Nineteen to twenty-one

by Natsume Sōseki

At first, I approached her as an understanding woman. As I continued the conversation with that intention, her demeanor gradually changed. Instead of appealing to my intellect, she began to move my heart. Although there should be no resentment between her and her husband, there was still something. Even when I tried to open my eyes and discern it, I still couldn't see anything. The core of her suffering was here.

She initially asserted that the teacher's cynical gaze towards the world was the reason she was disliked. Yet, despite saying that, she was not at all calm. Deep down, she thought that perhaps the teacher's dislike for her had made her dislike the world as well. However, no matter how much she thought about it, she could not confirm that hypothesis. The teacher's attitude was always that of a good husband, kind and gentle. The wife, who had wrapped her doubts in the emotions of each day and quietly tucked them away in her heart, opened that wrapping before me that evening.

“What do you think?” she asked. “Did I become like this, or did I become like this because of the worldview you mentioned? Tell me honestly without hiding anything.”

I had no intention of hiding anything. However, if there was something there that I did not know, I felt that no matter what my answer was, it would not satisfy her. And I believed that there was indeed something there that I did not know.

“I don’t know.”

The wife showed a pitiful expression at the unexpected answer. I quickly continued my words.

“But I assure you that the teacher does not dislike you. I am simply conveying the teacher's own words. He is not someone who would lie.”

The wife did not respond. After a while, she said this.

“Actually, I have a slight inkling about something…”

“Is it about the reason the teacher became like that?”

“Yes. If that is the reason, then I will no longer be responsible, so just that alone would make me feel relieved…”

“What do you mean?”

The woman was choosing her words while staring intently at the hands resting on her lap.

“You said you would make the judgment.”

“I will make a judgment if it is within my ability.”

“I can’t tell everyone. Everyone gets scolded if they say it. Only where I won’t get scolded.”

I felt tense and swallowed hard.

“When the teacher was still at university, there was a very close friend. That person suddenly died just before graduating.”

The woman whispered in my ear, “Actually, it was an unnatural death.” It was said in a way that made it impossible not to ask, “Why?”

“That’s all I can say. But after that incident, the teacher’s nature gradually changed. I don’t know why that person died. The teacher probably doesn’t know either. But if I think that the teacher changed after that, I can’t help but think so.”

“Is that person’s grave in Zoshigaya?”

“I can’t say that either because it’s also something that’s not supposed to be said. But I wonder if a person can change so much just from losing one close friend. I am dying to know that. So, I want you to make a judgment on that.”

My judgment was leaning rather negatively.

I tried to comfort the wife within the range of facts I knew. The wife also seemed to want to be comforted by me as much as possible. So, the two of us kept discussing the same problem indefinitely. However, I originally did not grasp the essence of the matter. The wife's anxiety actually stemmed from a thin cloud of doubt that lingered there. Regarding the truth of the incident, the wife herself did not know much, and she could not tell me what she did know. Therefore, both I, who was comforting her, and the wife, who was being comforted, were floating together, swaying gently. While swaying, the wife reached out as far as she could, trying to cling to my unreliable judgment.

Around ten o'clock, when the sound of the teacher's footsteps echoed in the entrance, the wife suddenly stood up as if she had forgotten everything until then, leaving me behind. She almost welcomed the teacher at the moment he opened the lattice. I followed the wife from behind, feeling left out. Only the maid seemed to have been taking a nap, as she never came out.

The teacher seemed to be in a good mood. However, the wife's condition was even better. I remembered the light of tears that had gathered in the wife's beautiful eyes just moments ago and the shape of her eyebrows drawn in a V at the roots. I watched this change carefully, considering it unusual. If it was not a deception (in fact, it did not seem like a deception), the wife's previous complaints could be interpreted as a futile game of a woman who particularly sought to enjoy sentimentality at my expense. Nevertheless, at that moment, I did not feel inclined to view the wife so critically. Seeing her attitude suddenly begin to shine, I felt rather relieved. I reconsidered that there was no need to worry so much.

The teacher, laughing, asked me, "Thank you for your hard work, did the thief not come?" He then said, "If they don’t come, doesn’t it take away the excitement?"

When I was leaving, the lady bowed and said, "I’m so sorry for the trouble." Her tone sounded more like a joke, as if she felt sorry that a thief hadn’t come in despite my visit rather than feeling sorry for interrupting her busy time. While saying this, she wrapped the leftover Western sweets in paper and handed them to me. I put them in my sleeve and hurried towards the lively town, turning down a narrow, chilly alley with few passersby.

I decided to pull the events of that evening from my memory and write them down in detail here. I felt the need to write, but to be honest, I hadn’t taken the conversation that night too seriously while leaving with sweets from the lady. The next day, after returning from school and having lunch, I noticed the package of sweets on the desk. I immediately took out the chocolate-covered brown castella from it and took a big bite. At that moment, I savored it while feeling that the two people who had given me these sweets existed in the world as a happy couple.

Nothing particularly changed until autumn passed and winter arrived. While visiting the teacher's house, I asked the lady to wash and tailor my clothes. It was from this time that I, who had never worn a silk kimono before, began to layer one with a black collar over my shirt. The lady, who had no children, seemed to distract herself from boredom by taking care of such tasks and would laugh and say, "This is medicine for the body."

"This is hand-woven. I've never sewn such a good fabric before. But the stitching is bad. It's as if the needle won't stand up. Because of that, I've broken two needles," the lady complained, but there was no sign of annoyance on her face.

When winter came, I happened to have to return to my country. In a letter from my mother, it was written that my father's illness was not progressing well, and although there was no need to worry at this moment, given the circumstances of the year, she requested that I come back if possible.

My father had been suffering from kidney problems for some time. As is often seen in middle-aged people, his illness was chronic. However, both he and the family believed without a doubt that as long as he was careful, there would be no sudden changes. In fact, he had managed to get by until today thanks to his care, as he told guests. However, according to my mother's letter, my father suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed while doing something in the garden. The family assumed it was a mild cerebral hemorrhage and provided immediate care, but later the doctor determined that it was not the case; it was likely a result of his chronic illness.

There was still a little time before winter vacation would arrive. I thought it would be fine to wait until the end of the term, so I left it for a day or two. However, during that time, the image of my father lying down and my mother's worried face occasionally came to mind, and I felt a pang of guilt. In the end, I made up my mind to go back. To save the trouble and time of having travel expenses sent from my country, I decided to go to my teacher and ask to temporarily advance the necessary money.

My teacher was feeling a bit under the weather and said he was reluctant to go out to the tatami room, so he led me to his study. From the glass door of the study, a rare soft sunlight for winter was streaming onto the desk. The teacher had placed a large hibachi in this sunny room, and the steam rising from a metal basin on the trivet was easing his breathing difficulties.

"A serious illness is fine, but a little cold is troublesome," the teacher said with a wry smile as he looked at my face. Since he had never experienced any serious illness, I felt like laughing at his words.

"I can tolerate a cold, but anything worse than that is a no-go for me. Isn't it the same for you, teacher? You can understand it well if you try it out," I said.

“Is that so? I would rather suffer from a terminal illness than get sick,” the teacher said.

I did not pay particular attention to the teacher's words and talked about my mother's letter, asking for money.

“That would be a problem. You should have that much on hand, so take it with you,” the teacher said.

The teacher called his wife and had her lay out the necessary amount of money in front of me. His wife carefully stacked the money on a piece of white paper and said, “That must be a concern for you.”

“Have you fainted multiple times?” the teacher asked.

“The letter doesn’t say anything about that... Is it something that happens repeatedly?”

“Yes,” the teacher replied.

It was the first time I learned that the teacher's mother-in-law had also died from the same illness as my father.

“It must be difficult anyway,” I said.

“That’s true. If I could take your place, I would, but... do you have nausea?”

“I wonder, since it doesn’t say anything, I probably don’t have it,” I answered.

“As long as you don’t have nausea, you should be fine,” his wife said.

I left Tokyo on the train that night.