Three (1/3)

by Natsume Sōseki

Three-colored cat is dying. The black cat is no match for it, and while I feel a bit lonely, fortunately, I have made friends with humans, so it's not so boring. Recently, there was a man who sent me a letter asking to send a photo of myself to his master. There was also someone who went out of their way to deliver Okayama's specialty, Kibidango, specifically for me. As I receive sympathy from humans, I gradually forget that I am a cat. Before I know it, I feel closer to humans than to cats, and the thought of gathering my kind to confront the two-legged teacher has completely vanished lately. On the contrary, there are times when I even think of myself as a member of human society. I believe this is evidence of evolution. I do not despise my kind in any way. It is only natural to place oneself among those with similar personalities, and it is a bit troubling to be labeled as fickle, superficial, or a traitor for this. It seems that many of those who use such words to insult others are inflexible and miserly men. Having shed the habits of a cat, I cannot just concern myself with the three-colored cat and the black cat. I still want to evaluate their thoughts and actions with the same pride as humans. This is not an unreasonable desire. However, it is unfortunate that my master treats me the same as an ordinary cat, without even a word of greeting, and devoured the Kibidango as if it were his own. It seems he has not yet taken a photo or sent it. This could be considered a dissatisfaction, but my master is my master, and I am myself; it is inevitable that our perspectives differ naturally. Since I am pretending to be human to the fullest, it is difficult to write about the actions of cats who do not socialize. I suppose I will be satisfied with just the reputation of teachers like Meitei and Kangetsu.

Today is a sunny Sunday, and my husband slowly comes out of his study, lays out a brush, inkstone, and manuscript paper beside me, and lies down on his stomach, muttering something repeatedly. As I pay attention, thinking he must be starting to write a draft, he soon writes "Kōichi" with the brush. Now, will this become a poem or a haiku? I think "Kōichi" is a bit too playful for my husband, and as he finishes writing "Kōichi," he starts a new line and writes, "I've been thinking about depicting the natural master since a while ago." The brush stops there and does not move anymore. My husband twists his neck while holding the brush, but it seems he has no particularly good ideas, so he starts licking the tip of the brush. Watching his lips turn completely black, he then draws a small circle underneath. He puts two dots inside the circle for eyes, draws a nose with flared nostrils, and pulls his mouth straight across. This is neither prose nor haiku. It seems my husband has also lost interest in his own work, and he somewhat erased his face. He starts a new line again. In his mind, he seems to think that if he starts a new line, it will somehow become a poem, a praise, a narrative, or a record. Eventually, he writes in a unified style, "The natural master studies space, reads the Analects, eats baked sweet potatoes, and is a person who lets his nose run." It’s a somewhat messy piece of writing. After that, my husband reads this aloud without hesitation and laughs more than usual, saying, "Hahaha, this is interesting," but then he adds, "Let’s erase the part about letting the nose run; that’s a bit harsh," and he strikes through just that line. Instead of just one line, he draws two lines, three lines, creating nice parallel lines. He doesn’t care if the lines extend into other lines. Even if there are eight lines drawn, it seems he can't come up with the next line, so he throws down the brush and starts twisting his beard. He shows the writing twisted out from his beard.With that appearance, he twisted and turned fiercely, when his wife came out from the living room and sat right in front of his nose. "You, just a moment," she called. "What is it?" he replied in a voice like striking a gong underwater. Seeming displeased with his response, she repeated, "You, just a moment." "What is it?" This time, he inserted his thumb and index finger into his nostrils and pulled out a nose hair. "This month is a bit short, but..." "It can't be short; I've already settled the doctor's fee and paid the bookstore last month. This month should have some left over," he said, calmly gazing at the pulled nose hair as if it were a rare spectacle. "Even so, you haven't been eating rice, just eating bread and licking jam," she said. "How many cans of jam have you licked?" "This month, eight have come in." "Eight? I don't remember licking that much." "It's not just you; the kids lick it too." "No matter how much they lick, it's only about five or six yen," he said, nonchalantly planting each nose hair carefully on a sheet of manuscript paper. Since there was meat attached, they stood up straight like pins. He seemed impressed by this unexpected discovery and blew on it lightly. Due to its strong stickiness, it would never fly away. "It's quite stubborn," he said, blowing with all his might. "It's not just jam; there are other things we need to buy," his wife said, her cheeks showing great dissatisfaction. "There might be," he replied, again digging his fingers in and yanking out more nose hairs. Among the various colors, red and black mixed together, there was one pure white hair. The husband, looking greatly surprised, held the nose hair in the gap between his fingers and brought it in front of his wife's face. "Oh, no," she grimaced and pushed his hand away."Just take a look, it's a white nose hair," he said, appearing greatly moved. Even his wife, laughing, returned to the living room. It seemed they had given up on the economic issue. The husband began to work on his naturalistic writings again.

The master, who had chased away his wife with his nose hair, was nervously writing his manuscript while pulling out his nose hair with a relieved expression. However, he was struggling to make progress. "Eating baked sweet potatoes is unnecessary; let's omit this," he finally decided to erase that line as well. "Kōichi is also too abrupt, so let's skip that," he continued to write without hesitation. In the end, all that remained was the sentence, "The natural hermit studies space and is a person who reads the Analects." The master thought this was too simple, but he became lazy and decided to abandon the text, opting only for the inscription. He vigorously drew a poorly executed orchid in the shape of a cross on the manuscript paper. However, that effort was also completely rejected without a single character remaining.

After that, he flipped the paper over and began to string together incomprehensible words: "Born in space, mastering space, dying in space. Empty, space, natural hermit, ah." At that moment, Meitei entered. Meitei, perhaps thinking that other people's homes are the same as his own, barged in without seeking guidance. Sometimes he even floats in through the back door. He is a man who seems to have dropped off worry, hesitation, consideration, and hardship somewhere when he was born.

“Is it the giant gravity again?” he asked his master while standing. “Yes, it’s not like I’m always writing about giant gravity. I’m currently choosing an epitaph for the Natural Master,” he said dramatically. “The Natural Master, is it a name like Accidental Boy?” Maitake continued to speak nonsense as usual. “Is there really a name like Accidental Boy?” “No, there isn’t, but I thought that might be the case.” “I don’t know of any Accidental Boy, but the Natural Master is a man you know.” “Who on earth gave him the name Natural Master?” “It’s about that Sorozaki. He graduated and entered graduate school, researching a topic on spatial theory, but he studied too hard and died of peritonitis. Sorozaki was my close friend, you know.” “Even if he’s a close friend, that doesn’t mean he’s not bad. But who on earth turned Sorozaki into the Natural Master?” “It was me; I gave him that name. After all, there’s nothing as vulgar as the names given by monks,” the Natural Master said proudly. Maitake laughed and said, “Well, show me that epitaph,” as he picked up the manuscript and read aloud in a loud voice, “Born in space, mastered space, and died in space. Empty and fleeting, Natural Master, ah.” “I see, this is good. It suits the Natural Master well,” the master said happily. “Let’s carve this epitaph into a Takuan stone and throw it behind the main hall like a power stone. Elegant, indeed, the Natural Master will be honored.” “I’m thinking of doing the same,” the master replied seriously, but without waiting for Maitake’s response, he left like the wind, saying, “Excuse me for a moment, I’ll be back soon, so play with the cat or something.”

The master, unexpectedly assigned to be the host for Meitei-sensei, couldn't afford to have a sullen face, so he climbed onto his lap, purring and showing affection. Then Meitei said, "Oh, you've gotten quite fat, haven't you?" and rudely grabbed the nape of my neck, lifting me into the air. "With your legs hanging like that, you won't catch any mice... What do you think, madam? Will this cat catch mice?" Perhaps thinking I wasn't enough, he spoke to his wife in the next room. "It's not just mice. He eats ozoni and dances," she revealed an old grievance as she jumped in. I felt a bit awkward being suspended in the air. Meitei still wouldn't let me down. "Indeed, he looks like he could dance. Madam, this cat has a face that can't be underestimated. He resembles the cat from the old kusazoshi," he said, speaking freely while continually addressing his wife. She came out to the tatami room, stopping her needlework with a look of annoyance.

"It's boring, shall we go home?" Meitei said as he poured tea and placed it in front of him.

"Where could he have gone?"

"He's a man who never informs anyone before going anywhere, so I don't know, but he probably went to see a doctor," I replied.

"Is it Amaki-san? It's unfortunate that he got caught up with such a patient."

"Yes," his wife replied simply, as if she had no intention of greeting him. Meitei seemed completely unconcerned.

"How have you been lately? Has your stomach improved at all?"

"I can't tell if it's good or bad at all. No matter how much Amagi-san examines me, I don't think my stomach ailment will get better if I keep licking so much jam," the wife indirectly expressed her earlier dissatisfaction to Meitei.

"Do you lick that much jam? You sound just like a child."

"It's not just jam; recently, I've been carelessly licking grated daikon, claiming it's medicine for my stomach..."

"That's surprising," Meitei said, looking impressed. "I read in the newspaper that grated daikon contains diastase, so that's probably why."

"I see, so you're trying to compensate for the damage caused by the jam. You're quite thoughtful, haha," Meitei seemed to enjoy listening to the wife's complaints.

"The other day, I even let the baby lick it..."

"The jam?"

"No, the grated daikon. You, boy, your dad gives you delicious things, so come here, and then you do such foolish things. A couple of days ago, I held my daughter and put her on top of the dresser..."

"What was the intention behind that?" Meitei always tried to interpret everything as having some intention.

"There was no intention at all. I just told her to jump down from there. Since she's three or four years old, there's no way she could do such a reckless thing."

"I see, that was a bit too lacking in intention. However, deep down, that person is a good-natured one without any poison."

"If there were poison in that belly, I wouldn't be able to endure it," the wife expressed her growing dissatisfaction.

"Well, there's no need to complain so much, is there? As long as we can live each day without any shortages, that's enough. Kuruma-kun is someone who lives modestly, without indulging in pleasures or paying much attention to his attire, focusing on family life," Meitei cheerfully lectured, which was unusual for him.

"However, you're completely mistaken..."

"Are you planning to do something privately? It's a world where one mustn't let their guard down," he replied nonchalantly.

"I don't have other hobbies, but I keep buying books that I don't even read, and it would be fine if you bought them with some consideration, but you go to Maruzen and take as many as you want, and then act like you don't know anything when the end of the month comes. Last year, at the end of the year, I was in big trouble with all the monthly bills piling up."

"Oh, it doesn't matter if you just bring back books. When they come to collect payment, if you just say 'I'll pay soon, I'll pay soon,' they'll leave."

"Even so, we can't keep dragging this out forever," his wife said, looking disheartened.

"Then I'll explain the situation and cut down on the book expenses."

"Why would saying something like that make a difference? Just the other day, you said I don't suit being a scholar's wife at all, that I don't understand the value of books, and that there’s a story from ancient Rome about this. You told me to listen for the sake of my studies."

"That sounds interesting, what story is it?" Meitei asked, showing interest. It seemed more driven by curiosity than sympathy for his wife.

"Well, there was a king named Tarukin in ancient Rome..."

"Tarukin? Tarukin sounds a bit strange."

"I can't remember names from the Tang dynasty; they're too difficult for me. I hear he was the seventh generation."

"I see, the seventh generation Tarukin is indeed unusual. So, what happened with this seventh generation Tarukin?"

"It seems that a woman came to that king with nine books and asked if he would buy them."

"I see."

"When asked how much the king would sell it for, he said an incredibly high price. When I asked if he could lower it a bit since it was so high, that woman suddenly threw three out of the nine books into the fire and burned them."

"That's a shame."

"They say that among those books, there are prophecies or something written that can't be found anywhere else."

"Oh really."

"Since the king went from nine books to six, he thought the price would have decreased a bit, so when he asked how much for six books, he still insisted on the original price without any discount. When it was said that was unreasonable, that woman again threw three more books into the fire. It seems the king still had some lingering desire, and when he asked how much for the remaining three books, he was told to pay the price for nine books again. Even though nine books became six, and six became three, the price remained unchanged. When he tried to negotiate, it seemed that the remaining three might also be thrown into the fire, so the king finally paid a high price to buy the three that had been burned... This story should give you some understanding of the value of books, don’t you think?" She insisted, prompting Meitei to respond, but even Meitei seemed a bit troubled, fidgeting with a handkerchief from his sleeve. "But, madam," he suddenly exclaimed as if he had thought of something. "Buying so many books and cramming them in like that makes people say you're somewhat of a scholar. The other day, I saw a literary magazine that had a review of Kurusami-kun."

"Really?" the lady turned around. It's only natural for a wife to be concerned about her husband's reputation.

"What did it say?"

"Oh, just a couple of lines. It said that Kurusami-kun's writing is like flowing clouds and flowing water."

The lady smiled a little and asked, "Is that all?"

"Then next, it seems to appear and suddenly disappears, and when it goes, it forgets to return for a long time."

The lady made a strange face and said in an uncertain tone, "Was it a compliment?"

"Well, it was probably a compliment," Meitei said nonchalantly, dangling a handkerchief in front of my eyes.

"Books are just tools for trade, so there's no helping it, but it's quite eccentric, you know." Meitei thought it was coming from a different angle and defended, "Eccentricity is somewhat eccentric. Those who study are like that anyway."

"The other day, as soon as I got home from school, it was a hassle to change clothes to go out, so you see, without even taking off my coat, I sat at the desk and ate my meal. I placed the tray on the kotatsu— I was sitting there holding the rice container, and it was amusing..."

"It seems like a high-class inspection of a fashionable person. But that's what makes Kusama-kun, Kusama-kun— anyway, it's not ordinary," I said in a bittersweet way.

"Whether it's ordinary or not, women can't tell, but no matter what, it's quite rough."

"But it's better than ordinary," I said recklessly, and the lady, looking dissatisfied, retorted, "Everyone keeps saying ordinary, ordinary, but what exactly is ordinary?"

"Ordinary? Well, it's a bit difficult to explain..."

"If it's something so vague, then ordinary doesn't seem so bad, does it?" the lady pressed with a woman's first-rate logic.

"It's not vague, I understand it perfectly. It's just difficult to explain."

"I suppose anything you dislike is called ordinary," the lady said, unknowingly making a pointed remark. At this point, Meitei felt he had to somehow provide a definition for ordinary.

"My dear, the term 'Tsukinami' refers to those who, at the age of twenty-eight or twenty-nine, do not stray far from their thoughts, lying down in contemplation, and when the day is fine and the weather is clear, they invariably carry a gourd and play by the Sumida River."

"Are there really such people?" the wife said, not understanding, and offered a vague greeting.

"I can't quite grasp it; it seems confusing to me," she finally conceded.

"Then you'll attach the head of Mejo Pendennis to the body of Bakin, and keep it wrapped in European air for a year or two, right?"

"Will that create a Tsukinami?" Meitei replied without answering, laughing.

"No, you can create one without going through such trouble. If you take a middle school student and add the head clerk from Shiraki-ya and divide by two, you'll have a splendid Tsukinami."

"Is that so?" the wife looked on, twisting her neck, appearing unconvinced.

"Are you still here?" the master had returned without anyone noticing and sat next to Meitei.

"To ask if I'm still here is a bit harsh. I told you I'd be home soon, so just wait," the master continued.

"It's all just like that," the wife turned to Meitei.

"While you were out, I heard all your anecdotes," the master said.

"Women are inevitably too talkative. It would be nice if humans could keep silence like this cat," the master patted my head.

"I heard you let the baby lick a radish grater."

"Hmm," the master laughed. "Even babies these days are quite clever. Since then, whenever I ask the boy where it hurts, he always sticks out his tongue, which is amusing."

"It's cruel to train him like a dog. Speaking of which, it seems like the cold moon is about to come."

"Is the cold moon coming?" the master looked suspicious.

"It is. I sent a letter asking him to come to Kusama's house by one o'clock in the afternoon."

"He's a man who does as he pleases without considering others' circumstances. What are you going to do with the cold moon?"

"What is it? Today's is not my preference; it's the request of Professor Kanketsu himself. He said he would give a lecture at the Physics Society, and asked me to listen to him practice. Since it's just right, I thought I would let Kusami listen too. That's why I decided to invite you to your house. You're a free person, so it should be just fine. There's no inconvenience with you; just listen," Meitei mumbled to himself.

"I don't understand anything about physics lectures," the master said, sounding a bit irritated by Meitei's unilateral decision.

"However, the topic isn't something dry and flavorless like nozzles using magnets. It's a transcendent and extraordinary subject called the mechanics of hanging, so it's worth listening to," he replied.

"It's good for you to listen since you're a man who almost hanged himself, but as for me..."

"You're the kind of person who gets chills at the Kabukiza, so unless you hear it, it seems you won't come to a conclusion," he joked as usual.

The wife smiled softly and turned to the master as she retreated to the next room.

The master silently stroked my head. At that moment, he was very gentle in his touch.

About seven minutes later, as ordered, Kanketsu-kun arrived. He was going to give a lecture in the evening, so he was dressed in an unusually splendid frock, with a freshly laundered white collar turned up, enhancing his masculinity by about twenty percent, and calmly greeted us with, "I'm a bit late."

"We've been waiting for you for a long time," the master said. "Let's get started, shall we?" he looked at the master.

The master, with no choice, replied, "Hmm." Kanketsu-kun was not in a hurry.

"May I have a glass of water, please?" he asked.

"Are you really going to do this properly? Next, you'll probably ask for applause," Meitei stirred up the situation by himself.

Kanketsu-kun took out his manuscript from inside his coat and slowly began with, "Since this is practice, please feel free to critique," and finally started his speech practice.

“To execute a criminal by hanging is a method primarily practiced among the Anglo-Saxon people, and if we trace back to ancient times, hanging was mainly a method used for suicide. Among the Jews, there was a custom of killing criminals by stoning them. When we study the Old Testament, the term known as hanging is recognized as meaning to suspend the corpse of a criminal for it to be preyed upon by beasts or carnivorous birds. According to Herodotus, it seems that the Jews had a strong aversion to exposing corpses at midnight even before leaving Egypt. It is said that the Egyptians would behead criminals and nail only their torsos to a cross to expose them at midnight. As for the Persians…”

“Kangetsu-kun, it seems you are gradually distancing yourself from hanging, are you alright?” Mitei interjects.

“We are about to enter the main discussion, so I ask for your patience for a moment... Now, as for the Persians, it seems they also used crucifixion for executions. However, I am not quite sure whether they nailed them while still alive or after they were dead…”

“It’s fine if you don’t know that,” the master yawns, looking bored.

“I still have various things I would like to discuss, but it might be a nuisance for you…”

“It’s easier to hear ‘irasshaimashou’ than ‘arasshaimashou,’ right, Kurusami-kun?” Mitei reproaches again, to which the master replies indifferently, “It’s the same either way.”

“Now, let’s finally get into the main topic and discuss.”

“‘Discuss’ is a term used by lecturers. I would prefer if orators used more refined language,” Mitei retorts again.

“If ‘discuss’ is vulgar, then what should I say?” Kangetsu-kun asks with a slightly annoyed tone.

“It’s unclear whether Meitei is listening or interjecting. Kangu, don’t mind such a busybody, just go ahead and do it quickly,” the master tries to get through the difficult situation as fast as possible.

“I wonder if it’s the willow that spoke up in annoyance,” Meitei says, as nonchalantly as ever. Kangu can’t help but burst out laughing.

“According to my research, the first instance of execution by strangulation appears in the twenty-second book of the Odyssey. Specifically, it’s the passage where Telemachus strangles Penelope’s twelve maidens. I could read the text in Greek, but it feels a bit showy, so I’ll refrain. If you look at lines four hundred sixty-five to four hundred seventy-three, you’ll understand.”

“It’s better to skip the Greek, otherwise it sounds like you’re saying you can speak Greek, doesn’t it, Kusayami?”

“I agree with that; it’s more modest not to say such greedy things,” the master unusually supports Meitei immediately.

Both of them cannot read Greek at all.

“Then let’s skip these two or three lines for tonight and move on to the next—yes, I will say.”