Twenty-five to twenty-seven

by Natsume Sōseki

In June of that year, I was scheduled to graduate, and I absolutely had to finish this thesis by the end of April. When I counted the remaining days on my fingers, I began to doubt my own determination a little. While the other students seemed busy gathering materials and making notes long ago, I hadn’t touched anything at all. I only had the resolve to work hard once the new year began. With that determination in my heart, I started working, but soon hit a wall. Until then, I had envisioned a large theme in my mind and thought I had almost completed the framework, but as soon as I began to write, worries flooded in.

I decided to narrow down the theme of my thesis. To save the trouble of systematically organizing my refined thoughts, I simply decided to line up the materials found in books and add a suitable conclusion to them.

The theme I chose was close to my teacher's area of expertise. Previously, when I asked the teacher for his opinion about that choice, he said, "That sounds good." A bit flustered, I immediately went to the teacher and asked him to recommend books I should refer to. The teacher kindly shared his knowledge to the best of his ability and said he would lend me two or three necessary books. However, it seemed that the teacher did not intend to guide me on this theme.

“I haven’t been reading much lately, so I don’t know anything new. You should ask your school teacher.”

I suddenly remembered that the teacher had once been a very avid reader, but for some reason, I had heard from his wife that he had recently lost interest in this field as much as before. I forgot about the thesis and suddenly opened my mouth.

“Why have you lost interest in books like you used to?”

“There’s no particular reason… I mean, I think no matter how many books you read, it doesn’t necessarily make you that great. Besides…”

“Besides, are there other reasons?”

"There isn't much of a reason, but I used to feel embarrassed to not know things when I was in front of others or when someone asked me. Recently, however, it seems that not knowing something isn't such a shame, so I suppose I've lost the motivation to force myself to read books. In short, I've grown old."

The teacher's words were rather calm, and I didn't sense the bitterness of someone who had turned their back on society, so it didn't resonate with me much. I didn't think the teacher had grown old, and I returned home without feeling particularly impressed.

After that, I suffered with red eyes like someone possessed by a paper, almost like a madman. I tried to hear about the situation of my friends who graduated a year ago. One of them said that on the deadline day, they rushed to the office by car and barely made it in time. Another one was told that they almost didn't get it accepted because they arrived about fifteen minutes past five, but thanks to the kindness of the head professor, it was accepted. I felt anxious, but I made up my mind. I continued to work hard in front of my desk every day. Otherwise, I would enter the dim library and look around at the high bookshelves. My eyes searched for the gold lettering on the spines like a connoisseur digging up antiques.

Around the time the plum blossoms bloomed, the cold wind gradually moved southward. After a while, I began to hear whispers of cherry blossoms here and there. Still, I kept my eyes fixed ahead like a workhorse, continuing to be driven by my thesis. Finally, late April arrived, and I didn't set foot in the teacher's house until I had completed what I had planned to write.

The season when I became free was the early summer, when the blue leaves began to stretch out like a haze on the branches of the double-flowered cherry blossoms. With a heart like a little bird that had escaped from its cage, I spread my wings freely while taking in the vast sky and land at a glance. I immediately headed towards my teacher's house. Along the way, my eyes were drawn to the new buds sprouting on the darkened branches of the bitter orange hedge, and the glossy brown leaves reflecting sunlight softly from the withered trunk of the pomegranate. I felt a freshness as if I were seeing such a scene for the first time in my life.

Seeing my happy face, my teacher said, "Have you finished your paper? That's great to hear." I replied, "Thanks to you, I have finally completed it. There is nothing left for me to do."

In fact, at that moment, I felt a bright sense of having finished all the work I needed to do, as if I could now proudly play without any worries. I had confidence and satisfaction in the paper I had written. In front of my teacher, I talked about its contents many times. My teacher responded with his usual phrases like "I see" and "Is that so?" but did not offer any further critique. Rather than feeling unsatisfied, I felt a bit taken aback. Nevertheless, that day, my spirit was so lively that it seemed to challenge my teacher's reserved attitude. I tried to entice my teacher out into the vibrant embrace of nature.

"Teacher, let's go for a walk somewhere. It feels really nice outside."

"Where shall we go?"

I didn't mind anywhere. I just wanted to take my teacher out to the suburbs.

An hour later, my teacher and I left the city as planned and walked aimlessly in a quiet place that was indistinguishable from a village or a town. I picked young, tender leaves from the hedge and played a grass flute. I had naturally learned to play this grass flute by imitating a friend from Kagoshima, and I was quite good at it. As I continued to play it proudly, my teacher walked with his face turned away, pretending not to notice.

Eventually, a narrow path opened up beneath a small elevated area covered in fresh leaves. The sign nailed to the gate post read "Some Garden," making it clear that this place was not a private residence. The teacher looked at the entrance of the gentle uphill slope and said, "Shall we go in?" I immediately replied, "It's a nursery, isn't it?"

As we walked around the planting area and moved deeper in, there was a house on the left side. The open sliding doors revealed an empty space with no sign of people. Only goldfish were swimming in a large pot placed under the eaves.

“It’s quiet, isn’t it? Do you think it’s alright to enter without permission?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

The two of them proceeded further in. However, there were no signs of people there either. Azaleas were blooming wildly like flames. The teacher pointed to a tall, brownish one among them and said, “This must be Kirishima.”

Peonies were also planted over about ten tsubo, but since the season had not yet arrived, none of them had flowers. The teacher lay down in a large X shape on an old bench beside the peony field. I sat down at the remaining edge and smoked a cigarette. The teacher was looking up at the clear blue sky. I was captivated by the color of the fresh leaves surrounding me. Upon closer inspection of the color of those fresh leaves, each one was different. Even among the same maple tree, there was not a single branch that bore the same color. The teacher's hat, which had been placed on top of a thin cedar seedling, was blown off by the wind.

I quickly picked up the hat. While flicking off the red soil that was stuck in places with my nails, I called out to the teacher. “Teacher, your hat fell.”

“Thank you.”

Half sitting up, the teacher received it while remaining in a posture that was neither fully sitting nor lying down, and asked me something strange. “This is sudden, but does your family have quite a bit of wealth?”

“Not to the extent that I would say we do.”

"Well, I wonder how much there is. I might be asking something rude."

"How much, you ask? There's just a little bit of mountain and farmland, and no money at all."

It was the first time the teacher had asked me about my family's finances. I had yet to hear anything about the teacher's life. When I first got to know the teacher, I wondered how he could afford to be so carefree. That doubt lingered in my heart for a long time. However, I thought it would be rude to bring up such a blatant question in front of the teacher, so I always held back. My heart, which had been resting my tired eyes with the color of fresh leaves, accidentally brushed against that doubt again.

"What about you, teacher? How much wealth do you have?"

"Do I look like a wealthy person?"

The teacher usually dressed quite modestly. Moreover, his family was small in number. Therefore, the house was certainly not spacious. However, it was clear even to my eyes, which did not intrude on his private life, that his life was materially rich. In short, while the teacher's life could not be called luxurious, it was not one of forced austerity either.

"That's true," I said.

"Well, I have about that much money. But I'm definitely not a wealthy person. If I were, I would build a much bigger house."

At that moment, the teacher stood up and sat cross-legged on the porch, but after finishing his words, he began to draw a circle on the ground with the tip of his bamboo cane. Once that was done, he stood it upright as if to pierce the ground with the stick.

"Even so, I was originally a wealthy person."

The teacher's words sounded somewhat like a monologue. So, I, who had almost blurted something out right after, remained silent.

"Even so, I was originally a wealthy person, you know," the teacher said again, then smiled at my face. I still couldn't respond at all. Rather, I was unable to answer due to my awkwardness. Then, the teacher changed the subject again.

"How has your father's illness been since then?"

I had not known anything about my father's illness since the New Year. The simple letters that came with the remittances sent from the country each month were, as usual, in my father's handwriting, but there was hardly any mention of his illness. Moreover, the writing was certainly clear. The tremors seen in this type of patient did not disrupt the flow of the pen at all.

"He hasn't said anything, but it must be fine now."

"If it's fine, that's good, but the illness is what it is."

"I wonder if it's really no good. But he must be holding on for the time being. He hasn't said anything at all."

"Is that so."

I thought that the teacher's inquiries about my family's finances and my father's illness were just ordinary conversation—simply expressing whatever came to mind. However, beneath the teacher's words lay a significant meaning that connected the two. Lacking any personal experience, I naturally had no way of realizing this.