Ten to twelve

by Natsume Sōseki

As the two of them walked home, a silence continued for a while. In the midst of this, suddenly, the teacher opened his mouth.

“I did something bad. Since I got angry and left, my wife must be worried. When I think about it, women are truly pitiful. My wife has no one to rely on except for me.”

The teacher's words paused slightly there, but he did not seem to expect a response from me. He continued speaking right away.

“That being said, it seems a bit ridiculous that the husband appears to be strong. What do you think of me? Do I seem like a strong person or a weak person?”

“You seem average,” I replied. This response seemed somewhat unexpected for the teacher. He closed his mouth again and began to walk silently.

To get to the teacher's house, the route passed very close to my boarding house. When we reached that point, it felt wrong to part ways at the corner. I said, “Shall I accompany you to your front door?” At that, the teacher gestured for me to stop with his hand.

“It's already late, so hurry home. I need to get home quickly too, for my wife.”

The words “for my wife” at that moment strangely warmed my heart. Thanks to that, I was able to sleep peacefully after returning home. I did not forget those words “for my wife” for a long time afterward.

I came to understand that the turmoil between the teacher and his wife was not a big deal. I also sensed that it was not something that happened often, as I had been frequently coming and going afterward. Furthermore, at one point, the teacher confided this thought to me.

“I only know one woman in this world. Other than my wife, women hardly ever reach out to me. My wife also thinks of me as the only man in this world. In that sense, I believe we should be the happiest pair of humans.”

I did not understand why the teacher had made such a confession to me at that time, as I had forgotten the context surrounding it. However, the teacher's serious demeanor and somber tone remain etched in my memory to this day. In particular, the phrase "should be one pair of the happiest humans" resonated strangely in my ears. Why did the teacher not say "happy humans" outright, but instead assert "should be"? That was the only thing that felt suspicious. Was the teacher truly happy, or was he supposed to be happy but was not? I could not help but doubt in my heart, but that doubt was temporarily buried somewhere.

Later, while the teacher was away, I had the opportunity to talk face to face with his wife. The teacher was absent that day because he had gone to see off a friend who was boarding a steamboat leaving Yokohama. At that time, it was customary for those boarding a ship from Yokohama to depart from Shimbashi on the 8:30 AM train. I needed to discuss a certain book with the teacher, so I obtained his prior consent and visited at the agreed time of 9:00. The teacher's trip to Shimbashi was a sudden event that occurred as a courtesy to a friend who had come to say goodbye the day before. He left saying he would return soon, so I should wait for him even though he was out. Thus, I went up to the tatami room and talked with his wife while waiting for the teacher.

At that time, I was already a university student, and compared to when I first visited the teacher's house, I felt much more grown-up. Since I had become quite familiar with his wife, I felt no pressure at all. We talked about various things facing each other, but it was just an ordinary conversation without any particular characteristics, and I have almost forgotten it now. There was only one thing that caught my ear. However, before I talk about that, I would like to make a small disclaimer.

The teacher was a university graduate. I had known this from the beginning. However, I only realized that he was just playing around without doing anything after I returned to Tokyo for a while. At that time, I wondered how he could be so carefree.

The teacher was a person whose name was not known to the public. Therefore, regarding the teacher's scholarship and thoughts, external people showed more respect than I did. I always found that regrettable. The teacher would simply respond, "It is inappropriate for someone like me to speak out in the world," and did not take it seriously. That response sounded too humble to me, and conversely, it seemed to express a cold view of the world. In fact, the teacher sometimes made harsh and unreserved criticisms of former classmates who had now become prominent. So I tried to point out that contradiction. My heart was not so much in rebellion, but rather disappointed that the world could be indifferent to the teacher. At that time, the teacher said in a somber tone.

"I am simply a man who has no qualifications to engage with the world, so it cannot be helped."

There was a deep expression etched on the teacher's face. I couldn't tell whether it was disappointment, dissatisfaction, or sadness, but it was something so strong that it left me at a loss for words, and I didn't have the courage to say anything further.

While I was talking with my wife, the topic of the teacher naturally came up.

"Why does the teacher only think and study at home, without going out into the world to work?"

"He is no good. He dislikes such things."

"In other words, does he realize that it is trivial?"

"I don't know if he realizes it or not, but it probably doesn't mean that. He must want to do something after all. Yet he can't. So it's pitiful."

"But the teacher seems to be in good health, with no apparent issues."

"He is strong. He has no chronic illnesses."

"So why can't he be active?"

"I don't understand that, you see. If I could understand it, I wouldn't be so worried. It's precisely because I don't understand that I feel so sorry for you."

The wife's tone conveyed deep sympathy. Still, a smile lingered on her lips. From the outside, I seemed to have the more serious expression. I remained silent with a troubled face, but then the wife suddenly opened her mouth as if she had just remembered something.

"He wasn't like that when he was young. He was completely different when he was young. He has changed entirely."

"When do you mean by 'when he was young'?" I asked.

"During his student days."

"Did you know him from his student days?"

The wife suddenly turned a pale red. She was from Tokyo, and I had heard that from both the teacher and her. The wife jokingly said, "To tell the truth, I'm a child of a mixed marriage." Her father was indeed from Tottori, but her mother was a woman born in the Edo period in Ichigaya, so she said it half-jokingly. However, the teacher was from Niigata, which was completely different. Therefore, if the wife knew about the teacher's student days, it was clear that it wasn't due to any connection to her hometown. However, the wife, with her pale red face, seemed unwilling to discuss it further, so I refrained from asking more deeply.

Since I met the teacher until the time of his passing, I was able to touch upon his thoughts and feelings through various issues, but I could hardly extract anything about the circumstances at the time of his marriage. Sometimes, I interpreted this in a positive light. I thought that since he was an older teacher, he might be deliberately refraining from sharing seductive memories with the younger generation. At other times, I considered the opposite. I thought that both the teacher and his wife, having grown up in the customs of a previous era compared to me, might not have the courage to honestly open up about such seductive issues. However, both of these thoughts were merely conjectures, and behind those conjectures lay the assumption of a glamorous romance underlying their marriage.

My assumption was, in fact, not wrong. However, I could only imagine one side of love. The teacher harbored a terrible tragedy behind his beautiful romance. And how miserable that tragedy was for the teacher was completely unknown to his wife. Even now, she remains unaware of it. Before shattering his wife's happiness, the teacher took his own life.

I do not speak of this tragedy now. As for the love between the two, which could be said to have been born rather because of that tragedy, it was as I mentioned earlier. Neither of them shared much with me. The wife out of modesty, and the teacher for deeper reasons.

There is just one thing that remains in my memory. One time, during the season of flowers, I went to Ueno with the teacher. There, I saw a beautiful couple. They were closely cuddled together, walking under the flowers. Given the setting, many people were captivated by them rather than the flowers.

“They look like a newlywed couple,” the teacher said.

“They seem to get along well,” I replied.

The teacher did not even smile wryly, turning his feet away from the couple to look elsewhere. Then he asked me this.

“Have you ever been in love?”

I answered no.

“Don’t you want to fall in love?”

I did not answer.

“There’s nothing you don’t want, right?”

“Yes.”

“You just looked at that man and woman and calmly judged them. Within that criticism, there’s a discomfort mixed in because you desire love but cannot find a partner.”

“Did it sound that way?”

“It did. Those who are savoring the satisfaction of love express warmer voices. However… you, love is a sin. Do you understand?”

I was suddenly taken aback and could not respond at all.