Seven to nine

by Natsume Sōseki

My father was clearly afraid of his illness. However, he was not the type to ask troublesome questions every time the doctor came. The doctor also refrained from saying anything out of consideration.

It seemed that my father was thinking about what would happen after his death. At the very least, he appeared to be imagining what the house would be like after he was gone.

“Having children pursue education has its pros and cons. Even if you go through the effort of training them, that child will never return home. It’s as if education is meant to separate parents and children.”

As a result of his education, my brother is now in a distant country. Influenced by my education, I have made up my mind to live in Tokyo. My father's complaints about raising me were certainly not unreasonable. The image of my father imagining his lonely mother left all alone in the countryside house they had lived in for many years must have been quite sad.

My father was convinced that our home was something that could not be moved. My mother, who lived there, also believed that as long as she had life, it was something that could not be moved. The thought of leaving this lonely mother all alone in the temple-like house after I died was a great anxiety. Yet, in my father's mind, there was a contradiction in wanting me to seek a good position in Tokyo. While I found that contradiction amusing, I was glad that it allowed me to go to Tokyo.

I had to pretend to strive for this position as much as possible in front of my father and mother. So, I wrote a letter to my teacher, detailing our family circumstances. I asked him to help me, saying I would do anything I could on my own. I wrote this letter thinking that my teacher would likely not respond to my request. I also thought that even if he intended to respond, as a teacher in a narrow-minded society, there would be little he could do. However, I believed that I would definitely receive a reply from my teacher regarding this letter.

Before sealing and sending the letter, I said to my mother, “I wrote a letter to the teacher, just as you said. Please take a look at it.”

My mother did not read it as I had imagined. "I see, then hurry up and get it out. You should do things like that quickly on your own, without others having to remind you."

My mother still thought of me as a child. In fact, I felt like a child as well.

"But a letter alone won't be enough. After all, it won't be until September when I go to Tokyo."

"That may be true, but just in case, you never know when a good opportunity might arise, so it’s better to ask early."

"Yes. In any case, a reply is bound to come, so let's talk again when it does."

I had faith in my meticulous teacher regarding such matters. I was eagerly awaiting the teacher's reply, but in the end, my expectations were disappointed. Even after a week, there was no word from the teacher.

"Most likely, they are off somewhere on vacation."

I had to use words that sounded like excuses to my mother. It was not only an excuse to her but also an excuse to my own heart. I felt anxious unless I forced myself to assume some circumstances to justify the teacher's attitude.

Sometimes, I forgot about my father's illness. I even thought about going to Tokyo as soon as possible. My father himself sometimes forgot about his illness. While worrying about the future, he did not prepare for it at all. In the end, I missed the opportunity to bring up the matter of property distribution to my father as my teacher had advised.

At the beginning of September, I finally decided to go to Tokyo. I asked my father to continue sending my school expenses as before for the time being. "Staying here like this won't get you the position you mentioned."

I told him that I was going to Tokyo to obtain the position my father hoped for. "Of course, it’s fine as long as I can find a position."

In my heart, I thought that such a position would never fall into my lap. However, my father, who was unaware of the circumstances, believed the opposite.

"That will only be for a short while, so I will somehow make arrangements. However, it cannot be for long. As soon as you gain a considerable position, you must become independent. After all, once you leave school, you shouldn't rely on others from the very next day. The young people these days seem to only know how to spend money, and they don't think at all about how to earn it."

My father said various other nagging things. Among them was the saying, "In the past, parents were fed by their children, but now parents are only eaten by their children." I simply listened in silence.

When I thought the nagging had come to an end, I quietly tried to stand up. My father asked me when I was going. I wanted to leave quickly.

"Have your mother check the date."

"I will do that."

At that time, I was surprisingly quiet in front of my father. I tried to leave the countryside without opposing my father's mood as much as possible. My father held me back again.

"If you go to Tokyo, the house will become lonely again. After all, it will just be me and your mother. I would be fine if my health were good, but with this situation, you never know what might happen suddenly."

I tried to comfort my father as much as possible and returned to my desk. Sitting among the scattered books, I repeatedly gazed at my father's anxious demeanor and words. At that moment, I heard the voice of a cicada again. This voice was different from what I had heard before; it was the sound of the tsukutsuku-bōshi. When I returned to my hometown in the summer and sat still amidst the scorching cicada sounds, I often felt an oddly sad feeling. My melancholy always seemed to seep into the depths of my heart along with the intense sound of this insect. During such times, I always remained still, staring at one person alone.

My melancholy has gradually changed since I returned home this summer. Just as the voice of the cicada transforms into that of the bell cricket, it seemed to me that the fates of the people surrounding me were slowly moving within the great cycle of reincarnation. I repeatedly recalled my father's lonely demeanor and words, and I thought again of the teacher who did not reply even after I sent a letter. Both the teacher and my father easily surfaced in my mind, in terms of comparison and association, as they gave me completely opposite impressions.

I knew almost everything about my father. If I were to be separated from him, only the bond of parent and child would remain in my heart. There were still many aspects of the teacher that I could not fully understand. I had not had the opportunity to hear about the past of that promised person. In short, the teacher was a dark presence for me. I absolutely could not be satisfied unless I transcended that darkness and went to a brighter place. The cessation of my relationship with the teacher was a great pain for me. I asked my mother to look at the calendar and decided on the day to depart for Tokyo.

Just before my departure, it was certainly the evening of two days prior. My father suddenly collapsed again. At that time, I was packing books and clothes into my suitcase. My father had just taken a bath, and my mother was washing his back. When my mother called me loudly, I saw her hugging my father from behind while she was still naked. However, when I returned to the tatami room, my father said he was already fine. Just to be safe, I sat by his pillow and was cooling his head with a wet towel, and around nine o'clock, I finally finished a meager late-night snack.

The next day, my father was healthier than I had expected. He walked to the bathroom without listening to my attempts to stop him.

"I'm fine now."

My father repeated the same words as when he collapsed at the end of last year. At that time, he was really okay. I thought it might be the same this time. However, the doctor only cautioned that being careful was crucial and did not tell me anything clear. Because of my anxiety, even when the day of departure came, I did not feel like going to Tokyo.

“Shall we wait a little longer to see how things go?” I consulted my mother.

“Please do that,” my mother requested.

My mother was fine as long as she saw my father having the energy to go out to the garden or down the back, but when such things happened, she worried excessively and fretted.

“Weren't you supposed to go to Tokyo today?” my father asked.

“Yes, I postponed it a bit,” I replied.

“Is it for my sake?” my father asked back.

I hesitated a little. If I said yes, it would be like admitting that my father's illness was serious. I did not want to make my father overly sensitive. However, it seemed that my father could see through my heart well.

“That's unfortunate,” he said, turning towards the garden.

I entered my room and gazed at the suitcase that had been thrown there. The suitcase was tightly bound so that it could be taken out at any time. I stood in front of it absentmindedly, thinking again about whether to untie the rope.

I spent another three or four days with the uneasy feeling of having lifted my waist while sitting. Then, my father collapsed again. The doctor absolutely ordered him to rest.

“What should we do?” my mother said to me in a small voice so that my father could not hear. My mother's face looked anxious. I prepared to send a telegram to my brother and sister. However, my father, who was sleeping, hardly seemed to be in pain. His manner of speaking was exactly the same as when he had a cold. Moreover, his appetite was greater than usual. Even when those around him cautioned him, my father did not easily listen.

“Since I'm going to die anyway, I might as well eat something delicious before I go.”

To me, my father's words about "delicious food" sounded comical yet accompanied by sadness. He did not live in a place where he could enjoy delicious food. At night, he would have rice crackers grilled for him, crunching away at them.

"I wonder why I'm so thirsty. Maybe there's a strong part inside my heart after all,"

My mother returned home with disappointment, yet she used the old-fashioned word "thirsty," which she only used when ill, to mean someone who wanted to eat anything.

When my uncle came to visit, my father would never let him leave. The main reason was that he felt lonely and wanted him to stay longer, but it seemed that my mother and I also complained that he wouldn't let us eat as much as we wanted, which was part of that purpose.