One to three

by Natsume Sōseki · 2026-03-31

I always called that person "Sensei." So here, I will just write "Sensei" without revealing their real name. This is more about my natural way of addressing them than any concern for public opinion. Every time the memory of Sensei resurfaces, I immediately want to call them "Sensei." Even when I pick up the pen, my heart feels the same. I had no intention of using a formal initial.

I met Sensei in Kamakura. At that time, I was still a young student. I received a letter from a friend who had gone to the beach during summer vacation, urging me to come. So, I decided to scrape together some money and go. It took me two or three days to gather the money, but before three days had passed after arriving in Kamakura, my friend suddenly received a telegram telling him to return home. The telegram stated that his mother was ill, but my friend did not believe it. He had been pressured into a marriage that his parents in the countryside had recommended, which he did not want. Considering modern customs, he was still too young to marry, and he did not like the person in question. Therefore, instead of returning home for the summer vacation, he was deliberately playing near Tokyo.

My friend showed me the telegram and consulted me on what to do. I didn't know what to say. However, if his mother was truly ill, he should return. In the end, he decided to go back, and I was left alone.

Since there were still days left before the school term started, I was in a situation where I could either stay in Kamakura or return home. I decided to remain at my original inn for the time being. My friend was the son of a wealthy man from China, and he had no financial difficulties, but given the school and our ages, our living standards were not very different. Therefore, being left alone did not require me to go through the trouble of finding a particularly nice inn.

The inn was located in a remote direction of Kamakura. To reach fashionable things like billiards and ice cream, one had to cross a long rice field. It cost twenty sen by car. However, private villas were built here and there, and since it was close to the sea, it was a very convenient place for swimming.

I went to the sea every day. Passing through an old thatched house and descending to the rocky shore, the sandy beach was bustling with men and women who had come for the summer. At times, the sea was so crowded with black heads that it looked like a public bath. Even though I didn't know anyone, I enjoyed lying on the sand and splashing around with my knees in the waves, enveloped in such a lively scene.

One day, I found my teacher in the midst of this crowd. There were two tea houses on the beach, but I had become accustomed to one of them by chance. Unlike those who had large villas in Hase, the summer guests here needed a shared changing area. They drank tea here, rested, washed their swimsuits, cleansed their salty bodies, and left their hats and umbrellas. Even though I didn't have a swimsuit, I was worried about my belongings being stolen, so every time I went into the sea, I would leave everything behind at that tea house.

When I saw my teacher at that tea house, he was just taking off his kimono and was about to enter the sea. At that moment, I had just come out of the water, with my wet body blowing in the wind. Between us, many black heads were moving, blocking our view. If there hadn't been any special circumstances, I might have missed my teacher. The beach was that crowded, and my mind was also distracted. However, I quickly spotted my teacher because he was accompanied by a Western man.

The white skin of that Westerner immediately caught my attention as he entered the tea house. He was wearing a pure Japanese yukata, which he had thrown onto the floor, standing with his arms crossed, facing the sea. He was not wearing anything on his skin except for the fundoshi that we wear. This struck me as very strange. Two days ago, I had gone to Yui Beach and watched the Westerner enter the sea while crouching on the sand. The place where I sat was on a slightly elevated hill, right next to the back entrance of the hotel. While I was gazing, many men came out to bathe in the saltwater, but none of them had their torso, arms, or groin exposed. Women, in particular, tended to hide their flesh, wearing rubber head coverings and floating colors of shrimp brown, navy, and indigo in the waves. To my eyes, which had just witnessed such a scene, this Westerner standing before everyone in nothing but a fundoshi appeared quite unusual.

He eventually turned to look back at his side and said a word or two to the Japanese person crouching there. That Japanese person was picking up a hand towel that had fallen on the sand, and as soon as he picked it up, he wrapped it around his head and started walking toward the sea. That person was indeed the teacher.

I was simply watching the two figures walking down the beach out of curiosity. Then they stepped straight into the waves. Passing through the many people who were lively near the shallow rocks, they came to a relatively spacious area and both started swimming. They swam out until their heads appeared small. Then they turned back and returned in a straight line to the beach. When they returned to the tea house, they immediately dried their bodies without bathing in the well water and quickly went off somewhere.

After they left, I sat down on the original floor chair and smoked a cigarette. At that time, I was absentmindedly thinking about the teacher. It seemed to me that I had seen that face somewhere before. However, I could not remember when or where I had met that person.

At that moment, I had nothing to do and was rather suffering from boredom. So the next day, I again waited for the time to meet the teacher and made a special trip to the tea house. However, no Westerners came, and only the teacher appeared wearing a straw hat. The teacher took off his glasses and placed them on the table, immediately wrapped his head with a towel, and hurried down to the beach.

When the teacher slipped through the lively bathers like yesterday and began to swim alone, I suddenly wanted to follow him. Splashing through the shallow water, I advanced to a considerably deep place and then started swimming towards the teacher. However, unlike yesterday, the teacher began to return to the shore from a strange direction, drawing a kind of arc. In the end, my goal was not achieved. When I came ashore and entered the tea house while waving my hand, the teacher had already put on his kimono and went outside.

The next day, I went to the beach at the same time and saw the teacher's face. I repeated the same thing the following day, but there was no opportunity for us to exchange words or even greet each other. The teacher's attitude was rather unsociable, appearing at a fixed time with an air of detachment and leaving just as detached. No matter how lively the surroundings were, the teacher hardly seemed to pay attention to it. The Westerners who had come with me initially never showed up again. The teacher was always alone.

One day, as the teacher quickly came out of the sea as usual and tried to put on the yukata he had discarded, for some reason, there was a lot of sand on that yukata. The teacher turned around to shake it off and flicked the yukata two or three times. At that moment, the glasses that had been placed under the kimono fell through the gap in the board. After tying the obi over the white kasuri, the teacher seemed to realize that the glasses were missing and suddenly began to look around. I quickly stuck my neck and hand under the seat and picked up the glasses. The teacher said, "Thank you," and took them from my hand.

The next day, I jumped into the sea following the teacher. I swam in the same direction as the teacher. After going out about two gun lengths, the teacher turned around and spoke to me. On the surface of the wide blue sea, nothing else was floating except for the two of us. And the strong sunlight illuminated the water and mountains as far as the eye could see. I moved my muscles filled with freedom and joy and danced wildly in the sea. The teacher stopped moving his arms and legs again and lay back on the waves. I mimicked him. The color of the blue sky poured down on my face so dazzlingly. "It's delightful," I exclaimed loudly.

After a while, the teacher, adjusting his posture in the sea, urged me, saying, "Shall we go back?" Being relatively strong, I wanted to play more in the sea. However, when the teacher invited me, I quickly replied, "Yes, let's go back," with pleasure. Then the two of us turned back along the original path to the beach.

In this way, I became close to the teacher. However, I still did not know where the teacher lived.

Then, after two days, I think it was exactly the afternoon of the third day. When I met the teacher at the tea house, he suddenly asked me, "Are you still planning to stay here for quite a while?" Not having thought it through, I was unprepared to answer this question. So I replied, "I’m not sure." However, when I saw the teacher's face, grinning, I suddenly felt awkward. I couldn't help but ask back, "What about you?" This was the beginning of the first time I uttered the word "teacher."

That evening, I visited the teacher's lodging. Although it was called a lodging, it was unlike an ordinary inn; it was a building like a villa located within the grounds of a large temple. I also realized that the people living there were not the teacher's family. When I called out, "Teacher, teacher," he smiled wryly. I explained that it was my habit to address older people that way. I tried to ask about the Western man from earlier. After talking about his eccentricities and the fact that he was no longer in Kamakura, the teacher said it was strange that he had become close to a foreigner, considering he hardly interacted even with Japanese people. Finally, I told the teacher that I felt like I had seen him somewhere before, but I just couldn't remember. As a young person, I doubted that the teacher might have a similar feeling to mine at that moment. I eagerly awaited his response in my heart. However, after thinking for a while, the teacher said, "I really don’t recognize your face. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?" This left me with a strange sense of disappointment.