Thirteen to fifteen

by Natsume Sōseki

We were in the crowd. Everyone around us had cheerful expressions on their faces. As we passed through the forest until the flowers and people were out of sight, we had no opportunity to talk about the same issue.

I suddenly asked, "Is love a sin?"

"It is a sin, certainly," the teacher replied in the same strong tone as before.

"Why is that?"

"You will understand the reason eventually. Not right now, but you should already know. Your heart has been moved by love for a long time."

I tried to probe into my own heart. However, it felt emptier than I thought, and I didn't feel anything in particular.

"There is no particular purpose in my heart. I intend to hide nothing from you."

"It is precisely because there is no purpose that you move. If there were a purpose, you would want to move thinking you could settle down."

"I'm not moving that much right now."

"You feel unsatisfied and have moved towards me, haven't you?"

"That may be true, but that is different from love."

"That is the first step towards love. You first came to me, a same-sex person, as a step towards embracing the opposite sex."

"It seems to me that the two things have completely different natures."

"No, they are the same. As a man, I am someone who cannot provide you with satisfaction. Moreover, due to special circumstances, I cannot provide you with satisfaction even more. I truly feel sorry for you. It is only natural for you to move away from me to another place. Rather, I wish for that. However..."

I suddenly felt a wave of sadness rise up within me.

"It may be natural for you to think that I will move away from you, but I do not feel that way yet."

The teacher did not listen to my words.

"However, you must be careful. Love is a sin. While you cannot find satisfaction with me, there is also no danger, but do you know the feeling when you tie up your long black hair?"

I had known in my imagination, but I did not know in reality. In any case, the meaning of "sin" as the teacher said was ambiguous, and I could not fully understand it. Moreover, I felt a bit uncomfortable.

"Teacher, please tell me the meaning of sin more clearly. Until I understand that, let's end this issue here. Until I can understand the meaning of sin myself."

"I said something bad. I intended to tell you the truth. But in reality, I was worried about you. I did something bad."

The teacher and I walked quietly towards Uguisu Valley from behind the museum. Through the gaps in the fence, the lush bamboo growing in part of the wide garden looked ethereal.

"Do you know why I visit the grave of my friend buried in Zoshigaya Cemetery every month?"

This question from the teacher was completely sudden. Moreover, the teacher understood well that I could not answer this question. I did not respond for a while. Then, the teacher spoke as if he had just realized something.

"I said something bad again. When I try to explain because I think it's bad to be anxious, that explanation ends up making you anxious again. There's nothing I can do about it. Let's end this issue here. Anyway, love is a sin. Is that okay? And it is also something sacred."

I found it increasingly difficult to understand what the teacher was saying. However, after that, the teacher did not say anything more about love.

As a young person, I was somewhat easily captivated. At least, it seemed that way in the teacher's eyes. I found the teacher's words more beneficial than the school lectures. The teacher's thoughts were more valuable than the professor's opinions. In the end, the teacher, who spoke little and stood alone, seemed greater than the esteemed people who stood on the podium and guided me.

"You shouldn't get too worked up," the teacher said.

"As a result of calming down, I think so," I answered, feeling sufficiently confident. However, the teacher did not accept that confidence.

"You are being carried away by your enthusiasm. When the heat cools down, you will become disillusioned. It pains me to think that you feel this way about yourself now. However, considering the changes that should happen to you from now on, it becomes even more painful."

"Do you think I am that frivolous? Am I not trusted that much?"

"I feel sorry for you."

"So you say you feel sorry for me but do not trust me?"

The teacher turned towards the garden with a troubled expression. In that garden, not a single heavy red camellia flower could be seen until just a few days ago. The teacher had a habit of gazing at that camellia flower from the tatami room.

"Not trusting does not mean I specifically do not trust you. I do not trust humanity as a whole."

At that moment, the voice of a goldfish seller was heard from beyond the hedge. Nothing else could be heard. The narrow path, which was two blocks deep from the main street, was surprisingly quiet. The inside of the house was as quiet as usual. I knew that the wife was in the next room. I also knew that my voice could be heard by the wife, who was silently doing needlework. However, I completely forgot about that.

"Then, does the wife not trust you either?" I asked the teacher.

The teacher made a slightly anxious face. And avoided giving a direct answer.

"I do not even trust myself. In other words, because I cannot trust myself, I have become unable to trust others. There is no other way but to curse myself."

"If you think that deeply, there is nothing certain for anyone."

"No, it is not that I thought about it; I actually did it. After doing it, I was surprised and became very scared."

I wanted to continue down the same path a little further. At that moment, I heard the wife's voice twice from behind the sliding door, saying, "You, you." The teacher responded the second time with, "What is it?" The wife called the teacher to the next room with a "Just a moment." I couldn't understand what business they had between them. Without the luxury to imagine it, the teacher quickly returned to the tatami room.

"In any case, you shouldn't trust me too much. You will regret it later. And you will end up taking cruel revenge for having been deceived."

"What do you mean by that?"

A memory of once kneeling before someone now tries to place my foot on that person's head. I wanted to refuse the current respect to avoid future insults. Instead of enduring a future self that is even lonelier than now, I wanted to endure my lonely self in the present. We, born in a modern age filled with freedom, independence, and self, must taste this loneliness as a sacrifice.

I didn't know what to say to a teacher who had such resolve.

After that, I became concerned every time I saw the wife's face. Did the teacher always show this attitude towards her as well? If so, was the wife satisfied with that?

The wife's demeanor was difficult to judge as either satisfied or dissatisfied. I hadn't had many opportunities to interact closely with her. Moreover, she treated me with a normal attitude every time we met. In the end, unless the teacher was present, the wife and I rarely had the chance to face each other.

My doubts deepened further. Where does this resolve of the teacher towards humanity come from? Is it the result of introspection with cold eyes or observation of the modern world? The teacher was the type of person who thought deeply. If it existed in the teacher's mind, would such an attitude naturally emerge? I did not think so. The teacher's resolve felt like a living resolve. It was different from the outline of a stone house that had been burned and cooled. The teacher, as I saw him, was certainly a thinker. However, behind the principles he had summarized, it seemed that strong facts were woven in. These were not facts about others that were disconnected from oneself, but facts that one had painfully experienced oneself, facts that made the blood run hot or the pulse stop, seemed to be folded in.

This was not something I speculated about in my heart. The teacher himself had already confessed to it. However, that confession was like a peak of clouds, covering something terrifying of unknown identity over my head. And I did not understand why it was terrifying. The confession was vague, but it clearly shook my nerves.

I hypothesized that a certain intense love affair was the basis of the teacher's worldview. (Of course, it was something that happened between the teacher and his wife.) Remembering that the teacher once said, "Love is a sin," it might be a clue. However, the teacher told me that he actually loved his wife. Then, such a nihilistic resolve could not have arisen from their love. The teacher's words, "The memory of having once knelt before that person now tries to place a foot on that person's head," seemed applicable to anyone in modern times, and did not seem to apply to the relationship between the teacher and his wife.

A grave of an unknown person in Zoshigaya—this too occasionally surfaced in my memory. I knew it was a grave deeply connected to the teacher. While I was getting closer to the teacher's life, I could not truly approach it, so I accepted that grave in my mind as a fragment of life that existed in the teacher's head. However, for me, that grave was entirely dead. It did not serve as a key to open the door of life between the two of us. Rather, it felt like a monster standing between us, hindering the free flow of our connection.

In the midst of this, the time came when I had to face and talk to the wife again. At that time, it was a busy autumn with shorter days, a season when everyone was drawn to the chill in the air. A series of thefts occurred near the teacher's place for three or four days. The thefts happened mostly in the early evening, and there were hardly any homes from which anything significant was taken, but in every house that was broken into, something was always stolen. The wife became uneasy. Amidst this, one evening, the teacher had to leave the house due to circumstances. A friend from the teacher's hometown had come to Tokyo from a local hospital, so the teacher had to provide a meal for that friend outside. The teacher explained the reason and asked me to watch over the house until he returned. I immediately accepted.