Читать книгу And Then - Soseki Natsume - Страница 12

CHAPTER III

DAISUKE’S FATHER, NAGAI TOKU, was old enough to have seen the battlefield during the Restoration, but he was still in robust health. After quitting the civil service he had entered the business world, and while trying his hand at this and that, money had seemed to accumulate naturally, until, in some fourteen or fifteen years’ time, he had found himself a wealthy man.

Daisuke had an older brother named Seigo. After finishing school, he had gone straight into a company with which his father had ties, so that by now he held a position of considerable authority. He had a wife, Umeko, and two children. The older of these was a boy, Seitarō, now fifteen years of age. The girl, Nui, was three years younger.

Besides Seigo, there was an older sister, but she had married a diplomat and they now made their home in the West. There had been another brother between Seigo and this sister, and still another between her and Daisuke, but both of them had died young. Their mother was dead as well.

Such was the composition of Daisuke’s family. The married sister and Daisuke, who had recently set up his own household, were gone, so that left five people, including the children, in the main house.

Once a month without fail, Daisuke went home for money. He lived on money that could be specified neither as his father’s nor his brother’s. When bored, he went more frequently. He would tease the children, play a game of go with the houseboy, or engage his sister-in-law in theater talk.

Daisuke was fond of his sister-in-law. Hers was a character in which Tempō mannerism and Meiji modernism were ruthlessly patched together. Once she had gone to the trouble of ordering an inordinately expensive piece of brocade with an unpronounceable name through her sister in France. She had cut it up with four or five other people to fashion into obi. Later, when it was discovered that the material had been exported from Japan, the family had a good laugh. It was Daisuke who had investigated the matter by checking the display cases of Mitsukoshi. Umeko also liked Western music and was easily persuaded to accompany Daisuke to his concerts. At the same time, she showed an unusual interest in fortunetelling, idolizing Sekiryūshi and a certain master Ojima. On two or three occasions Daisuke had tagged along in a ricksha to keep her company on her visits to these fortunetellers.

These days, Seitarō was completely absorbed in baseball and sometimes Daisuke would toss him a few pitches. He was a child with a peculiar ambition: every year, at the beginning of the summer when all the hot-potato venders converted into ice parlors, Seitarō liked to be the first to run over and buy ice cream, well before the first hint of perspiration. When there was no ice cream, he contented himself with ices and still came home triumphant. Lately, he was saying that he wanted to be the first person to enter the new sumō wrestling hall as soon as it was completed. Once he asked if Daisuke knew any wrestlers.

Nui was given to answering everything with “I’m warning you, you’d better watch out.’’ She also changed her hair ribbon several times a day. She had recently begun violin lessons, and as soon as she got home, she would practice what she had learned, producing sawlike noises. But she would never play if someone was watching. Since she shut herself up in her room and squeaked away, her parents thought she must be quite good. Daisuke was the only one who would ever peek in on her, at which times she would scold, “You’d better watch out.”

Daisuke’s brother was often away from the house. When he was especially busy the only meal he took at home was breakfast. The children had no idea what he did with the rest of his day and Daisuke was equally ignorant on this point. In fact, he had decided that it was preferable not to know; as long as it was unnecessary, he did not probe into his brother’s outside activities.

Daisuke was enormously popular with the children, reasonably so with his sister-in-law. With his brother, he could not tell. On the rare occasions when they met, they exchanged stories about their experiences with women. They talked perfectly nonchalantly, like men of the world trading common gossip.

Daisuke’s biggest headache was his father, who, in spite of his age, kept a young mistress. Daisuke had no objections to this; indeed, he was rather in favor of it, for he thought that it was only those who lacked the means who attacked the practice. His father was quite a disciplinarian. As a child, there were times when this had sorely troubled Daisuke, but now that he was an adult, he saw no reason why he should let it disturb him. No, what bothered Daisuke was that his father confused his own youth with Daisuke’s. Hence, he insisted that unless Daisuke adopted the same goals with which he himself had ventured into the world long ago, it would not do. Since Daisuke had never asked what would not do, the two had not quarreled. As a child, Daisuke was possessed of a violent temper and, at eighteen or nineteen, had even come to blows with his father once or twice. But time passed and soon after he finished school, his temper had suddenly subsided. Since then, he had never once been angry. His father believed this to be the consequence of the discipline he had imparted, and he secretly prided himself.

In actuality, this so-called discipline had succeeded only in slowly cooling the warm sentiments binding father and son. At least Daisuke thought so. His father had completely reversed this interpretation. No matter what happened, they were of the same flesh and blood. The sentiment that a child felt toward a parent was endowed by heaven and could not possibly be altered by the parent’s treatment of the child. There might have been some excesses, but these had occurred in the name of discipline, and their results could not touch the bond of affection between father and son: so Daisuke’s father, influenced by the teachings of Confucianism, firmly believed. Convinced that the simple fact of bestowing life upon Daisuke permanently guaranteed him grateful love in the face of any unpleasantness or pain, his father had pushed his way. And in the end, he had produced a son who was coldly indifferent to him. Admittedly, his attitudes had changed considerably since Daisuke finished school. He was even surprisingly lenient in some areas. Still, this was only part of the program designed at the moment Daisuke was delivered into this world, and it could not be construed as a response to whatever inner changes the father might have perceived in his son. To this day he was completely unaware of the negative results his plan of education had yielded.

His father was enormously proud of having gone to war. Given the slightest opportunity, he was apt to dismiss the likes of Daisuke with sweeping scorn; they were useless, those fellows, because they had never fought; they had no nerve. He spoke as if “nerve” were man’s most glorious attribute. Daisuke felt an unpleasant taste in his mouth every time he had to listen to such speeches. Courage might well have been an important prerequisite to survival in the barbaric days of his father’s youth, when life was taken right and left, but in this civilized day and age, Daisuke regarded it as a piece of equipment primitive as the bow and arrow. Indeed, it seemed plausible to him that many qualities incompatible with courage were to be valued far above it. After his father’s last lecture Daisuke had laughed about it with his sister-in-law, saying that according to their father’s theory, a stone statue would have to be admired above all else.

Needless to say, Daisuke was cowardly. He could feel no shame in this. There were even occasions when he proudly styled himself a coward. Once, as a child, at his father’s instigation he had gone to the cemetery in Aoyama all by himself in the middle of the night. He had withstood the eeriness of the place for one hour, then, unable to endure it any longer, had come home pale as a sheet. At the time he himself was somewhat chagrined. The next morning, when his father laughed at him, he found the old man hateful. According to his father, it had been customary for the boys of his day, as part of their training, to get up in the middle of the night and set out all alone for Sword’s Peak, some two and a half miles north of the castle, where they climbed to the top and waited in a small temple to greet the sunrise. “In those days we started out with a different understanding from young people nowadays,” he observed.

The old man who had uttered such words, who even now might utter them again, cut a pitiful figure in Daisuke’s eyes. Daisuke disliked earthquakes. There were times when, seated quietly in his study, he could feel their approach far in the distance. Then he would begin to think that everything—the cushion beneath him, the floor, and even the main pillar—was shaking. Daisuke believed that for him, this was the natural response. People like his father were either primitives with undeveloped nervous systems or fools who persisted in deceiving themselves.

Now Daisuke sat face to face with his father. The small room had extended eaves, so that as one looked out upon the garden while seated, the edge of the eaves seemed to cut off the view. At least, the sky did not look very wide from this room. But it was a quiet room, where one could settle down.

His father was smoking cut tobacco and had drawn a longhandled brazier close to him. From time to time he tapped off the ashes and the sound echoed pleasantly in the quiet garden. Daisuke arranged four or five gold cigarette holders in the hand brazier; he had tired of blowing the smoke through his nostrils, so he sat with folded arms, studying his father’s face. For all the years, there was a considerable amount of flesh left to that face. Yet the cheeks were sunken and the skin on the eyes sagged beneath the heavy brows. The hair was yellow rather than snowy white. When he addressed someone, he had a habit of distributing his glances equally between the listener’s face and his knees. These eye movements made the whites flash from time to time, producing a peculiar sensation in his listener.

The old man was holding forth: “Man must not think of himself alone. There’s society. There’s country. Without doing a few things for others, one doesn’t feel right. Take you, for instance, you can’t possibly feel very good just loafing around. Of course, it would be different with an uneducated, lower-class sort, but there’s no reason why a man who has received the highest education should be able to enjoy doing nothing. What one has learned becomes interesting only when applied to actual practice.’’

“Yes, that’s right,” Daisuke had been answering. Being hard pressed to respond to his father’s sermons, Daisuke had made it his practice to give vague, perfunctory answers. As far as he was concerned, his father’s ideas were always but half thought out. Having resolved a given question to his liking, he would launch out from that point; thus there was not an ounce of significance to what he said. Furthermore, though he might seem to be arguing for altruism as the guiding principle one minute, he would switch to the protection of self-interest the next. His words flowed abundantly, with an air of great importance, but their content was worth hardly a moment of their listener’s reflection. To attack his logic at its foundations and bring it tumbling down would have been an enormously difficult task, and what was more, an impossible one; Daisuke had concluded it was preferable to leave it untouched altogether. His father, however, starting from the premise that Daisuke belonged to his solar system, assumed that it was his right to determine every inch of his son’s orbit. Hence, Daisuke had no choice but to revolve politely around the sun that was his father.

“If you don’t like business, that’s that. Making money is surely not the only way to serve Japan. I won’t object if you don’t earn any money. I can understand that you wouldn’t take it well if I meddled in your affairs merely for the sake of money. As far as money is concerned, I will continue to support you as I always have. I don’t know how many years are left me, and I can’t take it with me when I die. Your monthly allowance is no problem. So stand up and do something. Do your duty as a citizen. You’re thirty now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It is unseemly to be idle and unemployed at thirty.” Daisuke had never considered himself idle. He simply regarded himself as one of those higher beings who disposed of a large number of hours unsullied by an occupation. Whenever his father started in this vein, Daisuke felt sorry for him. The crystallization of heightened intellectual and esthetic sentiments—the fruit of all those days and months spent in meaningful pursuits—none of this would register on his father’s infantile mind. Since there was nothing else to be said, Daisuke answered seriously, “Yes, it is a problem.” The old man could not for a moment cease to regard Daisuke as a child, and since in fact his responses invariably had a childlike air about them, being simple and unworldly, the old man was scornful, and complained that little gentlemen were useless even when they grew up. If, on the other hand, Daisuke’s tone was cool, restrained, unabashed, and totally nonchalant, he became annoyed that perhaps this son had gone beyond his reach.

“You’re in good health?”

“I haven’t caught a cold in the past two or three years.”

“You don’t seem to be on the stupid side, either. Didn’t you have a fairly strong record at school?’’

“Well, yes.”

“Then it’s a shame to play around like this. What was his name— you know, the fellow who used to come over to talk with you? I saw him two or three times myself.”

“Do you mean Hiraoka?”

“That’s the one, Hiraoka. Now, he didn’t have much, but didn’t he go somewhere right after graduation?”

“But he blundered and came back.”

The old man could not suppress a sardonic smile. “Why?” “Why? Probably because he works to eat.”

The old man could not understand Daisuke’s meaning. “I wonder if he didn’t do something unpleasant.”

“He probably does the right thing for each particular set of circumstances, but the right thing, in the end, probably turns out to be a blunder.”

“Oh,” was the doubtful answer. Then, changing his tone, he launched out: “When young people ‘blunder,’ it’s because they are lacking in sincerity and devotion. I’ve tried a lot of things over the years, and judging from all my experiences, success is impossible without these two qualities.”

“Aren’t there times when one fails because of sincerity and devotion?”

“No, never.”

A frame enclosing the words “Sincerity is the way of Heaven”* hung conspicuously above the old man’s head. He had had it done by the former lord of his clan and prized it greatly. Daisuke hated it ardently. First of all, he disliked the hand. Secondly, the sentiment did not suit him. After the words “Sincerity is the way of Heaven,” he would like to have added, “and not the way of man.”

Long ago, when the clan finances had deteriorated beyond repair, it was Daisuke’s father who had taken the responsibility of putting things in order. He had gathered two or three merchants who had close ties with the clan lord, and removing his sword and bowing to the ground, had begged for temporary loans. Since he had no way of knowing if they could be repaid, he had honestly admitted as much, and was successful on this account. It was then that he had asked his lord to write out these words. Since then, Nagai had hung the frame in his living room and gazed at it night and day. Daisuke could not count the number of times he had been made to listen to this story.

Then, fifteen or sixteen years ago, monthly expenditures began to accumulate in the old lord’s household, threatening the finances so painstakingly revived. Once again, on the basis of proven ability, Nagai was entrusted with their restoration. This time he tried heating the bath himself and discovered a discrepancy between the amount he spent on firewood and the figure indicated in the books. Beginning with a thorough investigation of this point, he dedicated his soul night and day for an entire month to this problem until finally, he arrived at the perfect technique for heating the bathtub. Since then, the old lord had lived in relative comfort.

Given this past history, and given that he had not ventured to carry his thinking one step beyond this past, Nagai continued to proclaim the twin virtues of sincerity and devotion.

“I don’t know why, but it seems that you are lacking in sincerity and devotion. That won’t do. That’s why you can’t do anything.”

“I am both sincere and devoted. It’s just that I can’t apply these qualities to human affairs.”

“And why is that?”

Daisuke was again at a loss for a reply. Sincerity and devotion were not ready-made commodities that one kept stored in the heart. Like the sparks produced by rubbing iron and stone, they were phenomena that arose from a genuine encounter between two human beings. They were not so much qualities to be possessed as they were by-products of a spiritual exchange. Hence, without the right individuals, they could not come into being.

“Father, the words of the Analects or Wang Yang-ming are like gold plate, and you’ve swallowed them whole. That must be why you talk the way you do.”

“Gold plate?”

Daisuke was silent for a moment. “The words are still gold plate when they come out of your mouth.” Although his curiosity was aroused, Nagai would not venture to grapple with this bookish, eccentric, naive youth’s epigrammatic words.

Some forty minutes later, the old man changed into street clothes and took the ricksha somewhere. Daisuke saw him to the entranceway, then returned and opened the door to the living room. This room, a recent addition to the house, was Western in style, and many of its furnishings had been executed by professionals according to Daisuke’s design. Of particular interest to Daisuke was the decorative painting around the transom, the result of lengthy discussion with a certain artist acquaintance. Daisuke stood up and examined the colors unfolding like a picture scroll, and was pained to discover that they were not nearly as pleasing as the last time he had seen the painting. Disturbed, he began to scrutinize each section when suddenly, his sister-in-law entered.

“Oh, here you are,” she said, adding immediately, “Have you seen my comb anywhere?” It turned out to be at the foot of the sofa. She had loaned it the day before to Nuiko, who had misplaced it. As if supporting her head in both hands, she began to thrust the comb into her hair, which was done in Western style; meanwhile, she looked up at Daisuke and teased, “Standing around, looking blank as usual.”

“I got another lecture from Father.”

“Again? You do get scolded a lot. How tactless of him, to get going as soon as he’s home. But you haven’t been very good either. You don’t do a thing your father wants you to.”

“I never argue with him. I always restrain myself and listen to everything.”

“That’s what makes it worse. Whenever he says something, you say yes, yes, but you don’t do it.”

Daisuke gave a wry smile and was silent. Umeko sat down facing him. She was a slender, dark-complexioned woman with clear eyebrows and thin lips. “Come, have a seat. I’ll keep you company for a while.”

But Daisuke remained standing, studying his sister-in-law’s appearance. “That’s a funny collar you’re wearing today.”

“This?” Umeko drew in her chin and knit her brows, trying to see her collar. “Oh, I bought this the other day.”

“It’s a nice color.”

“Never mind that, just sit down.”

Daisuke took a seat directly opposite hers. “I’m seated.” “What did you get a scolding about today?”

“I’m not really sure. But I was a little surprised by Father’s ‘service to society and country.’ It seems that he’s been serving without a moment’s rest since he was eighteen.”

“That’s how he’s gotten where he has.”

“If serving society and country earns you as much money as it has Father, I wouldn’t mind doing it either.”

“So why don’t you get serious and start doing something? You think you can make money lying down.”

“I’ve never yet tried to make money.”

“Even if you don’t try to make money, you spend it, so I don’t see the difference.”

“Did my brother say something?”

“Your brother was shocked by your behavior long ago; he doesn’t say anything anymore.”

“That’s pretty stiff. But anyway, I think he’s more admirable than Father.”

“Why? Oh, you awful thing, trying to flatter me. That’s what’s wrong with you. You put on a serious face and then make fun of people.”

“Is that right?”

“Is that right, indeed! As if we were talking about someone else! You ought to do some thinking once in a while.”

“Every time I come here, I end up feeling like Kadono.” “What’s kadono?”

“Oh, the houseboy at my place. If you ask him anything, he always answers, ‘Is that the way it is’ or ‘Is that right’.”

“He says that? He must be terribly strange.”

Daisuke paused for a moment and looked over Umeko’s shoulder between the curtains at the beautiful sky. Far in the distance there stood a tall tree. It had sprouted light brown shoots all over, and the soft tips of its branches melted into the sky, as if blurred by a drizzle.

“The weather has turned nice, hasn’t it? Shall we go cherry-blossom viewing somewhere?”

“Yes, let’s. I’ll go. So tell me.” “Tell you what?”

“What Father said.”

“He said a lot of things, but I don’t think I could repeat them so that they would make any sense; I’m not smart enough.”

“There you go again, playing the fool. I know all about it.” “Then let me hear about it.”

Umeko drew herself up a little primly. “You’ve become rather free with your tongue these days.”

“Oh, it’s nothing you can’t handle. Anyway, it’s terribly quiet here today. Where are the children?”

“The children are at school.”

A young chambermaid, sixteen or seventeen years old, opened the door and poked her head in to deliver the message that the master was on the phone and wished to speak to the mistress. She stood waiting for an answer. Umeko got up immediately. Daisuke also got up. As he started to follow her out of the room, Umeko turned and said, “You stay here. I want to talk to you about something.”

Daisuke was always amused when his sister-in-law assumed this commanding stance with him. “Please take your time,” he said, and began to study the painting again. After some time, the colors no longer seemed to be painted upon the wall at all, but were leaping from his pupils and flying out to the wall, where they became glued. Soon, by controlling the colors that flew from his eyes, Daisuke was able to correct all the places that had displeased him, and finally, having achieved the most beautiful hues that his imagination could conjure, he sat in a state of rapture. Just then, Umeko came in and Daisuke was brought back to his usual self.

As he listened politely to what she had to say, Daisuke understood that she was raising the marriage issue again. Even before he had finished school, Daisuke had been presented with a variety of prospective brides, both through pictures and in person, thanks to Umeko’s efforts. At first, he had made his escape in conventionally acceptable objections, but in the past two years or so, he had become brazen. His complaints were curious: this one’s mouth was set at the wrong angle with her cheeks; that one’s eyes were disproportionate to the width of her face; another had misplaced ears. Since they were never the normal excuses, Umeko herself began to wonder. She concluded that she had exerted herself too much, that that was why Daisuke had begun to abuse her kindness and behave so irresponsibly, and that the best thing would be to abandon him to his own resources until he came begging for help. Having settled upon this, Umeko did not utter a word about marriage. But Daisuke had not seemed troubled in the least and had remained an unfathomable entity.

But now their father had returned from his trip with a new candidate, whose family was deeply involved with the Nagais. Umeko had been told the story two or three days before and had therefore assumed that today’s interview would concern this topic. Daisuke, however, had heard nothing of the matter. Perhaps the old man had indeed summoned him with the intention of discussing it, but observing Daisuke’s attitude, had chosen silence as the wiser course for the day and deliberately avoided the topic.

Daisuke had a peculiar relationship with this candidate. He knew her family name but not her first name. He knew nothing of her age, looks, education, or character. As for why she had been selected, he knew only too well.

Daisuke’s father had had one older brother, named Naoki. He was but one year older and was of smaller build than Daisuke’s father, with similar features; people who did not know often took them for twins. Daisuke’s father did not go by the name of Toku in those days, but rather by the childhood name of Seinoshin.

Just as Naoki and Seinoshin resembled each other in appearance, so were they brothers by temperament. As far as possible, they contrived to be in the same place doing the same thing. They came and went from their lessons at the same time. Indeed, at night, they read by the light of a single lamp.

It was the autumn of Naoki’s eighteenth year. The two had been sent on an errand to Tōgakuji Temple on the outskirts of the castle town. Tōgakuji was the family temple of the lord of the clan. A priest there named Sōsui was a friend of the family, and the boys had been sent to deliver a letter to him. It was just an invitation to a game of go and required no answer, but Sōsui had kept the boys to talk about this and that, and by the time they left, it was only an hour before sunset.

There was a festival that day and the town was bustling. The two hurried through the crowds, but just as they were about to turn a corner, they ran into a fellow named Hōguri. Hōguri and the brothers had never been on good terms. That evening Hōguri appeared to be quite drunk, and after shouting two or three words, lunged out at Naoki, sword in hand. Naoki had no choice but to draw his sword and stand up to him. His opponent had a formidable reputation for violence and was powerful in spite of his intoxicated condition. Left alone, Naoki was sure to lose. So the younger brother drew his sword, and together the two cut Hōguri to pieces.

In those days, the understanding was that if one samurai killed another, the aggressor had to commit seppuku. The brothers went home fully resigned to their fate. Their father, too, was prepared to line them up and assist in the rite. Unfortunately, however, their mother had been invited to an acquaintance’s house for the festival and was away. Their father, out of the very human desire to let them see their mother just once more, sent for her immediately. While awaiting her return, he stalled for time by admonishing the boys and supervising their preparations of the room for the rite.

Now it happened that their mother was visiting a distant relation named Takagi. Takagi was a man of considerable influence, a convenience in those days when the world was just beginning to stir and the samurai code was not enforced as strictly as it had once been. Moreover, the victim was a villainous youth of ill repute. So Takagi returned with the boys’ mother and persuaded their father to take no action until official instructions were handed down.

Takagi set out to exert his good offices. He won over the chief retainer, and through him, convinced the lord himself. The victim’s father, unexpectedly enough, turned out to be a man of reason who not only deplored his son’s misconduct, but once it was established that it was he who had dealt the first blow and created the disturbance, made no move to protest the lenient treatment being sought for the boys. The brothers closeted themselves in a single room for some time as a sign of penitence. Then they slipped away without anyone’s notice.

Three years later the older brother was killed in Kyoto by a roaming samurai. On the fourth year after the incident, the Meiji Era dawned, and five or six years after that, Seinoshin brought his parents over to Tokyo. He found a wife and changed his name to the single character one of Toku. By then, Takagi, who had saved his life, was dead, and his adopted son-in-law headed the family. Nagai tried to persuade this man to come to Tokyo, perhaps to lecture on the procedures of government service, but he refused. The man had two children. The son went to Kyoto and entered Dōshisha University. Upon graduation, he had reportedly spent several years in America, but now he was in business in Kobe, a man of considerable means. The daughter had been married to a man who ranked among the largest taxpayers in the prefecture. It was their daughter who was now being considered for Daisuke.

“What a complicated story! I couldn’t believe it,” said Umeko to Daisuke.

“We’ve heard it so many times from Father.”

“Well, there’s never been any talk of marriage up to now so I didn’t pay much attention.”

“So Sagawa had a daughter. I didn’t know at all.” “Why don’t you accept her?”

“You’re for it?”

“Of course I’m for it. It was fated.”

“It might be easier to marry a girl fated by my own doings than one fated by my ancestors’.”

“Is there such a thing?”

Daisuke smiled ironically and did not answer.

___________________

* From the Chung Yung (the Doctrine of the Mean), one of the four books compiled during the Sung dynasty (960–1279), thought to embody the heart of Confucian teaching.