watōnai. When the envoy finally reached home, the Ming regime was in ruins, overrun by rebellion. ..." I give up - there's no coherent thread here. Behind this speaker sits a glum fellow in his mid-twenties, working medicated water over his groin area. He suffers, it seems, from some sort of swelling. Next over, a couple of impertinent lads, in their late teens, are prattling on about you this and me that. Local boarding students, no doubt. In the next spot again is an odd-looking backside. All up the spine, each vertebra juts out conspicuously, as though a length of marbled bamboo were inserted up from the haunches. Left and right of the spine are four patterned forms, lined up neatly like game boards. The boards are red and inflamed, with pustules dotting their peripheries.