I Am a Cat

by Sōseki Natsume

  Yukie was flummoxed. “Well, when they have money. . .” she began and then dodged the question first by a loud false laugh and then by telling Sunko how naughty she was. “Anyway,” she continued, “the people just went on making their silly noises all through the day and all through the night. Now it so happened that at that time there was an idiot boy in the district whom they all called Daft Bamboo. He was, as the saying goes, simple. He knew nothing, and nobody had anything to do with him. Eventually, even this simpleton noticed the terrible racket. ‘Why,’ he asked ‘are you making all that noise?’ When someone explained the situation, the idiot boy remarked, ‘What idiots you are, trying for all these years to shift a single Jizō with such idiotic tricks.’”

  “A remarkable speech from an idiot.’”

  “He was indeed a rather remarkable fool. Of course nobody thought he could do any good but, since no one else had done better, why not, they said, why not let him have a go at it? So Daft Bamboo was asked to help. He immediately agreed.‘Stop that horrible noise,’ he said,‘and just keep quiet.’ The riff-raff and the rickshawmen were packed off somewhere out of sight, and Daft Bamboo, as vacuous as ever, then walked up to the Jizō with utter aimlessness.”

  “Was Utter Aimlessness a special friend of Daft Bamboo?”

  Mrs. Sneaze and Yukie burst into laughter at Tonko’s curious question.

  “No, not a friend.”

  “Then, what?”

  “Well, utter aimlessness is. . . impossible to describe.”

  “‘Utter aimlessness’ means ‘impossible to describe’?”

  “No, that’s not it. Utter aimlessness means. . .”

  “Yes?”

  “You know Mr. Sampei, don’t you?”

  “Yes, he’s the one who gave us yams.”

  “Well, utter aimlessness means someone like Mr. Sampei.”

  “Is Mr. Sampei an utter aimlessness?”

  “Yes, more or less. . . Now, Daft Bamboo ambled up to the Jizō with his hands in his pockets and said, ‘Mr. Jizō, the people in this town would like you to move. Would you be so kind as to do so?’ And the Jizō promptly replied,‘Of course I’ll do so. Why ever didn’t they come and ask before?’With that he slowly moved away to a corner of the crossroads.”

  “What a peculiar statue!”

  “Then the lecture started.”

  “Oh! Is there more to come?”

  “Most certainly. Professor Kidd went on to say that he had opened his address to the women’s meeting with that particular story because it illustrated a point he had in mind.‘If I may take the liberty of saying so,’

  he said, ‘whenever women do something, they are prone to tackle it in a roundabout way instead of coming straight to the point. Admittedly, it is not solely women who beat about the bush. In these so-called enlightened days, debilitated by the poisons of Western civilization, even men have become somewhat effeminate. There are, alas, all too many now devoting their time and effort to an imitation of Western customs in the totally mistaken conviction that aping foreigners is the proper occupation of a gentleman. Such persons are, of course, deformed, for, by their efforts to conform with alien ways, they deform themselves. They deserve no further comment. However, I would wish you ladies to reflect upon the tale I’ve told today so that, as occasion may arise, you, too, will act with the same clear-hearted honesty as was shown by Daft Bamboo. For if all ladies did so act, there can be no doubt that one-third of the abominable discords between husbands and wives and between wives and their mothers-in-law would simply disappear. Human beings are, alas, so made that the more they indulge in secret schemes, schemes whose very secrecy breeds evil, the deeper they drive the wellsprings of their own unhappiness. And the specific reason why so many ladies are so much less happy than the average man is precisely because ladies over indulge themselves in secret schemes. Please,’ he begged us as his lecture ended, ‘turn yourselves into Daft Bamboos.’”

  “Did he, indeed! Well,Yukie, are you planning to follow his advice?”

  “No fear! Turn myself into a Daft Bamboo! That’s the last thing I would do. Miss Goldfield, too, she was very angry. She said the lecture was damned rude.”

  “Miss Goldfield? The girl who lives just round the corner?”

  “Yes. Little Miss Popinjay in person.”

  “Does she go to the same school as you,Yukie?”

  “No, she just came to hear the lecture because it was a Women’s Society meeting. She certainly dresses up to the nines. Really astonishing.”

  “They say she’s very good looking. Is it true?”

  “She’s nothing special, in my opinion. Certainly not the knock-out that she fancies herself. Almost any girl would look good under that much make-up.”

  “So if you,Yukie, daubed on the same amount of make-up, you’d look twice as pretty as she does? Right?”

  “What a thing to say! But truly, Auntie, she puts on far too much.

  Rich she may be, but really she overdoes it.”

  “Well, it’s pleasant to be rich, even if one does consequently overdo the paints and powder. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, perhaps you’re right. But if anyone needs to take lessons from Daft Bamboo, that Goldfield girl’s the one. She is so terribly stuck-up.

  Only the other day she was swanking to all the other girls that some poet or other had just dedicated to her a collection of his new-style poetry.”

  “That was probably Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “Really? He must be a bit flighty.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Beauchamp is very sober-minded man. He would think such a gesture the most natural thing in the world.”

  “A man like that shouldn’t be allowed to. . . Actually there is another amusing thing. It seems that somebody recently sent her a love letter.”

  “How disgusting! Whoever did such a thing?”

  “Apparently nobody knows who sent it.”

  “Wasn’t there a name?”

  “It was signed, but with a name that no one’s ever heard of. And it was a very, very long letter, about a yard long, full of the weirdest things.

  For instance, it said, ‘I love you in the same way that a saintly man loves God.’ It said, ‘Gladly for your sake would I die like a lamb sacrificed on the altar; for me, so to be slaughtered would be the greatest of all honors.’ It said, ‘My heart is shaped like a triangle in the center of which, like a bull’s eye pierced by a blowgun dart, is Cupid’s arrow stuck!’”

  “Is all that meant to be serious?”

  “It would seem to be. Three of my own friends have actually seen the letter.”

  “I do think she’s awful to go around showing people such a letter.

  Since she intends to marry Mr. Coldmoon, she could get into trouble if that sort of story begins to get around.”

  “On the contrary, she’d be terribly pleased if everyone should know about it. I’m sure she’d say you’d be welcome to pass the news to Mr.

  Coldmoon when next he pays a visit. I don’t suppose he’s heard about it yet. Or do you think he has?”

  “Probably not, since he spends his entire time polishing little glass beads at the university.”

  “I wonder if Mr. Coldmoon really intends to marry that girl. Poor man!”

  “Why? With all her money she’ll be of real help to him on some rainy day in the future. So why should you think he’s doing badly?”

  “Auntie, you are so vulgar, always talking about money, money, money. Surely love is more important than money. Without love no real relation between husband and wife is possible.”

  “Indeed? Then tell me, Yukie, what sort of man do you intend to marry?”

  “How should I know? I’ve no one in mind.”

  Though she had hardly understood a word of what was being said, my master’s eldest daughter had listened attentively while her mother and Cousin Yukie launched out upon their earnest discussion of the question of marriage. But suddenly, out of the blue, the little girl opened her mouth. �
�I,” she announced, “would also like to get married.” Though Yukie is herself so brimming with youthful ardor that she could well be expected to sympathize with Tonko’s feelings, she was in fact struck dumb by such reckless lust. Mrs. Sneaze, however, took it all in her stride and, smiling at her daughter, simply asked, “To whom?”

  “Well, shall I tell you? I want to marry Yasukuni Shrine. But I don’t like crossing Suido- Bridge, so I’m wondering what to do.”

  Both Mrs. Sneaze and Yukie were distinctly taken aback by this unexpected declaration of an ambition to marry the shrine dedicated to the departed spirits of those who’d fallen in war for the sake of the father-land. Words failed them, and all they could do was shake with laughter.

  They were still laughing when the second daughter said to her eldest sister. “So you’d like to marry Yasukuni Shrine? Well, so would I. I’d love it. Let’s both do just that. Come on. No? All right then, if you won’t join me, I’ll take a rickshaw and go get married by myself ”

  “Babu go, too,” piped up the smallest of my master’s daughters.

  Indeed, such a triple marrying-off would suit him very well.

  At that moment there came the sound of a rickshaw stopping in front of the house, followed by the lively voice of a rickshawman announcing the arrival of my master. It would seem he has got back safely from the police station. Leaving the rickshawman to hand over a large parcel to the maid, my master came into the living room with an air of perfect composure. Greeting his niece with a friendly, “Ah, so there you are,” he flung down beside the family’s famous oblong brazier some bottle shaped object he’d brought back. An object of that shape is not necessarily a bottle, and it certainly doesn’t look much like a vase. Being so odd a specimen of earthenware, for the time being I’ll content myself with calling it a bottle shaped object.

  “What a peculiar bottle! Did you bring it back from the police station?” asks Yukie, as she stands it up on its base.

  Glancing at his niece, my master proudly comments, “Isn’t it a beautiful shape?”

  “A beautiful shape? That thing? I don’t think it beautiful at all. What ever made you bring home such an awful oil jar?”

  “How could this treasure possibly be an oil jar! What a vulgar comment! You’re hopeless.”

  “What is it then?”

  “A vase.”

  “For a vase, its mouth is too small and its body far too wide.”

  “That’s exactly why it’s so remarkable. You have absolutely no artistic taste. Almost as bad as your aunt.” Holding the oil jar up toward the paper-window, he stands and gazes at it.

  “So, I have no artistic sense. I see. I certainly wouldn’t come home from a police station bearing an oil jar as a present. Auntie, what do you think?”

  Her aunt is far too engrossed to be bothered. She has opened the parcel and is now frantically checking the goods.

  “Gracious me! Burglars seem to be making progress. All these things have been washed and ironed. Just look, dear,” she says.

  “Who said I was given an oil jar at the police station? The fact is that I got so bored with waiting that I went out for a walk and, while I was walking, I saw this splendid vessel in a shop and picked it up for a song.

  You, of course, wouldn’t see it, but it’s a rare object.”

  “It’s too rare. And tell me, where was it that you walked about?”

  “Where? Around Nihon-zutsumi, of course. I also visited Yoshiwara.

  It’s quite a lively place, that. Have you ever seen the iron gate? I bet you haven’t.”

  “Nothing would ever induce me to go and look at it. I have no cause to traipse around a brothel area like Yoshiwara. How could you, a teacher, go to such a place? I am deeply shocked. What d’you say, Auntie? Auntie!”

  “Yes, dear. I rather think there’s something missing. Is this the lot?”

  “The only item missing is the yams. They instructed me to be there by nine o’clock and then they kept me waiting until eleven. It’s outrageous. The Japanese police are plainly no good at all.”

  “The Japanese police may be no good, but trotting about in Yoshiwara is very decidedly worse. If you’re found out, you’ll get the sack. Won’t he, Auntie?”

  “Yes, probably. My dear,” she went on turning to her husband, “the lining of my obi is gone. I knew there was something missing.”

  “What’s so serious about an obi lining? Just forget it. Think about me.

  For three long hours they kept me waiting. A whole half-day of my precious time completely wasted.” My master has now changed into Japanese clothes and, leaning against the brazier, sits and gawps entrancedly at his ghastly oil jar. His wife, recovering rapidly from her loss, replaces the returned articles in a cupboard and comes back to her seat.

  “Auntie,” says the persistent Yukie, “he says this oil jar is a rare object.

  Don’t you think it dirty?”

  “You bought that thing in Yoshiwara? Really!”

  “What do you mean by ‘Really!’? As if you understand anything!”

  “But surely, a jar like that! You could find one anywhere without cavorting off to Yoshiwara.”

  “That’s just where you’re wrong. This isn’t an object you could find any where.”

  “Uncle does take after that stone Jizō, doesn’t he?”

  “None of your cheek, now. The trouble with college girls today is their far too saucy tongues. You’d do better to spend time reading the Proper Conduct of a Woman.”

  “Uncle, it’s a fact, isn’t it, that you don’t like insurance policies? But tell me, which do you dislike more, college girls or insurance policies?”

  “I do not dislike insurance policies. Insurance is a necessary thing.

  Anyone who gives even half a thought to the future is bound to take out a policy. But college girls are good-for-nothings.”

  “I don’t care if I am a good-for-nothing. But you can talk! You aren’t even insured!”

  “As of next month, I shall be.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t. It’s silly to get insured. It would be much better to spend the premium money on something else. Don’t you agree, Auntie?”

  Mrs. Sneaze grins, but my master, looking serious, retorts, “You only say such irresponsible things because you imagine you’re going to go on living until you’re a hundred years old. Even two hundred. But when you’ve grown a little more mature, you’ll come to realize the necessity of insurance. From next month, I shall definitely insure myself.”

  “Oh, well. Can’t be helped then. Actually, if you can afford to throw away cash on an umbrella as you did the other day, you might as well waste your wealth on insuring yourself. You bought it for me even though I kept saying I didn’t want it.”

  “You really didn’t want it?”

  “No. I most certainly did not want any umbrella.”

  “Then you can give it back to me. Tonko needs one badly, so I’ll give it to her. Have you brought it with you today?”

  “But that’s really mean. How could you! It’s terrible to make me give it back after you’ve bought it for me.”

  “I asked you to return it only because you clearly stated that you didn’t want it. There’s nothing terrible about that.”

  “It’s true I don’t need it. But you’re still terrible.”

  “What nonsense you do talk. You say you don’t want it, so I ask you to return it. Why should that be terrible?”

  “But. . .”

  “But what?”

  “But that’s terrible.”

  “You’re making no sense at all, just repeating the same irrational assertion.”

  “Uncle, you too are repeating the same thing.”

  “I can’t help that if you initiate the repetitions. You did definitely say you didn’t want it.”

  “Yes, I did say that. And it’s true that I don’t need it. But I don’t like to return it.”

>   “Well, I am surprised. You’re not only irrational and unreasonable but downright obstinate. A truly hopeless case. Don’t they teach you logic at your school?”

  “Oh, I don’t care. I am uneducated anyway. Say anything you like about me! But to ask me to return my own thing. . . Even a stranger wouldn’t make such a heartless request. You could learn a thing or two from poor old Daft Bamboo.’

  “From whom?”

  “I mean you should be more honest and frank.”

  “You’re a very stupid girl and uncommonly obstinate. That’s why you fail to pass your exams.”

  “Even if I do fail, I shan’t ask you to pay my school fees. So there!” At this point Yukie appeared to be shaken by uncontrollable emotions. Tears gushed out of her eyes and, pouring down her cheeks, fell to stain her purple dress.

  My master sat there stupefied. As though he believed it might help him understand what mental processes could produce such copious tears, he sat and blankly stared, sometimes at the top of her skirt, sometimes, at her down-turned face. Just then, O-san appeared at the door where, squatting with her hands spread out on the matting, she announced, “There is a visitor, Sir.”

  “Who is it?” asks my master.

  “A student from your school,” answers O-san, casting a sharp sidelong glance at Yukie’s tear-stained face.

  My master took himself off to the drawing room. In pursuit of further material for this book, in particular as it might bear upon my study of the human animal, I sneaked out after him by way of the veranda. If one is to make a worthwhile study of mankind, it is vital to seize upon eventful moments. At ordinary times, most human beings are wearisomely ordinary; depressingly banal in appearance and deadly boring in their conversation. However, at certain moments, by some peculiar, almost supernatural, process their normal triviality can be transformed into something so weird and wonderful that no feline scholar of their species can afford to miss any occasion when that transformation seems likely to take place. Yukie’s sudden deluge of tears was a very good example of this phenomenon. Though Yukie possesses an incomprehensible and unfathomable mind, she gave no evidence of it in her chattering with Mrs. Sneaze. However, as soon as my master appeared and flung his filthy oil jar into the situation,Yukie was instantly transfigured.