Читать книгу And Then - Soseki Natsume - Страница 10

CHAPTER I

AS HURRIED FOOTSTEPS clattered past the gate, a pair of large clogs hung suspended from the sky. When the footsteps grew distant, the clogs slipped quietly away and vanished. Daisuke awoke.

Turning to the head of his bed, he noticed a single camellia blossom that had fallen to the floor. He was certain he had heard it drop during the night; the sound had resounded in his ears like a rubber ball bounced off the ceiling. Although he thought this might be explained by the silence of the night, just to make sure that all was well with him, he had placed his right hand over his heart. Then, feeling the blood pulsating correctly at the edge of his ribs, he had fallen asleep.

For some time, he gazed vacantly at the color of the large blossom, which was nearly as large as a baby’s head. Then, as if he had just thought of it, he put his hand to his heart and once again began to study its beat. It had become a habit with him lately to listen to his heart’s pulsation while lying in bed. As usual, the palpitation was calm and steady. With his hand still on his chest, he tried to imagine the warm, crimson blood flowing leisurely to this beat. This was life, he thought. Now, at this very moment, he held in his grasp the current of life as it flowed by. To his palm it felt like the ticking of a clock. But it was more, it was a kind of alarm that summoned him to death. If it were possible to live without hearing this bell—if only his heart did not measure out time as well as blood—then how carefree he would be! How thoroughly he would savor life! But—and here Daisuke shuddered involuntarily. He was a man so attached to life that he could scarcely bear to picture his heart calmly beating to the coursing of his blood. There were times when, lying in bed, he would place his hand just below his left breast and wonder, what if someone gave me one good blow with a hammer here. Although he lived in sound health, there were instances when his consciousness awakened to the indisputable fact of his being alive as a near-miracle of good fortune.

Lifting his hand from his heart, he picked up the newspaper beside his pillow. He reached from beneath the covers and with both hands spread out the paper. On the left was a picture of a man stabbing a woman. He quickly averted his gaze and turned to another page where the school dispute was written up in large print. Daisuke read the article for a while but soon let the paper slip from languid hands onto the covers. Drawing on a cigarette, he slid himself about six inches from the bed, picked up the camellia from the floor mat, and turning it over, drew it to the tip of his nose. His mouth, mustache, and nose were all but hidden in the flower. The smoke, mingling with the petals and stamens, curled out thickly. Then placing the flower on the white sheet, he got up and went to the bathroom.

He carefully brushed his teeth, taking pleasure, as always, in their regularity. He stripped and scrubbed his chest and back. There was a deep, fine luster to his skin. Whenever he moved his shoulders or lifted his arms, his flesh exuded a thin layer of oil, as if it had been massaged with balm that was then carefully wiped away. This, too, gave him satisfaction. Next, he parted his black hair, which, even without oil, was perfectly manageable. Like his hair, his mustache was fine and gave him an air of youthful freshness, elegantly defining the area above his mouth. Stroking his full cheeks two or three times with both hands, Daisuke peered into the mirror. His motions were precisely those of a woman powdering her face. And in fact, he took such pride in his body that had there been the need, he would not have hesitated to powder his face. More than anything he disliked the shriveled body and wizened features of a Buddhist holy man, and whenever he turned to the mirror, he was thankful that at least he had not been born with such a face. If people called him a dandy, he was not in the least disturbed. To this extent had he moved beyond the old Japan.

Some thirty minutes later he sat at the table. As he sipped his tea and buttered his toast, Kadono, the houseboy, brought in the newspapers, placing them, neatly folded, beside the cushion and beginning loudly, “It’s really something, isn’t it, Sensei, this business!’’ This houseboy always used the respectful term Sensei* in addressing Daisuke. At first, Daisuke had protested with a wry smile, but Kadono had always answered, oh, yes, yes, but Sensei—and so Daisuke had been forced to leave the matter as it was; eventually, it had become a custom so that now, with Kadono alone, Daisuke felt no qualms about passing off as Sensei. It was only when he began to keep a houseboy that Daisuke realized there were no other appropriate forms of address to use toward a master like himself.

“I suppose you mean the school dispute?” Daisuke calmly continued to eat his toast.

“Well, don’t you think it’s awfully exciting?’’ “You mean, trying to get rid of the principal?”

“Yes, that’s it. He’s going to have to resign.” Kadono was gleeful. “Do you stand to gain in any way if the principal resigns?”

“Oh, come on, Sensei, you shouldn’t joke like that. A fellow doesn’t get excited over something just because he might gain or lose.”

Daisuke continued to eat. “Do they want to get rid of the principal because they really hate him, or is there a question of profit involved—do you know?”

“No, I don’t know about that. How about you, Sensei, do you know?”

“No, I don’t know either. I don’t know, but there’s no chance that people today would stir up all that trouble if they didn’t think they were going to get something out of it. They’re just making excuses.” “Is that right?” Kadono’s face showed some concern. With this, Daisuke abruptly put an end to the conversation. Kadono could understand no more. Beyond a certain level, no matter what anyone said, Kadono would unabashedly cling to his favorite “Is that right?” It was impossible to tell whether one’s words had registered with him or not. It was precisely this uncertainty, and the consequent absence of any need to stimulate the youth, that appealed to Daisuke and led him to keep Kadono as a houseboy. He neither went to school nor studied, but spent all his time loafing. Why not try his hand at a foreign language, Daisuke might ask. Kadono invariably answered, do you think so? Or, is that right? Never would he actually say that he would try it; being as lazy as he was, he was incapable of giving a more definite reply. Daisuke, for his part, having better things to do than educate Kadono, had let the matter drop at a suitable point. Fortunately, Kadono’s body, unlike his mind, functioned well, and Daisuke fully appreciated this point. Not only Daisuke, but also his old housekeeper was finding things much easier these days. Consequently, the old woman and the houseboy got along exceedingly well. They talked a great deal in the absence of their master.

“I wonder what on earth Sensei plans to do, eh, Auntie?”

“When you get as far as he has, you can do anything. No need to worry.”

“I’m not worrying. It just seems like he ought to do something.” “Well, he’s probably planning to find a bride first and then to take his time looking for a position.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I sure wish I could spend my days reading books and going to concerts like that.”

“You?”

“Well, I don’t care if I read or not. I just wish I could play around like that.”

“You know all those things were decided in your previous life. Nothing you can do about it.”

“Is that the way it is.”

This was how their conversations ran. Two weeks before Kadono joined Daisuke’s household, the following exchange took place between the young bachelor master and the idle youth:

“Are you going anywhere to school right now?” “I was for a while. But I’m not any more.” “Where did you used to go?”

“Well, I went to all kinds of places. But I seemed to get tired of them right away.”

“You mean you get fed up easily?” “Well, yes, I guess that’s it.”

“So you don’t have plans to do much in the way of studying?” “No, not really. Besides, things aren’t too good at home these days.” “The old woman at my place says she knows your mother?”

“Yes, she used to live right near here.” “Then, your mother doesn’t . . . ?”

“That’s right, she doesn’t have much of a job either. She just takes in odd jobs to do at home. But business is bad everywhere these days, and things don’t seem to be going too well.”

“Don’t seem to be going well? But don’t you live in the same house?”

“Well, yes, we live together, but I’ve never really bothered to ask how she’s doing. It’s too much trouble. It seems like she’s always complaining.”

“How about your older brother?” “He works at the post office.”

“Is that all in your family?”

“I have a younger brother, too. He’s at the bank—you might say he’s a step above messenger boy.”

“Then you’re the only one who’s sitting around, right?” “Yes, I guess that’s right.”

“And what do you do when you’re home?”

“Well, most of the time, I guess I sleep. Other times, I go out for walks.”

“Isn’t it a little embarrassing to sit around when everyone else is out earning money?”

“No, not really.”

“Your family must get along extremely well.” “Strangely enough we never seem to fight much.”

“I should think your mother and older brother would want you to get out on your own as soon as possible.”

“You might have a point there.”

“You seem to have an extraordinarily easygoing temperament. Is that how you really are?”

“Well, I don’t see why I should lie about things.” “So you’re a completely carefree sort?”

“Yes, I guess that’s what you’d call me.” “How old is your older brother?”

“Hm . . . he must be going on twenty-six.”

“Then he’ll probably be looking for a wife, isn’t that right? Do you plan to stay on like this even after he gets married?”

“I’ll have to wait and see. When the time comes, I’m sure something will happen.”

“You don’t have any other relations?”

“There’s an aunt. This one runs a freight business in Yokohama.” “Your aunt does?”

“Oh, it’s not really my aunt who runs it; I guess it’s my uncle.” “Couldn’t you get them to give you a job? The freight business must need a lot of people.”

“Well, I’m basically lazy, so I think they’d probably say no.”

“It doesn’t help if you look at yourself like that. You see, the point is, your mother has asked the old woman at my place if we could find something for you to do there.”

“Yes, I’ve heard something like that.” “And how do you feel about it?”

“Well, yes, I’m planning on not being too lazy. ...” “You mean you’d rather come to my place?” “Well, yes, that’s right.”

“But it won’t do if you’re just going to sleep and take walks.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m strong at least. I’ll fill the bathtub and things like that.”

“We have running water so you won’t need to carry water to the tub.”

“Then maybe I can do the cleaning.”

Such were the conditions under which Kadono became houseboy to Daisuke.

Daisuke finally finished his meal and began to smoke. Kadono, who had been sitting with his back propped up against the cupboard, his arms around his knees, decided enough time had passed for him to try another question. “Sensei, how’s your heart this morning?” He had learned of Daisuke’s habit a few days earlier, and his tone was slightly bantering.

“So far it’s all right.”

“You make it sound as if it might be in danger tomorrow. The way you worry over your body, Sensei, you’re going to end up really sick someday.”

“I am sick already.”

Kadono only said “Oh,” and stared at Daisuke’s healthy complexion and the ample flesh about his shoulders, visible even through his clothes. After such conversations Daisuke invariably felt sorry for this youth. He could only think that Kadono’s skull was crammed with the brains of a cow, for he could follow but half a block down the avenue of conversation that ordinary people walked. On the rare occasions when Daisuke so much as turned a corner, he was immediately lost. And of course, he could never set foot on even the bottom rung of a ladder upon which the foundations of logic were vertically laid. As for his sensitivity, it was a sorrier case still. He gave the impression that his nervous system was a network of coarse straw. Observing the state of Kadono’s existence, Daisuke wondered to what end the youth ventured to breathe and subsist. But Kadono idled away unconcerned. Not only was he unconcerned, he tacitly understood that this very idling conferred upon him a claim to kinship with Daisuke and he was apt to behave more than a little triumphantly. Moreover, playing up his body’s dogged strength, he would close in on the sensitive points of his master’s high-strung nature. Daisuke, in turn, regarded his own nerves as the tax he had to pay for his uniquely keen speculative powers and acute sensibilities. It was the anguish that echoed from the achievement of a lofty education; it was the unwritten punishment dealt to natural aristocrats, those designated by heaven. It was precisely by submitting to these sacrifices that he had been able to become what he was. Indeed, there were times when he recognized the very meaning of life in these sacrifices. Kadono could not begin to understand this.

“Kadono, wasn’t there any mail?”

“Mail? Oh yes. A postcard and a letter. I left them on your desk. Shall I get them?”

“I suppose I could go over there.”

Given this uncertain response, Kadono got up and brought the postcard and letter. On the postcard was scribbled in light ink this exceedingly simple message: “Arrived in Tokyo yesterday; put up at above inn; would like to see you tomorrow morning.’’ On the front, the names of an inn at Urajimbōchō and of the sender, Hiraoka Tsunejirō, had been dashed off as carelessly as the message.

“So he’s here already. He must have come in yesterday,” Daisuke murmured as if to himself as he picked up the envelope, which was addressed in his father’s hand. His father first announced that he had returned two or three days before, that there was no particular hurry but that there were many things he wished to discuss and Daisuke was to come as soon as this letter reached him. Then the letter turned to such desultory matters as how it had been too early for the cherry blossoms in Kyoto, how crowded and uncomfortable the express train had been, etc., etc. Folding up the letter, Daisuke compared the two pieces of mail with a peculiar expression on his face. He then summoned Kadono.

“Kadono, will you go make a phone call? To my house.” “Yes, to your house. What should I say?”

“That I have an engagement today—I’m supposed to see someone so I can’t come. I’ll come tomorrow or the day after.”

“I see. To whom?”

“The old man’s come back from a trip and says he wants to talk to me. But you don’t have to get him on the phone. Just give the message to whoever answers.”

“Yes, I will.”

Kadono went out noisily. Daisuke left the morning room and went through the living room to his study. He noticed that it had been nicely cleaned; the fallen camellia had been swept away. He went over to the bookshelves at the right of the vase and lifted a heavy photograph album from the top. Still standing, he undid the gold clasp and began flipping the pages until he came to the middle, where he suddenly rested his hand. There was a portrait of a woman about twenty years old. Daisuke gazed intently at her face.

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* The title Sensei is generally applied to teachers of every variety and to doctors. It is also used for those who have in other ways gained distinction, for example, artists, critics, or politicians.