Fifty to fifty-one

by Natsume Sōseki

I felt sorry for the lady, but I stood up and opened the sliding paper door that I had just closed. At that moment, perhaps the oil in K's lamp had run out, and the room was almost completely dark. I turned back, holding my lamp in my hand, and stood at the entrance, looking back at the lady. She was peering into the four-tatami room, hiding behind me, but she did not attempt to enter. She asked me to leave it as it was and to open the storm shutters.

The lady's attitude afterward was, as expected of a soldier's widow, quite resourceful. I went to the doctor and also to the police. However, everything was done at the lady's command. Until the procedures were completed, no one was allowed to enter K's room.

K cut his carotid artery with a small knife and died in one breath. There were no traces outside. I realized that the blood I saw on the sliding paper door in the dreamlike dim light had gushed out all at once from his neck. I looked at the marks again in the daylight and was astonished by the intensity of the blood flow.

The lady and I cleaned K's room using all the skill and ingenuity we could muster. Fortunately, most of his blood had been absorbed by the futon, so the tatami was not too dirty, and the cleanup was still manageable. The two of us carried his corpse to my room and laid him down in a position as if he were sleeping as usual. After that, I went out to send a telegram to his family home.

When I returned home, incense had already been placed by K's pillow. As I entered the room, the smell of incense filled my nose, and I recognized two women sitting amidst the smoke. It was the first time since last night that I saw the young lady's face. She was crying, and the wife had red eyes as well. Having forgotten to cry since the incident occurred, I was finally drawn into a sad feeling at that moment. I cannot express how much relief that sadness brought to my chest. It was that sadness that provided a drop of moisture to my heart, which had been tightly squeezed by pain and fear.

I sat silently beside the two women. The wife asked me to offer incense as well. I offered the incense and sat quietly again. The young lady did not say anything to me. Occasionally, the wife exchanged a few words with me, but it was only about immediate matters. The young lady still did not have the composure to talk about K's life before his death. Even so, I thought to myself that it was good I could avoid showing her the horrifying scene from last night. I was afraid that showing something terrifying to a young and beautiful person would ruin her beauty. Even when my fear reached the tips of my hair, I could not shake off that thought and act. I felt an unpleasant sensation as if I were striking a beautiful flower for an innocent crime.

When K's father and brother came from the hometown, I expressed my opinion on where to bury K's remains. During his lifetime, we often took walks around Zoshigaya, and K really liked that place. So I half-jokingly remembered promising that if he liked it so much, I would bury him there when he died. Now, having buried K in Zoshigaya as promised, I wondered how much merit that would bring me. However, as long as I am alive, I wanted to kneel before K's grave and renew my repentance every month. Perhaps because I had a duty to take care of K, whom I had neglected until now, both K's father and brother listened to what I had to say.

On the way back from K's funeral, I received a question from one of his friends about why K committed suicide. Since the incident, I had been tormented by this question many times. K's wife, daughter, and even his father and brother who came from the country, as well as those who notified acquaintances and even newspaper reporters who had no connection to him, all threw the same question at me. My conscience ached each time. And I heard a voice behind this question saying, confess quickly that you killed him.

My answer was the same for everyone. I simply repeated the letter he had left for me without adding a single word outside of it. On the way back from the funeral, a friend of K asked the same question and received the same answer, then took out a newspaper from his pocket and showed it to me. As I walked, I read the part he pointed to. It stated that K had committed suicide due to being disowned by his parents, leading to a pessimistic mindset. I said nothing and folded the newspaper, returning it to my friend's hand. He informed me that there were other newspapers that claimed K had gone mad and committed suicide. I had been too busy to read newspapers much, so I lacked knowledge in that area, but it had always been on my mind. More than anything, I feared articles that would cause trouble for my family. In particular, I thought it would be unbearable if the daughter was mentioned by name. I asked that friend if there was anything else written. He replied that those were the only two types that caught his eye.

I moved to the house where I currently live not long after that. Both my wife and daughter disliked being in the previous place, and I found it painful to relive the memories of that night every evening, so we decided to move after consulting with each other.

About two months after the move, I successfully graduated from university. Within less than six months after graduation, I finally married my daughter. From the outside, everything went as expected, so I couldn't help but say it was a joyous occasion. Both my wife and daughter looked genuinely happy. I was happy too. However, a dark shadow accompanied my happiness. I thought that this happiness might be a fuse leading me to a sad fate in the end.

When we had just gotten married, my wife suddenly said, "Let's visit K's grave together." I was surprised. When I asked her why she suddenly thought of such a thing, she replied, "I think K would be happy if we visited together." As I stared at her innocent expression, I was asked why I was surprised, and for the first time, I became aware of the movement of my own heart.

In the end, as my wife wished, we headed to Zoshigaya together. Standing in front of the new K's grave, I poured water to wash the grave, and my wife offered incense and flowers. We bowed our heads together and clasped our hands. My wife surely wanted to convey to K the circumstances of how we came to be together. However, in my heart, I could only repeat that I was the one at fault.

At that moment, while stroking K's grave, my wife said, "It's magnificent." In reality, the grave was nothing special, but perhaps my wife particularly wanted to say that because I had gone to the stone mason myself to choose it. I couldn't help but compare that new grave, my new wife, and the new bones of K buried beneath the ground, feeling the coldness of fate. Since then, I have never visited K's grave with my wife again.