Two (2/4)

by Natsume Sōseki

This morning, the rice cake that I saw is stuck to the bottom of the bowl in the same color I saw this morning. To be honest, I have never tasted rice cake. It looks delicious but also a bit creepy. When I tried to pull the greens hanging above with my front paws, the surface of the rice cake got caught on my claws, and it was sticky. When I sniffed it, it had a scent like when transferring the rice from the bottom of the pot to the serving bowl.

As I looked around, wondering whether to eat it or not, fortunately, no one was there. The three of them had the same expression in both spring and winter as they fluttered their wings. The child in the inner room was singing "What does the rabbit say?" If I am going to eat, now is the time. If I miss this opportunity, I will go until next year without knowing the taste of rice cake. In this moment, I realized a truth, even as a cat. "Rare opportunities compel all animals to do what they do not prefer." To be honest, I do not really want to eat the ozoni that much. The more I stared at the bottom of the bowl, the creepier it became, and I started to dislike the idea of eating it.

If at that moment, the three of them had opened the back door and I had heard the footsteps of the child approaching, I would have abandoned the bowl without hesitation and would not have thought of the ozoni until next year. However, no one is coming. No matter how much I hesitate, no one is coming. I feel as if I am being urged to eat quickly. While peering into the bowl, I wished that someone would come quickly, but still, no one came. Finally, I have to eat the ozoni.

Finally, I dropped the weight of my whole body onto the bottom of the bowl and took a single bite of the rice cake. With this much force put into my bite, I should have been able to chew through most things, but to my surprise, when I thought it would be fine to pull my teeth away, I couldn't. When I tried to bite down again, I became unable to move. By the time I realized that the rice cake was a monster, it was already too late. Just like a person who falls into a swamp becomes increasingly submerged every time they try to pull their feet out, the more I bit, the heavier my mouth became, and my teeth became immobile. I could feel my teeth, but I absolutely couldn't find a way to resolve the situation.

There was a time when the aesthetician Meitei-sensei remarked about my master, "You are a man who cannot be divided," and indeed, that was a clever thing to say. This rice cake, just like my master, cannot be divided at all. No matter how much I chew, the endless suffering continues, as if dividing ten by three. In the midst of this torment, I unconsciously encountered a second truth: "All animals intuitively foresee the suitability or unsuitability of things." I had already discovered two truths, but since the rice cake was stuck, it was far from enjoyable. My teeth were absorbed into the flesh of the rice cake, causing a painful sensation as if they were being pulled out. If I don't finish eating quickly and escape, the children will come. It seems the children's song has also stopped; they must be rushing into the kitchen.

In the extreme of my torment, I tried wagging my tail in circles, but it was of no use. Whether I perked up or laid down my ears, it was futile. Upon reflection, my ears and tail had nothing to do with the rice cake. In short, I realized it was a waste of effort to wag or raise my ears, so I stopped. Finally, I thought that I had no choice but to use my front paws to shake off the rice cake. First, I lifted my right side and began to stroke around my mouth. Just stroking wouldn't be enough to divide it. This time, I extended my left side and tried to draw a rapid circle around my mouth. Such a spell wouldn't make the monster fall away.

I thought patience was key and moved back and forth alternately, but the teeth were still hanging in the mochi. Well, it was troublesome, so I tried using both legs at once. Then, strangely enough, at that moment, I was able to stand on my hind legs. I felt somewhat like I wasn't a cat. Whether I was a cat or not, at this point, I didn't care; I was determined to scratch my face all over recklessly until the magic of the mochi wore off. My front legs were moving fiercely, causing me to lose my balance and almost fall over. Each time I was about to topple, I had to regain my balance with my hind legs, so I couldn't stay in one place and was flying around the kitchen here and there. I couldn't believe I was able to stand so skillfully myself.

The third truth suddenly appeared. "In times of crisis, one can achieve what is normally impossible. This is called divine assistance." Fortunately, having received divine assistance, while I was desperately fighting against the magic of the mochi, I sensed footsteps and the presence of someone coming from the back. I thought it would be terrible to be seen by someone here, so I became even more frantic and dashed around the kitchen. The footsteps were getting closer. Ah, unfortunately, the divine assistance was a bit lacking. Finally, I was spotted by a child. "Oh, the cat is eating the ozoni and dancing," they exclaimed loudly. The first to hear this voice was Gosan. Abandoning both the feather and the battledore, they jumped in from the side, saying, "Oh my!" The lady, dressed in a crepe kimono, said, "What a bothersome cat." Even the master came out of his study and said, "You idiot." Only the child was laughing, finding it amusing.

Everyone is laughing heartily as if they had all agreed. It's infuriating, painful, and I can't stop dancing; I'm exhausted. Just when the laughter seemed to be subsiding, a five-year-old girl said, "Mother, the cat is quite something," causing another uproar of laughter. I had seen quite a bit of human indifference, but I had never felt as resentful as I did at that moment. Finally, even divine favor seemed to have vanished, and I was left with no choice but to crawl on all fours, putting on a disgraceful display with my eyes wide open. It seemed too pitiful to just abandon me, and the master ordered, "Well, let her have some rice cakes." The maid looked at the mistress with a gaze that suggested, "Shall we make her dance more?" The mistress wanted to see the dance but had no intention of watching it to the point of death, so she remained silent. "If you don't give it to her, she'll die; hurry and give it to her," the master said, looking back at the maid once more.

The maid, with a face that seemed indifferent, grabbed the rice cake and pulled it as if she had just been awakened from a dream, halfway through a feast. Like Kangetsu-kun, I thought all her front teeth might break. It was unbearable as she mercilessly pulled on the teeth that were firmly embedded in the rice cake, not caring whether it hurt or not. I experienced the fourth truth that "all comfort must be passed through hardship," and when I looked around, I found that the family had already entered the inner room.

When I fail, it feels somewhat awkward to be at home. It's also a bit embarrassing to be seen by Gosan. So, I decided to cheer myself up and visit Mikeko, who is with the master of the two-stringed koto in Shindo. When I go out from the kitchen to the back, Mikeko is a beautiful cat famous in this area. Although I am a cat, I have a good understanding of the feelings of others. When I see my owner's bitter face or feel down from Gosan's harsh words, I always go to this friend of the opposite sex and talk about various things. Before I know it, my heart feels clear, and I forget all my worries and troubles, feeling as if I have been reborn. The influence of women is indeed very significant.

Peering through the gap in the wooden fence, I thought I might see Mikeko, and since it's New Year's, she is wearing a new collar and sitting neatly on the porch. The curve of her back is so beautiful that it cannot be expressed in words. The beauty of her curves stands out. The way her tail bends, the way her legs are positioned, and her languidly flicking ears—all are indescribable. She looks warm in the sunny spot, elegantly poised, maintaining a quiet and dignified attitude while reflecting the spring light, appearing to sway gently even though there is no wind.

I was gazing in a daze for a while, but eventually came to my senses and called out in a low voice, "Mikeko-san, Mikeko-san," while beckoning with my front paw. Mikeko came down from the porch saying, "Sensei." The bell attached to her red collar jingled cheerfully. I was impressed by how nice the sound was, wondering if she had even added a bell for the New Year, and while I was thinking this, she came to my side and wagged her tail to the left, saying, "Happy New Year." In cat greetings, they raise their tails like a stick and then twirl it to the left. The only one in the neighborhood who calls me "Sensei" is this Mikeko. I still don't have a name, but since I'm in a teacher's house, only Mikeko respects me and calls me "Sensei, Sensei." I don't feel bad being called "Sensei," so I respond with, "Yes, yes."

"Happy New Year, you've done a splendid job with your makeup," I said, and Mikeko replied, "I got this from my master at the end of last year. Isn't it nice?" while jingling her bell. "Indeed, it sounds lovely. I've never seen anything so splendid since I was born," I said, to which she responded, "Oh dear, everyone has one hanging." She continued to jingle, saying, "Isn't it a nice sound? I'm so happy." "It seems your master really cherishes you," I said, a bit enviously. Mikeko innocently laughed, "It's true, it's like I'm her own child." It's not true that cats don't laugh. It's a mistake to think that humans are the only ones who can find things to laugh about. When I laugh, I make my nostrils triangular and vibrate my throat, so humans probably wouldn't understand.

"What kind of person is your master?" I asked, and Mikeko replied, "It's my master, the master of the two-stringed instrument." "I know that, but what is their status? Were they a distinguished person in the past?" I inquired, to which Mikeko nodded, "Yes."

At that moment, inside the sliding door, the master began to play the two-stringed koto. "Isn't it a beautiful sound?" said Mikeko proudly. "It seems nice, but I can't really tell. What is it exactly?" I asked. "That's something or other. The master loves that. ... The master is sixty-two years old. Quite sturdy, isn't it?" Mikeko said. Since he is living at sixty-two, it must be said he is sturdy. I replied, "Oh." It seemed a bit awkward, but since I couldn't come up with a particularly good answer, it couldn't be helped. "Even so, it seems he originally came from a very good background. He always says that," Mikeko continued. "Oh, really? What was he originally?" I asked. "Apparently, he is the daughter of the niece of the woman who married the younger sister of the master’s secretary," Mikeko answered. "What did you say?" I was surprised. "The younger sister of the master’s secretary who married..." I couldn't continue my words. "I see, please wait a moment. The younger sister of the master’s secretary..." I got confused. "Oh, that's not it, it's the younger sister of the master’s secretary..." Mikeko said. "Alright, I understand. It belongs to the master," I said. "Yes." "It belongs to the secretary," I added. "That's right." "She got married." "She married the younger sister," Mikeko corrected. "That's right, I made a mistake. She entered the family of the younger sister." "It's the daughter of the niece of the woman," Mikeko concluded. "It's the daughter of the niece?" I asked. "Yes. You understand now, right?" "No. I feel confused and can't grasp it. In the end, what does it have to do with the master?" I asked. "You really don't understand much, do you? That's why I said from the beginning that she is the daughter of the niece of the woman who married the younger sister of the master’s secretary," Mikeko said. "Thatis completely understood, though," I replied. "As long as you understand that, it's fine," I conceded, as I had no choice. Sometimes we have to tell logical lies.

When the sound of the two-stringed koto suddenly stopped from beyond the shoji, the voice of the master echoed. "Mikeko, Mikeko, it's time for dinner," he called out, and Mikeko happily replied, "Oh, since the master is calling, I will go home now. Is that alright?" I felt bad about it, but there was no helping it. "Then, please come and play again," I said while ringing the bell, and she ran to the garden. However, she suddenly returned and said with concern, "You look very pale. Are you alright?" Surely, she didn't think I had eaten zoni and danced, so I replied, "There's nothing special, but I was thinking a bit and got a headache. I thought talking to you would help, so I actually came out." "I see. Please take care of yourself. Goodbye," she said, looking a bit reluctant to leave. With that, my energy from the zoni was completely restored. I felt better.

I thought I would pass through the usual tea garden on my way back, stepping on the melting frost as I peeked out from the ruins of Kenninji, and there was Kuro from the car shop, yawning with his back against the withered chrysanthemums. Recently, I no longer feel fear when I see Kuro, but since it would be troublesome if he spoke to me, I planned to pass by with a blank expression. When Kuro felt that I had looked down on him, he would never remain silent. "Hey, nameless Gonbei, you've been staying pretty high up lately, haven't you? No matter how much you eat the teacher's food, you have such an arrogant face. It's not interesting to look down on people," he said. It seems Kuro still doesn't know that I have become famous. I want to explain, but he is not someone who can understand, so I decided to at least greet him and leave the place as quickly as possible. "Well, Kuro-kun, congratulations. You seem to be in good spirits as always," I said, raising my tail and turning to the left. Kuro kept his tail raised and didn't greet me back. "What's so congratulatory? If it's New Year's and you're congratulating, you're the one who's congratulatory all year round. Watch out, you blowhard," he said. The term "blowhard" sounded like an insult, but I couldn't understand it. "May I ask what you mean by 'blowhard'?" I inquired, to which he replied, "Hmph, it's no surprise you would ask that, looking the way you do, so it means you're a New Year's guy." The expression "New Year's guy" is poetic, but when it comes to its meaning, it is an even more obscure phrase than "blowhard." I wanted to ask for reference, but I knew I wouldn't get a clear answer, so I could only stand there in silence.

Then suddenly, the wife of the black house shouted in a loud voice. "Oh no, the salmon that was on the shelf is gone. This is terrible. That black beast took it again. What a truly detestable cat that is. Just wait until it comes back, we'll see what happens!" she yelled. The gentle air of early spring was rudely disturbed, and the branches were shaken by the presence of the lord who greatly vulgarized the era. Black, with a lazy expression as if to say, "If you're going to shout, then shout to your heart's content," pushed his square jaw forward and signaled as if to ask if I had heard that. Until now, I had not noticed in my exchanges with Black, but looking down, there was a salmon bone, muddy and equivalent to a piece worth two sen and three rin, rolling at his feet. "You sure are doing well as always," I said, forgetting the previous situation and inadvertently letting out words of admiration. Black was not easily placated by such remarks. "What do you mean by doing well, you bastard? What does it mean to still be like this over a piece or two of salmon? You really look down on people, don’t you? Excuse me, but I am the black one from the carriage shop," he said, scratching his right front paw up to his shoulder instead of rolling up his sleeves. "I’ve known from the beginning that you are Black," I said, to which he retorted, "You knew, yet you still say such things. What the hell does that mean?" He blew back hotly. If he were human, I would have been grabbed by the collar and shoved around. Feeling a bit exasperated and thinking to myself that I was in trouble, I heard the loud voice of that wife again. "Hey Nishikawa, hey Nishikawa, this person has a request. Bring a pound of beef right away. Got it? Understand? A pound of tender beef!" The order for beef broke the silence of the surrounding area. "Hmph, thinking that once a year I order beef, and shouting so loudly. A pound of beef is a boast to the neighbors, it’s really something to deal with.""It's a demon," Black said mockingly, bracing his four legs. I couldn't greet him, so I just watched in silence. "I can't accept just one pound, but there's no helping it. Just keep it for now, and I'll eat it later," he said as if it were something made just for him. "This time it's a real feast. Quite nice, quite nice," I tried to send him home as best as I could. "It's none of your business. Just be quiet. You're annoying," he said, and suddenly splashed the crumbled frost pillar onto my head with his hind legs. While I was surprised and brushing off the mud from my body, Black slipped under the fence and disappeared somewhere. He probably went to peek at Nishikawa's cows.

When I returned home, the room felt unusually spring-like, and even the master's laughter sounded cheerful. As I entered from the open porch, I approached the master and noticed an unfamiliar guest. He was a man who looked very serious, with his hair neatly parted, wearing a cotton formal haori and a small pair of trousers. Looking at the master's hand warmer, I saw a business card that read, "Introducing Mr. Ochi Tofuu, Mizushima Kangu." From this, I understood that this guest was a friend of Kangu. Since the conversation between the master and the guest was already in progress, I couldn't grasp the context well, but it seemed they were talking about the aesthetician Meitei, whom I had introduced last time.

"So, I was told that there was an interesting event and that I should definitely come along," the guest said calmly. "What is it? Is it that there's a plan to go eat Western food for lunch?" the master asked while refilling the tea and presenting it to the guest. "Well, I didn't understand what that plan was at the time, but since it was about that person, I thought there must be something interesting..." "Did you go together? I see," the master said, intrigued. "But I was surprised," the master said, as if he had seen it, and lightly tapped my head, which was on his lap. It hurt a little.

"It seems like I saw another foolish farce. That man has that habit," he suddenly remembers the Andrea del Sarto incident. "Hehe. I was told, 'Let's eat something unusual,' so," he says. "What did you eat?" the host asks. "First, while looking at the menu, there was a discussion about various dishes," he replies. "Before you ordered?" the host is surprised. "Yes." "What happened next?" the host shows further interest. "Then, I twisted my neck to look at Bois and said, 'It seems there’s nothing unusual,' and Bois, not to be outdone, suggested how about duck roast or veal chop. Then the teacher said, 'I didn't come all the way here to eat such commonplace things,' and Bois, not understanding what commonplace meant, made a strange face and fell silent." "That makes sense," the host nods.

“Then, turning to me, he said, ‘You can eat quite a bit of Tenkyo and Manyo-style cuisine in France and England, but in Japan, no matter where you go, it’s all the same pressed dishes, and I just can’t seem to get into Western cuisine,’ and then he asked, ‘Has that person ever traveled abroad?’ ‘What? Meitei traveling abroad? Well, if I had the money and the time, I could go anytime I wanted, but I suppose it’s just a clever play on the places I intend to visit in the future, seen as if they were in the past,’ the master laughed, thinking he had said something clever, but the guest didn’t seem impressed. ‘Is that so? I was just wondering when you traveled abroad, and I ended up listening seriously. Besides, you were talking about slug soup and frog stew as if you had seen them,’ I said. ‘Well, you must have heard that from someone. He’s quite the master at lying, you know.’ ‘It seems that way,’ I said, glancing at the daffodils in the vase, sounding a bit disappointed. ‘So, the theme is that, then,’ the master pressed. ‘No, that’s just the beginning; the main topic is yet to come.’ ‘Hmm,’ the master listened with curiosity.

“After that, since slugs and frogs are really not something we can eat, we were advised to compromise with something like tochi menbou, so I casually said, ‘That sounds good,’” she said, looking somewhat apologetic as if addressing her master. “What happened next?” the master asked indifferently. He showed no sympathy for the guest's apology. “Then I told Boi, ‘Hey, bring two servings of tochi menbou,’ and Boi asked, ‘Is it menchi bou?’ but the teacher corrected him with an even more serious face, saying, ‘Not menchi bou, it’s tochi menbou.’” “I see. Is there really such a dish as tochi menbou?” the master inquired. “Well, I thought it was a bit strange too, but the teacher seemed so composed, and besides, he was from that Western street, and especially at that time, I was convinced he had been abroad, so I added, ‘It’s tochi menbou, tochi menbou,’ to teach Boi.” “What did Boi do?” the master asked with interest. “Looking back now, it’s really comical, but Boi thought for a while and, looking very sorry, said, ‘I’m afraid we don’t have tochi menbou today, but we can prepare two servings of menchi bou right away.’ The teacher looked very disappointed and said, ‘Then it’s a shame to have come all this way. Is there any way you can arrange to serve us tochi menbou?’ and handed Boi a twenty-sen silver coin. Then Boi said, ‘In that case, I’ll consult with the cook,’ and went inside.”“Here it comes,” “It seems you really wanted the Tochimenbou.” “After a while, Boi came out and said, ‘I truly apologize, I can prepare it for you, but it will take a little time.’ Then, Sensei Meitei calmly replied, ‘Since we have nothing to do during the New Year, let’s wait a bit and eat it,’ while taking a cigar out of his pocket and starting to puff away. I had no choice but to take out a Japanese newspaper from my pocket and start reading. Then, Boi went back inside to consult again.” “It’s quite a hassle,” the master said, moving his seat forward with the enthusiasm of reading war communications. “Then Boi came out again and said, ‘Recently, the materials for Tochimenbou have run out, and even if you go to Kameya or Yokohama No. 15, you can’t buy them, so I’m afraid it will be a while.’ He said this with a look of pity, and Sensei said, ‘That’s a problem, we came all this way,’ looking at me and repeating it over and over, so I couldn’t stay silent either and replied, ‘It’s really unfortunate, extremely unfortunate.’” “That’s quite right,” the master agreed. I didn’t understand what was quite right. “Then Boi, looking pitiful, said that when the materials arrive, he would appreciate it if we could wait. When Sensei asked, ‘What materials do you use?’ Boi just laughed and didn’t answer. When Sensei pushed back, saying it must be Japanese-style haiku poets, Boi replied, ‘Yes, that’s right, that’s why recently even if you go to Yokohama, you can’t buy them, and it’s truly unfortunate.’” “Ahahaha, is that the punchline? This is interesting,” the master laughed louder than usual. My knees shook, and I almost fell. The master laughed without caring about that.Knowing that I was not the only one affected by Andrea del Sarto, I suddenly felt delighted.

“Then the two of us went outside, and I said, ‘How about it, didn’t it go well? It’s interesting that you used the dragonfly as bait,’ feeling quite proud of himself. I expressed my admiration and thanked him, but in reality, I was very hungry because lunch had been delayed, and I was feeling weak.” “That must have been a nuisance,” the host finally expressed sympathy. I had no objections to this. After a while, the conversation paused, and the sound of my throat growling reached both our ears.