Three-Cornered World

by Sōseki Natsume

  'I suppose you met Gembei up in the mountains yesterday?'

  'Yes.'

  'Did you go and see the maid of Nagara's tomb, the five-storied pagoda?'

  'Yes.'

  Suddenly, with no further preamble, the woman began to recite the words of the maid of Nagara's song in a flat even voice. I had no idea why.

  From leaves of autumn flushed with love,

  A pearl of dew shakes free

  And falls to shatter on the earth beneath.

  So too must I, to flee Love's stifling folds

  Drop from the world.

  'Ah,' I said, 'I heard that song up at the tea-house.'

  'Did the old woman teach it to you? She used to be a maid here. That was before I. . . .' Here she looked searchingly at my face, so I pretended to know nothing.

  It was when I was still young,' she went on. 'Even when she was no longer employed here, she used to come and see me, and every time I would tell her that story. But she just could not learn the words of the song. Gradually, however, by hearing it over and over again, she managed to commit it all to memory.

  'Ah, that explains it. I wondered how she had come to learn something so difficult. But that's a sad song isn't it.?'

  'Yes, I suppose it is, but I would never have sung a song like that. In the first place the maid of Nagara gained nothing by throwing herself in the Fuchi river, did she?'

  'No that's true. Well, what would you have done in her position?'

  'What would I have done? I should have thought that was quite simple. I would merely have taken both Sasado and Sasabe as lovers.'

  'What both of them?'

  'Yes.'

  'That's very clever.'

  'Not at all. It's the obvious thing to do.'

  'I see. Well, that means that you would end up in neither the country of moquitoes nor the country of fleas.'

  'Well, it isn't necessary to adopt the mentality of a crab in order to carry on living.'

  'Hoh—hokekyo—.' Our forgotten nightingale began to get his voice back, and in no time at all was sending forth the most unexpected high trills. Once he had got properly started again, the notes seemed to come more easily. Hanging upside down, and puffing out his throat, he vibrated it to the very depths as the notes burst from him. 'Hoh, hokekyo—, hoh, hokekyo—', on and on he ran.

  "That is real poetry,' said the woman.

  Footnotes

  1 A three-stringed Japanese musical instrument of the guitar family.

  1 Written by Sdseki in English.

  1 This is a ceremony in which tea is made and drunk according to a very intricate set of rules. It is said to foster self-discipline, and to give one a sense of refined beauty.

  'Excuse me sir, but am I right in thinkin' you're from Tokyo?'

  'Do I look as though I were?' I asked.

  'Look? Why, I didn't have to look sir. I could tell you was from Tokyo as soon as I heard you speak.'

  'Can you tell which part?'

  'Well now, let me see. Tokyo is such a stupidly big place . . . . I should say it was one of the posher areas— like Kojimachi for instance, or Koishikawa maybe? Or else perhaps Ushigome or Yotsuya.'

  'Hm yes, somewhere around there. You know Tokyo well, don't you?'

  'Oh, yes sir. You wouldn't think it to see me here now, but I was born an' bred in Tokyo.'

  'Ah, that explains it. I thought you looked a bit of a live wire.'

  At this he let out a loud guffaw, and then suddenly became serious.

  'But it's pitiful when a man comes down to this,' he said.

  'Whatever made you drift into the country like this?'

  ' "Drift" is the right word sir. There's no gettin' away from that. That's just exactly what I have done. Well, it was like this: I was out of work, and just couldn't get a job for love nor money, so. . . .'

  'Have you always had a barber's shop?'

  'Oh, I don't own this place. I'm only an assistant here. What's that you say? Whereabouts in Tokyo was I. Well, there's this place called Matsunagacho over Kanda way— and a pokey filthy hole it is too, I can tell you. It's not the sort of place a gentleman like yourself would ever have heard of. But there's a bridge called Ryukanbashi near there . . . . What's that? Oh, you've never heard of that either. Hm, Ryukanbashi's quite well known. . . .'

  'Hey, would you mind putting a little more soap on my face please, it's hurting rather.'

  'Hurtin' sir?' I'm very pertic'ler about shavin'. I never feel satisfied until I've gone over the face again like this against the grain of the beard, so's I can prise each individual hair out of its hole.—No, the trouble with your modern barber is that 'e don't shave you, 'e just tickles you with the razor. Just bear it a bit longer, sir.'

  'Bear it? That's exactly what I have been doing for a long time. Rub some soap on, or at least some warm water— please.'

  'You mean you can't stand it no longer? It didn't ought to hurt as much as that. The trouble is you've let your beard grow too long.'

  He had been pinching a lump of my cheek like grim death, but now with a show of reluctance he released it, and taking down a meagre piece of red soap from a shelf, ran it once over the whole of my face, having first given it a quick flick in some water. To have a piece of soap applied to my face directly, was not the sort of treatment I was used to in a barber's shop, and I must confess I did not like it much. Moreover when I looked at the water in which the soap had been dipped, I shuddered to think how long it had been standing there.

  I was now required to exercise that privilege to which every customer in a barber's is entitled: namely that of inspecting himself in the mirror. This, however, is a right which since I had come into the shop I had thought I might well dispense with. A mirror is failing in its obligations unless it has an even surface, and presents a truthful image of one's face. The man who hangs a mirror which is not possessed of these qualities on the wall, and then urges you to look at yourself in it, is just as guilty of wilfully damaging your appearance as the man who says he is an expert photographer and then produces a bad picture of you. It may well be that snubbing vanity is one means of improving the character, but nevertheless, to show someone his face at less than its true value, and then to have the audacity to say, 'this is you', is unnecessarily insulting. The unavoidable mirror into which I was expected to gaze with tolerance, had most decidely been insulting me from the very outset. When I moved my head to the right my face became all nose, and when I moved it to the left my mouth became a slit which extended right up to my ears. If I lay back, I looked like the front view of a completely flattened toad; and if I leaned slightly forward, my body became foreshortened, and my head swelled up like a balloon. All the time I was in front of the mirror, I was continually changing from one monster into another. Admittedly the face which the mirror had to reflect was not very handsome, but I came to the conclusion that the monstrosity before me was produced by a combination of the mirror's faulty construction, and the fact that in places the silvering had peeled off at the back. I was not concerned by the visual abuse which was being hurled at me, but as I am sure anyone else would have done, I found it unpleasant to have to sit before my warped tormentor for any length of time.

  This was no ordinary barber. When I first peeped into the shop, I saw him sitting there cross-legged, apparently very bored. He was pulling hard on a long pipe and puffing the smoke out at a toy flag of the Anglo-Japanese alliance. There is, I admit nothing strange in this, but it was after I had entered the shop and committed my head to his care that I first became disconcerted. The unpardonable fashion in which he handled my head while he was shaving me caused me to have grave doubts as to whether all rights of its ownership had passed to him, or whether I still retained some small say in the matter. I felt sure that even were it nailed on to my shoulders, it would not remain there long.

  The way in which he set about wielding the razor made it quite clear that he knew nothing at all of the laws of civilization. The razor scraped across my cheek, and a
s it worked up towards my ear, the artery in my temple started throbbing so wildly that I thought it would burst. Next he moved down to my chin, where his flashing sword produced the weirdest crunching noises, like someone walking over icy ground. The terrible thing was that he considered himself the finest barber in the country.

  To make a bad situation worse, the man was drunk. Everytime he said 'Si—ir, my nostrils were assailed by an unusually potent gas. At this rate, I thought, the razor is liable to take matters into its own hands. Since even the barber himself had no idea as to where he was going or what he was doing, it was completely impossible that I, who had merely lent him my face, should have the slightest notion. Since my face had been entrusted to him as the result of a mutual understanding, I did not intend to complain about any discomfort or even a slight nick with the razor, but what worried me was that he would suddenly have a brainstorm and I would end up with my throat cut.

  'Only them as has no experience uses soap for shavin', sir. But p'raps in your case it can't be helped, 'cos you've really got a tough beard.' So saying he put the piece of soap, thin as it was, back up on the shelf. The soap, however, chose to disobey his orders, and immediately tumbled down on to the floor.

  'I don't recall havin' seen you around here sir. Have you been here long?'

  'Only about two or three days.'

  'Ah. Whereabouts are you stopping'

  'At Shioda's'.

  'Oh, you're a guest there, are you? I thought p'raps you might be. To tell you the truth, it was through old Mr Shioda that I got this job down here. Yes, I knew him back in Tokyo. Used to live in the same area. He's a good sort, and he's got his head screwed on the right way. He lost his wife last year, and now all he does is mess about with them there curios of his. They say he's got some marvellous stuff which'd fetch a tidy penny if it was sold.'

  'He's got a beautiful daughter, hasn't he?'

  'You want to watch out there.'

  'Why, is there. . . .?'

  'Why? Well it was long before you came here sir, but she's divorced, that's why.'

  'Really?'

  'Is that all you've got to say, 'really'? I'm tellin' you she 'ad no business to leave 'er 'usband. It was just that the bank went broke, and because she couldn't play the lady any more, she up and left him. She's got no sense of gratitude. She's all right while the old man's alive, but nobody's goin' to look after her once he's gone.'

  'No, I suppose not.'

  'Stands to reason. I mean she don't get on with her elder brother, who lives in the family house, either.'

  'Is there a family house?'

  'Yes, it's up there on the hill. You ought to go up an' pay 'em a visit sometime. There's a lovely view from up there.'

  'I say, go over with the soap again, will you? If' s hurting again.'

  'Shavin' do seem to hurt you, don't it sir? It's because your beard's too tough. With whiskers like that you ought to shave every three days without fail. If it hurts when I shave you, it'd hurt you anywhere.'

  'Well, I will in the future. I'll come and let you shave me every day.'

  'Do you fancy stayin' here as long as that then sir? It's dangerous. Don't do it. No good can come of it, and who knows what trouble you'll land yourself in, if you get dragged into such a business.'

  'Why?'

  'Well, Shioda's daughter's pretty enough to look at, but she's not all there.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'Why? Well sir, everybody in the village says she's mad.'

  'There must be some mistake.'

  'But we have proof. No, don't do it. It's too risky.'

  'Don't worry about me. But tell me, what proof do you have?'

  'Well, it's a funny story. Take it easy, an' have a cigarette, and I'll tell you about it.—Would you like your hair washed?'

  'No, that's all right thanks.'

  'Well, I'll just give you a massage to get rid of the dandruff.'

  Hereupon, the barber placed all ten fingers on my head, regardless of the fact that the nails were thick with dirt, and proceeded to agitate them violently backwards and forwards. I could feel his nails gouging each individual root. It was just as though a colossal rake were being pushed and pulled across my scalp at whirlwind speed. I do not know how many thousands of hairs there are on my head, but I was convinced that he was tearing up each one by the root, and raising angry weals all over the resulting exposed surface. The vibration was sufficient to pass right through my skull into the brain itself. By the time he had finished, I was suffering from concussion.

  'How's that? That's better, isn't it?'

  'You really do go at things tooth and nail, don't you?'

  'Eh? A nice massage like that makes everybody feel better.'

  'I feel as though my head had been pierced in several places.'

  'As bad as that? It's this weather wot does it. You always feel tired in spring.—Have a fag sir. You must get fed up with yourself, bein' the only one at Shioda's. You must come and have a bit of a chat sometimes. Some'ow, if you're from Tokyo it's hard to talk to someone who isn't. Er, does the young lady come and entertain you then sir? The trouble with her is, she aint got the faintest idea of right an' wrong.'

  'You started to say something about her just now, before you began poking holes in my head.'

  'So I did. I don't know. I'm so scatter-brained, I'm always jumpin' from one topic to the other, without ever finishing a story properly. Well, as I was sayin', the priest fell head over heels in love with her. . . .'

  'What priest?'

  'Why, the young novice up at the Kankaiji temple.'

  'You haven't mentioned anything about a priest yet, novice or otherwise.'

  'Haven't I? I'm so terrible hasty. Well this priest was good-lookin' in a rugged sort of way. 'E was the type that women go for. Anyway, he fell head over heels in love with old Shioda's daughter, and at last wrote a letter to her.— Hang on a minute. Did he write, or did he go and see her? No, that's right, he definitely wrote her a letter. Now where was I?—Er . . . What was I goin' to say?—I'm a bit mixed up. Oh, yes. That's right, that's what happened. It came as a shock see, so. . . .'

  'Who was shocked?'

  "The woman, of course.'

  'When she received the letter?'

  'If she was the sort of woman to be shocked by a letter, it would at least show some modesty. But she don't shock that easy.'

  'Then who was shocked?'

  'Why he was when he went to tell her he loved her.'

  'But I thought you said he didn't tell her.'

  'Give me strength. You got it all wrong. It was gettin' the letter that was a shock.'

  'Then it must have been the woman who was shocked after all.'

  'No, no, no, the man!'

  'Well, if it was the man, it must have been the priest.'

  'That's right it was the priest.'

  'Why was he shocked?'

  'Why was he shocked? Well he was in the main hall of the temple, conductin' a service with the abbot, when she suddenly comes rushin' in. . . .Cor, ha, ha, ha. There's no gettin' away from it, she must be cracked and no mistake.'

  'What happened then?'

  'Well, she suddenly flings her arms round Taian's neck, and says, "If you really love me so much, let's make love here before Buddha."'

  'Did she now?'

  'Taian didn't know where to put his face. He was so ashamed at havin' written to a mad woman, that he crept away secretly that night, and died.'

  'Died?'

  'Well, I presume he died. He could hardly 'ave gone on livin', after havin' been shamed like that.'

  'I don't know about that.'

  'Maybe you're right. I suppose 'is dyin' wouldn't have looked too good: her bein' mad an' all. P'raps he's still alive.'

  "That's a very interesting story.'

  'Interestin' 's not the word for it. It set the whole village laughing fit to bust. But it shows you just how mad that woman is: she never took a blind bit of notice. A steady man like yerself ou
ght to be alright sir, but her bein' what she is, it wouldn't be advisable to go flirtin' with her.'

  'Oh, I'll be very careful. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.'

  A spring breeze wafted up from the warm beach, bringing with it a hint of the sea, and making the short curtain across the entrance of the barber's shop stir sleepily. In the mirror I caught a fleeting glimpse of a swallow as, body aslant, he dived across the space beneath the curtain. An old man of about sixty or so was sitting under the eaves of the house opposite, silently shelling molluscs. Again and again there came the dull metallic clack of his knife striking the shell, and again and again the reddish meat fell into the obscurity of his basket, and a shell, glinting in the sunlight, was sent sailing two or three feet across the heat-hazy ground. I could not tell whether the huge heap which had been piled up there was of oyster, clam or razor-shells. From time to time the mound would collapse, and some of the shells would sink down to the bottom of a sandy stream. It seemed to me as though they were falling off the edge of this unstable world, to be buried in some dark shadowy region beneath. No sooner had the old shells been buried, however, than new ones would take their place, and the mound would grow again beneath the willow tree. The old man had no time to think of anything but shellfish, and he just went on steadily casting shells on to the shimmering ground. It seemed as though his basket were bottomless, and his spring day an unending source of tranquillity.

  The sandy stream ran under a small bridge scarcely twelve feet across, carrying the water of spring down towards the sea. There, where the spring river flowed out to meet the spring tide, fathom upon fathom of fishing nets had been hung up in uneven banks to dry in the sun. It was these, I suspected, which gave the warm smell of raw fish to the gentle breeze as it passed through their meshes on its way up to the village. Between the nets the surface of the sea showed grey, undulating sluggishly like molten lead.

  This scenery and the barber had nothing at all in common, and had he been a more forceful personality, strong enough to impress me as powerfully as my natural surroundings, then I would surely have been struck by the incongruity of their co-existence. Fortunately, however, he was not a very striking character, and for all his brash city ways, and his caustic wit, he was certainly no match for the perfect harmony and serenity of Nature. He had persistently tried to shatter this aura with his interminable chatter, but so formidable was his opponent that he had been reduced to the level of a barely perceptible speck of dust hovering in a ray of spring sunshine. One is not aware of any conflict between things or people, however incompatable their strength and bulk or their physical and spiritual characteristics may be, unless they are both possessed of an equal power. Indeed, if the disparagement in power between the two is exceptionally great, then all conflict may gradually be erased and the energy which generated it be absorbed by a greater force. It is for this reason that the disciple sits at the feet of the master, that the man of low intelligence reveres the disciple, and oxen and horses become the obedient servants of the man of low intelligence. My barber was at the moment playing out some ridiculous farce, with the whole limitless scenery of springtime as his backdrop. He, who was doing his uttermost to destroy the tranquillity of spring, had only succeeded in adding to it. I felt that I had fallen into the company of a meddling fool. This braggart with all his cheap talk was no more than a component colour in the landscape, blending perfectly with his surroundings on that peaceful spring day.