Twelve to thirteen

by Natsume Sōseki

When I left the country, my heart was already cynical. The thought that I could not rely on others felt as if it had seeped into my bones. In my mind, my hostile uncle and aunt, along with other relatives, appeared as if they represented all of humanity. Once I got on the train, I unconsciously began to observe the people next to me, and when spoken to, my wariness only intensified. My heart was heavy, feeling as if I had swallowed lead. Yet, my nerves were sharp and pointed.

I think this tension was a major reason why I tried to leave my lodging after coming to Tokyo. It is natural to want to own a house if financially able, but the old me would not have preferred to deal with troublesome matters, even if I had some spare change.

Even after moving to Koishikawa, I could not ease this tense feeling. I felt embarrassed to the point of being self-conscious about how I was looking around. Strangely, while my mind and eyes were working well, my mouth gradually became less active. I sat silently in front of the desk, observing the people in the house like a cat. At times, I paid attention to them so diligently that I felt sorry for them. I sometimes thought of myself as a pickpocket who does not steal, falling into self-loathing.

You will surely find it strange. Why do I, someone like me, prefer that girl? Why do I have the leisure to look at her clumsy flower arrangements with joy? Why do I have the leisure to enjoy listening to her poor playing of the koto? If you were to ask me that, I could only answer that it is simply a fact. I will leave the interpretation to you, but I will add one thing. I have doubted humanity when it comes to money, but I have not yet doubted humanity when it comes to love. Therefore, even if it may seem strange to others, or even if it may seem contradictory when I think about it myself, in my heart, they coexisted without any issue.

Since I always referred to the widow as "the lady," I will continue to call her "the lady" instead of referring to her as the widow. The lady described me as a quiet person, a gentle man. And she also praised me as a studious person. However, she said nothing about my anxious gaze or my fidgety demeanor. I do not know whether she was unaware or being considerate, but at least she seemed to pay no attention to that aspect at all. On the contrary, at one point, she even praised me as a magnanimous person and spoke with respect. At that moment, the honest me blushed a little and denied her words. Then the lady seriously explained, "You say that because you are not aware of it yourself."

It seems that the lady of the house initially did not intend to have a student like me stay in her home. She apparently planned to rent a room to someone who worked at some office and had asked a neighbor to help with that. The thought that someone with a modest salary would inevitably have to board at a place like this must have been somewhere in her mind. She compared me to the guest she had imagined and praised me for being generous. Indeed, compared to someone living such a frugal life, I may have been generous when it came to money. However, that was not a matter of character; it was something that had little to do with my inner self. The lady also tried to apply this to me as a whole, based solely on her perception as a woman.

“The lady's attitude naturally influenced my mood. After a while, my eyes stopped wandering as much as before, and I began to feel that my heart was firmly settled in the place where I was sitting. In short, the fact that the lady and her family completely disregarded my envious gaze and suspicious demeanor brought me great happiness. My nerves gradually calmed down due to the lack of reflection from the other party.”

Since the lady was an understanding person, she may have intentionally treated me that way, or perhaps she genuinely observed me as being generous. My way of behaving might have been a phenomenon in my mind that did not manifest outwardly, so she may have misunderstood me.

As my heart settled, the distance with my family drew closer. I began to talk and laugh with my wife and daughter. There were days when I was called into the other room just because I made tea. There were also evenings when I bought snacks and invited them over here. I felt as if the scope of our interactions suddenly expanded. Because of this, there were several occasions when my important study time was interrupted, but strangely, that disruption did not bother me at all. My wife was originally a person with free time, and I thought my daughter would be busy attending school and learning flowers and koto, but surprisingly, they both seemed to have plenty of time. So, whenever the three of us met, we gathered together and enjoyed spending time chatting about trivial matters.

It was usually my daughter who came to call me. Sometimes she would stand in front of my room, having turned at a right angle from the engawa, and other times she would pass through the tea room and show her face from behind the sliding door of the adjacent room. She would stop there, call my name, and ask, "Studying?"

I was usually spread out in front of my desk with difficult books, staring intently at them, so from the outside, I probably looked like a diligent student. However, in reality, I wasn't studying those books so seriously. I was just waiting for my daughter to come while glancing at the pages. If she didn't come while I was waiting, I would reluctantly get up and go to the front of the other room and call out, "Are you studying?"

The young lady's room was a six-tatami mat room connected to the living room. The wife would sometimes be in that living room and sometimes in the young lady's room. In other words, although these two rooms were separated, they were essentially the same space, with the mother and daughter moving back and forth, occupying both rooms. When I called out from outside, it was usually the wife who responded with, "Come in." The young lady, even if she was there, rarely replied.

Occasionally, the young lady would come into my room alone for some reason. During those times, she would sit there and chat, but I would feel a strange anxiety spreading in my heart. I couldn't believe that simply sitting across from a young woman would make me anxious. It made me feel restless somehow. An unnatural attitude that felt like betraying myself was tormenting me. However, the other party seemed surprisingly at ease. She showed no signs of embarrassment that one would not expect from the girl who couldn't even speak when playing the koto. If it went on too long, even when called by her mother from the living room, she would only respond with, "Yes," and wouldn't get up easily. Still, the young lady was certainly not a child. I understood that very well. It was clear to me that she acted as if she understood herself.