One to two

by Natsume Sōseki

I received two or three letters from you this summer. In particular, I remember that the letter in which you wrote about wanting to gain a position in Tokyo was the second letter. When I read that letter, I wanted to do something about it. At the very least, I thought I had to reply. However, to be honest, I did not make any effort at all regarding your request. As you know, my social circle is narrow, and it feels as if I am alone in the world, so I had no room to make such efforts. Still, that is not the issue. To tell the truth, I was troubled about what to do with myself. Should I continue to exist like a mummy left behind among humans, or... At that moment, every time I repeated the words "or..." in my mind, I felt a chill. It was as if I were standing at the edge of a cliff, peering into a bottomless valley. I was cowardly. And like many cowardly people, I was troubled. Unfortunately, at that time, I could hardly feel your presence. Furthermore, your position and the resources of your life were completely meaningless to me. I didn't care at all. I was not in a position to care about that. Even after I submitted your letter, I was still deep in thought with my arms crossed. What does someone with a suitable fortune at home suffer from, whether to graduate or not, or struggle to seek a position? Rather, with a bitter feeling, I merely cast a glance at you from afar. I am confessing this to you as an excuse for not having to reply. I do not intend to use rude words to anger you. My trueintention, I believe, will become clear later. In any case, since I remained silent when I should have at least greeted you, I would like to apologize for this sin of negligence before you.

After that, I sent you a telegram. To be honest, at that time, I wanted to see you a little. Then, as you wished, I wanted to tell you about my past. You replied, saying that you couldn't come to Tokyo now, which disappointed me, and I stared at that telegram for a while. Perhaps you couldn't be satisfied with just the telegram, as you later sent me a long letter, which helped me understand well the circumstances that prevented you from coming to Tokyo. I do not think of you as a rude man or anything. How could you leave home when your dear father is ill? It is my attitude, which seems to forget about your father's life and death, that is inappropriate. In fact, when I sent that telegram, I had forgotten about your father. Yet, when you were in Tokyo, I was the one who warned you so much that you had to be careful because it was a serious illness. I am such a contradictory person. Perhaps, as a result of my past pressing down on me more than my brain, I have become such a contradictory person. In this regard as well, I acknowledge myself. I must be forgiven by you.

When I read your letter, that is, the last letter from you, I thought I had done something wrong. So, I considered sending a reply in that sense and picked up my pen, but I stopped without writing a single line. If I were to write, I wanted to write this letter for you. And it was still a little too early to write this letter, so I decided against it. That is why I sent a simple telegram again saying that it was unnecessary to come.

“I then began to write this letter. For someone like me, who usually doesn’t hold a pen, it was a heavy pain that events and thoughts couldn’t be conveyed as I wished. I was about to abandon this obligation to you. However, no matter how much I tried to stop, or even put down the pen, nothing changed. Within an hour, I felt the urge to write again. From your perspective, this may seem like my character that values the fulfillment of obligations. I do not deny that. As you know, I am a lonely person with almost no dealings with the world, so there are no obligations that truly take root in any direction when I look around me. Whether intentionally or naturally, I had been living a life that I tried to minimize as much as possible. However, it is not because I am indifferent to obligations that it has come to this. Rather, it is because I am too sensitive and lack the energy to endure stimuli that I have ended up leading such a passive life. Therefore, once I have made a promise, it is a very unpleasant feeling not to fulfill it. I must take up the pen again to avoid this unpleasant feeling towards you.”

Moreover, I want to write. Setting aside obligations, I want to write about my past. Since my past is my own experience, it can be said to be solely mine. It could be said that it is a pity to die without giving it to anyone. I have a bit of that feeling too. However, rather than giving it to someone who cannot accept it, I think it would be better to bury my experiences along with my life. In fact, if there were not a single man like you here, my past would ultimately remain my past, and it would not have become anyone else's knowledge indirectly. Among the millions of Japanese people, I want to tell my past only to you. Because you are serious. You said you want to earnestly learn lessons from life itself.

I will unreservedly cast the shadow of a dark human existence over you. But please do not be afraid. Stare at the darkness and find something useful within it. When I say "dark," I mean it in an ethical sense. I am a man who was born ethically and raised ethically. My sense of ethics may differ quite a bit from that of today's young people. However, without a doubt, it is my own. It is not something borrowed from others. Therefore, I think it might be somewhat useful for you, who are trying to grow from now on.

You must remember well that you brought up the issue of modern thought with me. You should also understand my attitude at that time. I did not despise your opinion, but I never came to respect it. Your thoughts had no background, and you were far too young to have a past of your own. Occasionally, I found myself laughing at your demeanor. You showed me a face that seemed unsatisfied. The pinnacle of it all was when you insisted that I unfold my past like a picture scroll. At that moment, for the first time in my heart, I respected you. It was because you showed a determination to unreservedly grasp something alive from my inner self. You tried to split open my heart and sip the warm blood. In that instant, I was still alive. I hated the thought of dying. So, I made an appointment for another day and turned down your request.

Now, I am about to tear my own heart and splash its blood on your face. If, when my heartbeat stops, a new life can dwell in your chest, I will be satisfied.