ABSTRACT
After settling down in Yokosuka, I found what entertainment I could in occasionally going out to listen to naniwabushi recitals, tales narrated to the accompaniment of the shamisen. I also took in performances at the storyteller’s hall. One evening I thought I would take in a recital and set out along the road to Ōtaki-machi. Along the way, I ran into three oddly dressed men screaming out something at the top of their lungs. I pushed my way into the middle of the large crowd that had closed in around them.
