The Second Night

by Natsume Sōseki

I had this dream.

After leaving the abbot's room and walking down the corridor back to my own room, the paper lantern cast a faint light. I knelt with one knee on the cushion and stirred the wick, and a clove, like a flower, fell with a plop onto the vermilion lacquered stand. At the same time, the room suddenly brightened.

The painting on the sliding door was by Buson, depicting black willows in varying shades, and a cold-looking fisherman with a tilted straw hat passing by a bank. On the alcove hung a scroll of Monju Bodhisattva in the Sea. The scent of leftover incense still wafted from the dark corner. The vast temple was silent, with no sign of human presence. The round shadow of the lantern cast on the black ceiling seemed to come alive the moment I lay on my back.

Remaining in a kneeling position, I lifted the cushion with my left hand and reached in with my right, finding exactly what I expected. Relieved, I replaced the cushion as it was and sat heavily upon it.

"You are a samurai. A samurai should be able to achieve enlightenment," the abbot had said. Seeing that I still couldn't achieve enlightenment after all this time, he said I was not a samurai, but merely human refuse. "Aha," I laughed, "he's angry." If I was so vexed, he told me to bring proof of my enlightenment and turned away with a huff. How outrageous.

I will surely achieve enlightenment before the clock in the adjacent hall strikes the next hour. After achieving enlightenment, I will enter his room again tonight. And I will exchange the abbot's head for enlightenment. If I don't achieve enlightenment, I cannot take the abbot's life. I must achieve enlightenment no matter what. Because I am a samurai.

If I cannot achieve enlightenment, I will commit seppuku. A samurai cannot live in disgrace. I will die beautifully.

As I thought that, my hand unconsciously crept under the futon again. Then I pulled out the short sword with the vermilion sheath. I gripped the hilt tightly, and as I swept away the red sheath, the cold blade gleamed for a moment in the dark room. I felt something tremendous escaping from my hand, and everything gathered at the tip, condensing murderous intent into a single point. Seeing this sharp blade, regretfully shrunk to the size of a needle's head and sharpened at the end of nine sun and five bu, I immediately wanted to do it myself. The blood in my body flowed into my right wrist, and the hilt I was gripping became sticky. My lips trembled.

I sheathed the short sword, pulled it to my right side, and then assumed the full lotus position. — "What is 'nothingness'?" I muttered in my heart, "That damn monk."

I clenched my back teeth so hard that hot, ragged breaths escaped through my nose. My temples twitched, and pain shot through them. My eyes were open twice their normal size.

I could see the hanging painting. I could see the paper lantern. I could see the tatami mats. I could clearly see the priest's kettle-like head. I could even hear the sound of him opening his crocodile mouth and laughing mockingly. What an outrageous monk. I absolutely had to get rid of that kettle. I would achieve enlightenment. I chanted "nothing, nothing" under my breath. But even as I said "nothing," I smelled incense. What was that, just incense?

Suddenly, I clenched my fist and hit my head with all my might. Then I ground my back teeth together. Sweat streamed from both sides, and my back became stiff like a rod. The joints of my knees suddenly ached, and I wondered what would happen if my knees gave out. But it hurt. It was agonizing. Nothingness would not come. As soon as I thought it would come, it immediately hurt. I got angry. I felt regret. I became extremely vexed. Tears welled up and spilled out. I wanted to throw myself against a giant rock and smash my bones and flesh to pieces.

Still, I endured and sat still. I held an unbearable sorrow in my chest and bore it. That sorrow lifted the muscles throughout my body from below, eager to burst out through my pores, but everywhere was completely blocked, as if there were no exit, a state of extreme cruelty.

Eventually, my head went strange. The paper lantern, Buson's painting, the tatami mats, the staggered shelves, all seemed to exist and yet not exist, to not exist and yet exist. I think I was just sitting there in a daze. Then, the clock in the next room began to chime.

I gasped. I immediately put my right hand on my dagger. The clock chimed a second time.