have to revise our calculations.
I heard the ta-ra-ra-ra-ra again. Every so often, bugs crawled underneath the newspaper we were sitting on. I could feel them moving through the paper. Various flying insects—some of them quite large—buzzed and landed around us. They seemed particularly attracted to the smoked squid and the saké. Toru paid them virtually no attention as he continued to eat and drink.
“I think you just ate a bug,” Sensei pointed out to Toru, who replied with a straight face, “Mmm, delicious!”
The dried mushrooms weren’t completely dehydrated, like dried shiitake ; rather they still had a bit of moisture in them. They looked more like beef jerky. What kind of mushrooms are these? I asked.
Satoru, already red in the face, replied, “Fly agarics.”
“Aren’t those extremely poisonous?” Sensei asked.
“Did you look that up in your mushroom encyclopedia?” Toru said with a smirk. Instead of responding, Sensei took the mushroom field guide out of his briefcase. It was an old, well-thumbed copy, and on its cover was a mushroom that appeared to be a fly agaric, with an impressive-looking red spotted cap.
“Toru, do you know the story about these?”
“What story?”
“What they did with them in Siberia. Long ago, the chiefs of indigenous highland peoples of Siberia would ingest the fly agaric before going into battle. Fly agaric mushrooms contain constituents that induce a psychoactive trance. Once eaten, the mushroom causes an extremely agitated state characterized by ferocity and momentary bursts of tremendous strength that can persist for hours. First, the chief would eat the mushroom, and the next-highest-ranking man would drink the chief’s urine. Then the next-highest-ranking man would drink the second-highest-ranking man’s urine, and so on, until the mushroom’s constituents were coursing through the veins of all the members of the tribe.
“Apparently, when the last man finished drinking the urine, they were prepared to do battle,” Sensei concluded.
“That’s a handy little mush . . . mushroom encyclopedia,” Satoru said with a high-pitched laugh. He was nibbling on a shred of dried mushroom.
“Come on, you two, try some,” Toru said, thrusting a dried mushroom into my hand and Sensei’s hand. Sensei took a long, hard look
at the mushroom. I gave it a tentative sniff. Both Toru and Satoru dissolved into senseless guffaws. Toru started to say, “You know . . . ,” and Satoru roared with laughter. Once he had controlled himself, Satoru then began with, “It’s like . . . ,” only to have Toru cackle hysterically. The two of them tried to speak again at the same time and burst out laughing together.
The temperature had risen a bit. Even though it would soon be winter, the surrounding trees and the undergrowth beneath us provided a damp yet toasty warmth. Sensei slowly sipped his saké, intermittently nibbling on the dried mushroom.
“Do you think it’s okay to eat a poisonous mushroom?” I asked. Sensei laughed. “Well, now . . . ,” he replied with a charming smile.
Toru, Satoru, are these really fly agarics?
Of course not, they couldn’t be.
You bet they are, the real deal.
Toru and Satoru replied at the same time. I couldn’t tell which one of them had said which. Sensei was still smiling, leisurely nibbling on his mushroom.
Sensei closed his eyes as he said the words, “Cracked pot.”
What’s that? I asked him.
He repeated the phrase, Even a cracked pot has a lid that fits.
Tsukiko, eat the mushroom, he instructed me in his teacher’s voice. Tentatively, I tried licking it, but all I could taste was dirt. Toru and Satoru were still laughing. Sensei kept smiling, looking off in the distance. Giving in, I stuffed the whole mushroom in my mouth, chewing and chewing.
We sat there drinking for another hour or so, and I noticed no real effects. We packed up our things and went back the way we came. As we walked, I felt alternately like
I heard the ta-ra-ra-ra-ra again. Every so often, bugs crawled underneath the newspaper we were sitting on. I could feel them moving through the paper. Various flying insects—some of them quite large—buzzed and landed around us. They seemed particularly attracted to the smoked squid and the saké. Toru paid them virtually no attention as he continued to eat and drink.
“I think you just ate a bug,” Sensei pointed out to Toru, who replied with a straight face, “Mmm, delicious!”
The dried mushrooms weren’t completely dehydrated, like dried shiitake ; rather they still had a bit of moisture in them. They looked more like beef jerky. What kind of mushrooms are these? I asked.
Satoru, already red in the face, replied, “Fly agarics.”
“Aren’t those extremely poisonous?” Sensei asked.
“Did you look that up in your mushroom encyclopedia?” Toru said with a smirk. Instead of responding, Sensei took the mushroom field guide out of his briefcase. It was an old, well-thumbed copy, and on its cover was a mushroom that appeared to be a fly agaric, with an impressive-looking red spotted cap.
“Toru, do you know the story about these?”
“What story?”
“What they did with them in Siberia. Long ago, the chiefs of indigenous highland peoples of Siberia would ingest the fly agaric before going into battle. Fly agaric mushrooms contain constituents that induce a psychoactive trance. Once eaten, the mushroom causes an extremely agitated state characterized by ferocity and momentary bursts of tremendous strength that can persist for hours. First, the chief would eat the mushroom, and the next-highest-ranking man would drink the chief’s urine. Then the next-highest-ranking man would drink the second-highest-ranking man’s urine, and so on, until the mushroom’s constituents were coursing through the veins of all the members of the tribe.
“Apparently, when the last man finished drinking the urine, they were prepared to do battle,” Sensei concluded.
“That’s a handy little mush . . . mushroom encyclopedia,” Satoru said with a high-pitched laugh. He was nibbling on a shred of dried mushroom.
“Come on, you two, try some,” Toru said, thrusting a dried mushroom into my hand and Sensei’s hand. Sensei took a long, hard look
at the mushroom. I gave it a tentative sniff. Both Toru and Satoru dissolved into senseless guffaws. Toru started to say, “You know . . . ,” and Satoru roared with laughter. Once he had controlled himself, Satoru then began with, “It’s like . . . ,” only to have Toru cackle hysterically. The two of them tried to speak again at the same time and burst out laughing together.
The temperature had risen a bit. Even though it would soon be winter, the surrounding trees and the undergrowth beneath us provided a damp yet toasty warmth. Sensei slowly sipped his saké, intermittently nibbling on the dried mushroom.
“Do you think it’s okay to eat a poisonous mushroom?” I asked. Sensei laughed. “Well, now . . . ,” he replied with a charming smile.
Toru, Satoru, are these really fly agarics?
Of course not, they couldn’t be.
You bet they are, the real deal.
Toru and Satoru replied at the same time. I couldn’t tell which one of them had said which. Sensei was still smiling, leisurely nibbling on his mushroom.
Sensei closed his eyes as he said the words, “Cracked pot.”
What’s that? I asked him.
He repeated the phrase, Even a cracked pot has a lid that fits.
Tsukiko, eat the mushroom, he instructed me in his teacher’s voice. Tentatively, I tried licking it, but all I could taste was dirt. Toru and Satoru were still laughing. Sensei kept smiling, looking off in the distance. Giving in, I stuffed the whole mushroom in my mouth, chewing and chewing.
We sat there drinking for another hour or so, and I noticed no real effects. We packed up our things and went back the way we came. As we walked, I felt alternately like
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