Sanshiro

by Sōseki Natsume

  “So you see what can happen,” Yojirō concluded. To Sanshirō, it was just a funny story, nothing more. He looked up at the moon and roared with laughter. It didn’t matter that Yojirō would not return the money. He felt good.

  “Hey, it’s not funny,” Yojirō objected. This made Sanshirō laugh all the more.

  “Stop laughing and think about it. You got to borrow the money from Mineko only because I didn’t pay it back to you.”

  Sanshirō stopped laughing. “So what?”

  “So plenty. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Yojirō knew. Sanshirō grunted and looked up at the moon again. Now there was a white cloud next to it.

  “Have you paid her back?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Do her a favor—don’t ever pay her back.”

  Yojirō was so offhand about it. Sanshirō did not answer him, but of course he had no intention of following Yojirō’s advice. In fact, after paying twenty yen for his room and board, he had decided to bring the extra ten yen to her the next day and carried it as far as her front gate but had had second thoughts. If he repaid it immediately, it occurred to him, that would be like rejecting her kindness, and he turned back, even if it meant sacrificing an excellent chance to visit her again. At that point something had caused his determination to slacken, and he had broken into the ten yen. Tonight’s dinner had come from it, in fact. And not just his own meal, but Yojirō’s, too. He had only two or three yen left, and with that he was planning to buy a winter undershirt.

  But Sanshirō had made his move some days ago. Concluding that Yojirō would never pay him back, he had written home to request an extra thirty yen. What with the liberal monthly allowance he was receiving, it would not have been enough to say only that he had run short. Never much of a liar, Sanshirō had been hard put to think of a reason for his request. All he could do was explain to his mother that, out of pity, he had made a loan to a friend who had lost some money and was in a bind. As a result, he himself was now in a bind. Would she please send it?

  Had she answered promptly, her letter should have arrived before now. Perhaps he would find it in his room tonight.

  To be sure, an envelope addressed in his mother’s handwriting was waiting on his desk. All of her previous letters had come registered mail, but this one, oddly enough, had arrived bearing an ordinary three-sen stamp. He opened it to find a brief note of a kind she had never written before. It was strictly businesslike, which, from his kind mother, was almost cruel. She had sent the money to Nonomiya’s, she said; he should pick it up there. Sanshirō spread out his bedding and went to sleep.

  *

  He did not go to Nonomiya’s the next day, or the day after that. Nor did he hear anything from Nonomiya. A week went by like this. Finally a maid from Nonomiya’s rooming house came with a note. “I have something for you from your mother. Come over,” it said.

  Between classes, Sanshirō descended once again into the cellar of the Science building. He hoped to end the matter in the course of a quick chat, but it did not work out that way. In the room that Nonomiya had occupied alone this summer there were several men with mustaches and several uniformed students. All were pursuing their research with silent intensity, ignoring the sunlit world above their heads. Nonomiya looked busiest of all. Glancing at Sanshirō, who had stuck his head in through the doorway, he approached without a word.

  “Some money came for you from home. Come and get it, will you? I don’t have it here. And there’s something I have to talk to you about.”

  Would tonight be all right? Sanshirō asked. After giving it some thought, Nonomiya said that it would. Sanshirō left the cellar. As he was going out, he felt a surge of admiration for the great tenacity of scientists. The tin can and the telescope he had seen that summer were standing in the same place.

  He saw Yojirō during the next lecture and told him what had happened. Yojirō stared at him incredulously.

  “I told you not to pay her back. You didn’t have to write home. Now your poor old mother’s worried, and Sōhachi’s going to lecture you. What stupidity!” Yojirō gave no sign of recognition that he had started it all. Sanshirō, too, had forgotten Yojirō’s responsibility in the matter. His reply thus carried no hint of blame for Yojirō.

  “I wrote home because I don’t like the idea of not paying her back.”

  “You might not like it, but Mineko would.”

  “Why should she?”

  His own question rang somewhat false to Sanshirō, but it had no discernible effect on Yojirō. “Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t I? Suppose I’ve got some extra money. I’d feel better just letting you keep it than making you pay it back. People like to be kind to other people, as long as they’re not put out by it themselves.”

  Instead of answering him, Sanshirō began taking lecture notes. After he had written a few lines, Yojirō leaned over to him and whispered, “Even I have often lent people money when I’ve had it, and not one of them ever paid me back. That’s why I’m so much fun to be with.”

  Sanshirō could hardly favor him with a serious reply. After producing a faint smile, he continued moving his pen. Yojirō also settled down and kept his mouth shut until the end of the hour.

  The bell rang, and as the two were walking from the lecture hall side by side, Yojirō suddenly asked, “Has she fallen for you?”

  The other students came crowding out behind them. Sanshirō was forced to keep silent as they went down the stairs and out of the side door to the open space beside the library. Only there did he turn to Yojirō. “I don’t know.”

  Yojirō stood looking at Sanshirō for a while. “I suppose it’s possible not to know,” he said. “But even if you did know for certain, could you ever be her husband?” He used the English word.

  Sanshirō had never considered this before. It had seemed to him that being loved by Mineko was the only qualification a man needed to be her husband. Now that it had been put to him like this, he had some doubts. He cocked his head to one side.

  “Nonomiya could, I’m sure,” Yojirō said.

  “Is there something between Nonomiya and her?” Sanshirō’s face looked as solemn as if it had been chiseled in stone.

  “I don’t know.” Sanshirō said nothing. “Anyhow, go get your lecture at Nonomiya’s.” Yojirō flung the words at him and started off toward the pond.

  Sanshirō stood rooted to the spot, like a signboard advertising his own stupidity. Yojirō took five or six paces but came back smiling. “Why don’t you marry Yoshiko instead?” He dragged Sanshirō away in the direction of the pond, declaring, “That’s it! That’s it!” Soon the bell rang.

  *

  Sanshirō left his rooming house for Nonomiya’s that evening. It was still early, so he strolled over to Yonchōme to buy a woolen undershirt at a big imported goods store there. The shop boy brought out several different kinds. These Sanshirō stroked and patted, folded and unfolded, without settling on one to buy. He was affecting a lordly air for no good reason when Mineko and Yoshiko happened along in search of perfume. After the initial surprise and greetings, Mineko added a brief expression of thanks to him. She said nothing specific, but Sanshirō knew precisely what she was referring to. The day after he had borrowed her money, Sanshirō had postponed visiting her again to return the extra ten yen and, instead, after waiting two more days, had written her a polite thank-you note.

  The letter was an honest expression of the writer’s immediate feelings, but of course it was overwritten. Stringing together all the appropriate phrases he could think of, Sanshirō had given passionate voice to his gratitude. Such steam rose from its pages that an innocent bystander could hardly have guessed it to be a letter of thanks for a loan. Aside from its words of gratitude, however, it had nothing to say. And thus, in the natural course of things, gratitude perhaps turned into something more. When Sanshirō dropped his letter into the mailbox, he looked forward to an immediate reply. But his painstakingly wrought ep
istle went its way to no avail. There had been no opportunity for him to see Mineko until today, and now he could not find it in him to respond to her feeble “Thank you.” He held out a large undershirt in both hands and stared at it, wondering if Mineko’s coolness could be explained by Yoshiko’s presence. It also occurred to him that he was buying this shirt with her money.

  The shop boy was pressing him for a decision. The two young women approached, smiling, and helped him with the undershirts. Finally Yoshiko said, “Take this one.” Sanshirō took that one. Next it was his turn to advise them on perfume, about which he knew nothing. At random, he picked up a bottle labeled in English, “Heliotrope,” and asked “How about this?” Mineko took it immediately. He was sorry he had done that.

  Outside, as he was about to leave them, the women started bowing to each other. “I’ll see you later,” Yoshiko said. “Don’t be long,” Mineko answered. Yoshiko told him she was on her way to Nonomiya’s. This was to be Sanshirō’s second twilight stroll with a pretty woman, this time to his own Oiwake neighborhood. The sun was still far from setting.

  Sanshirō felt somewhat annoyed, not to be walking with Yoshiko but because he had to go to Nonomiya’s with her. He considered returning home and trying it another time. On second thought, though, it might be more convenient to have Yoshiko there for the lecture Yojirō had predicted. Certainly Nonomiya would not be able to deliver a full-blown reprimand from his mother in someone else’s presence. Sanshirō might even get away with just picking up the money. A bit of cunning entered into his resolve. “I was on my way to your brother’s myself.”

  “Oh? Are you just going to drop in on him?”

  “No, there’s something I have to see him about. And you?”

  “I have something, too.”

  They asked the same question and received the same answer, and neither showed any sign of being inconvenienced. As a final precaution, Sanshirō asked if he would be in the way. She replied that he would not at all be in the way. Not only did her words negate his suggestion, her face showed surprise as if to say, “How could you ask such a question?” Sanshirō thought he saw this surprise in her black eyes by the light of a gas lamp from a shop they were passing, but in fact the eyes were merely big and black.

  “Did you buy your violin?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  Sanshirō was hard pressed for an answer. Unconcerned, Yoshiko went right on. “It did me no good to beg. Sōhachi just kept making promises. It took him forever.”

  Inwardly, Sanshirō blamed neither Nonomiya nor Hirota but Yojirō.

  *

  The two of them turned off Oiwake’s main street into a narrow lane. There were many houses. An oil lamp at each door provided light for the dark alley. Sanshirō and Yoshiko came to a stop in front of one of the lamps. Nonomiya lived at the back of this house.

  Nonomiya’s new lodgings were only a block or so from Sanshirō’s. Sanshirō had visited Nonomiya here two or three times. The scientist lived in a detached two-room cottage that was approached by walking through the main house to the end of a broad corridor, climbing two steps straight ahead, and turning to the left. A spacious neighboring garden came almost to his southern veranda. The place was extraordinarily quiet, both day and night. Sanshirō had been much impressed the first time he saw Nonomiya secluded in his private cottage. No, this return to rooming-house life was not a bad idea at all. That day Nonomiya had stepped down to the corridor and gestured toward the eaves. “Look,” he said, “a thatched roof.” It was probably one of the few non-tiled roofs left in Tokyo.

  This time Sanshirō was here at night and could not see the roof, but modern electric lights were burning inside. He thought of the rustic thatch as soon as he caught sight of the lights, and the contrast seemed amusing to him.

  “What an unusual pair of guests! Did you just happen to meet outside?” Nonomiya asked Yoshiko. She corrected his mistaken assumption and added that he ought to buy an undershirt like Sanshirō’s. Then she complained that the tone of her new, Japanese-made violin was no good. He had put off buying it for so long, he ought to exchange it for a better one, at least as good as Mineko’s. She would content herself with that. She went on whining like this for some time.

  Nonomiya did not look especially displeased, but neither did he offer her any sympathy. He went on listening with an occasional “Uh-huh.”

  Sanshirō meanwhile said nothing. Yoshiko produced a string of absurdities without the least restraint, but to Sanshirō she seemed neither idiotic nor selfish. As he listened to the dialogue she carried on with her brother, he felt as though he had walked out to a broad, sunlit field. He forgot all about the lecture that was due him. Then suddenly Yoshiko treated him to a shock.

  “Oh, Sōhachi,” she said to her brother, “I almost forgot. I have a message for you from Mineko.”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t act so cool about it. I know how happy it makes you.”

  Nonomiya’s face took on an itchy look. He turned to Sanshirō. “My sister is an idiot, you know.”

  Sanshirō produced a dutiful smile.

  “I am not an idiot. Am I, Sanshirō?”

  He smiled again, but inside he was sick of smiling.

  “Mineko wants you to take her to one of the Literary Society’s48 drama nights.”

  “Why doesn’t she go with her brother?”

  “He’s busy.”

  “Are you going, too?”

  “Of course.”

  Nonomiya turned to Sanshirō again without giving Yoshiko a definite answer. He had called his sister here tonight on serious business, he said, but her pointless chatter was too much for him. Nonomiya went on with scholarly candor. There had been a proposal of marriage for Yoshiko. He had written to his parents, and they had expressed no objection. Now it had become necessary to ascertain Yoshiko’s own view of the matter.

  Sanshirō replied only that that was very fine. He wanted to settle his own problem and leave here as soon as possible. To that end, he said, “My mother tells me she troubled you with something for me.”

  “Oh, it’s no great trouble.” He produced the item in his charge from a desk drawer and handed it to Sanshirō.

  *

  “Your mother sent me a long letter. She’s worried about you. She says you told her you were forced to lend your monthly allowance to a friend, but friend or not, a person shouldn’t borrow so freely, or at least ought to pay the loan back. I’m not surprised she would think that; country people are so simple and honest. She also blames you for overdoing it. Here you are, living on money from home and you start lending people twenty yen, thirty yen at a time—you ought to know better. The way she puts it, it sounds as if I’m somehow responsible.”

  Nonomiya flashed a grin at Sanshirō, whose only response was a somber, “I’m sorry about this.”

  Nonomiya changed his tone somewhat, as if to imply that he had not been trying to set a young man straight. “Come, now, don’t let it bother you. It’s nothing. Your mother thinks about money by what it’s worth in the country. To her, thirty yen looks like a lot. She says a family of four could feed themselves for half a year on thirty yen. Can that be true?”

  Yoshiko burst out laughing. Sanshirō, too, could appreciate the comical side of his mother’s letter, but she was by no means making this up. When he saw what a rash thing he had done, he felt a little sorry.

  “If that’s the case,” Nonomiya started calculating, “it comes to five yen a month or one yen, twenty-five sen for each person. Divided by thirty, it’s only about four sen a day. Come now, that’s too little even in the country.”

  “What do you have to eat to live that cheaply?” Yoshiko asked in all seriousness. Sanshirō had no time to be feeling sorry. He told them all about life in his home village. One thing he mentioned was the local custom known as “Shrine Retreat.” Once a year, Sanshirō’s family donated ten yen to the village. Then sixty households sent one man each. The group of sixty would take th
e day off, gather at the village shrine, and eat and drink from morning until night.

  “And that costs only ten yen?” Yoshiko was amazed. Nonomiya’s lecture had apparently gone off somewhere. They talked at random for a while, after which Nonomiya returned to the main subject.

  “Anyhow, your mother said this. She wants me to find out what’s going on and, once I’ve decided that everything is on the up-and-up, to give you the money. Finally, I’m supposed to report back to her on what I find. But here I’ve given you the money without asking a thing. Hmm, let’s see now… you lent the money to Sasaki, didn’t you?”

  Sanshirō assumed that the story had gone from Mineko, through Yoshiko, to Nonomiya. He felt it odd, however, that neither Yoshiko nor Nonomiya had realized how the money had changed hands many times until it took shape as a violin.

  “Yes,” he answered, and let it go at that.

  “I heard that Sasaki lost his money on the horses.”

  “True.”

  Yoshiko laughed out loud again.

  “Well, then, I’ll think of something to tell your mother. But you had better not make any more of those loans.”