The section where Hiraoka lived was even more quiet. No light glimmered from most of the houses. The wheels of an empty ricksha coming from the distance rattled and startled the heart. Daisuke went as far as Hiraoka’s wall and stopped. He drew himself close and tried to look in. Everything was dark. Above the barred gate, a dim lantern lit the name plate unsuccessfully. A gecko cast its shadow diagonally on the lantern glass.
Daisuke came here again in the morning. At noon, too, he roamed the streets of the neighborhood. He thought of catching the maid on her way shopping and asking her about Michiyo’s condition. But the maid never came out. There was no sign of Hiraoka either. Even when he pressed himself to the wall and strained his ears, he could hear no voices. He thought of confronting the doctor and pressing him for details of Michiyo’s condition, but nothing that looked like a doctor’s ricksha stopped before Hiraoka’s gate. After a while, his head, roasted by the powerful sun, began to move like the sea. If he stood still, he felt that he would topple over. If he walked, the earth swayed in enormous waves. Daisuke endured his agony and made his way home, almost crawling. Without eating his dinner, he lay where he had fallen and did not stir. Then the terrible sun sank at last and the night slowly deepened the color of the stars. In the darkness and coolness Daisuke came to life at last. And letting the dew moisten his head, he went once again to the place where Michiyo lay.
Daisuke went back and forth two or three times in front of Michiyo’s gate. Every time he got to the lantern, he stopped and strained his ear. He would stand there for five or ten minutes. But he could tell nothing of what was going on inside the house. All was still.
Each time Daisuke came to the lantern, the gecko was still there, its body glued flat upon the glass. Its black shadow, still slanted, never moved.
Each time Daisuke noticed the gecko, he had an unpleasant sensation. Its unmoving form was peculiarly disturbing. His mind fell into the superstitiousness that comes from hyperacuity of the spirit. He imagined that Michiyo was in danger. He imagined that Michiyo was in agony at that very instant. He imagined that Michiyo, out of longing to see him once more, lingered on, unable to die, stealing every breath. Daisuke came to the point where he could no longer restrain himself from hardening his fists and pounding on Hiraoka’s gates as if to shatter them. Immediately, he realized that he had not the right to so much as lay a finger on what belonged to Hiraoka. Stricken with fear, he began to run. On the quiet little street, only his footsteps echoed loudly. As he ran, Daisuke became even more fearful. When he finally slowed his steps, his breathing was extremely painful.
At the side of the road were several stone steps. Daisuke sat down upon them half in a daze; he covered his forehead with his hands and became immobile. After a while, he opened his eyes to find a large black gate. From above the gate towering pine trees extended their branches beyond the hedge. Daisuke had been resting at the gateway to a temple.
He got up. He began walking again, stupefied. In a little while, he came once again to Hiraoka’s little street. He stood before the lantern as if in a dream. The gecko still cast its shadow in the same spot. Daisuke let escape a deep sigh and finally descended Koishikawa to the south.
That night his head spun ceaselessly in the middle of a vortex as red and hot as fire. Daisuke fought desperately to escape from it. But his head would no longer obey his commands. Like a falling leaf, it spun around and around, unresisting in the wind of flames.
The next day, the burning sun climbed high into the sky. Outside, everything began to reel in the violent light. Daisuke struggled to endure it and finally got up past eight o’clock. No sooner was he up than his eyes were dizzy. He splashed himself with water as usual, then went into the study and cowered.
Kadono came upon this scene to announce a visitor; no sooner had he spoken than he stopped and looked at Daisuke in amazement. It cost Daisuke an enormous effort just to answer. Without asking who it was, he turned his face halfway to Kadono, still supporting it in his hands. Just then the visitor’s footsteps sounded on the verandah, and without waiting to be announced, his brother Seigo came in.
“Please, over there.’’ It was all Daisuke could do to motion him to a seat. As soon as he sat down, Seigo took out his fan and fanned so vigorously that it parted his fine linen collar. The heat must have been uncomfortable for his bulky frame, as his breathing was heavy. “It’s so hot,” he said.
“I hope that everything is all right at home?” Daisuke’s manner was that of an utterly exhausted person.
For a while the two chatted as usual. Needless to say, Daisuke’s tone and manner were not what they usually were. But his brother would not ask if anything was the matter. When the conversation came to a pause, Seigo reached in his kimono with the words, “Actually, today I . . .” and brought out a letter.
“Actually, I came because I wanted to ask you a few things,” he said, and turning the back of the envelope toward Daisuke, he asked, “Do you know this fellow?” Hiraoka’s name and address were written in his hand.
“Yes, I do,” Daisuke answered almost mechanically. “He says he was a classmate of yours; is that true?” “Yes.”
“You know this fellow’s wife too?” “Yes, I do.”
His brother picked up his fan again and flapped it two or three times. Then, he leaned forward slightly and dropped his voice. “Is there some sort of connection between you and this fellow’s wife?”
From the start Daisuke had had no intention of concealing anything. But when the question was put so simply, he wondered how he could begin to reduce the complicated developments into a yes or no answer, and he could not open his mouth readily. His brother took the letter from the envelope. He rolled it back four or five inches and handed it over to Daisuke with the words, “The fact of the matter is, this person named Hiraoka sent this letter to Father—do you want to read it?” Daisuke took the letter silently and began reading. His brother sat still, gazing intently at Daisuke’s forehead.
The letter was written in a small hand. As Daisuke read, one line after another dangled from his hand. Even when it had grown to nearly two feet, the letter showed no sign of coming to an end. Daisuke’s eyes began to see spots. His head was leaden. He thought that even if he had to force himself, he should read on to the end. His whole body was under an indescribable pressure, and the sweat poured from his armpits. When he finally came to the end, he did not even have the heart to re-roll the letter. It lay sprawling across the table.
“Is it true, what he says there?” asked his brother in a low voice. “It’s true,” he answered.
Like a man who had received a shock, his brother stopped his fan for an instant. For a while neither of them could speak. Finally, his brother asked, “What on earth made you do such a stupid thing?” His voice was dumbfounded. Daisuke still would not open his mouth.
“You could have married any woman you pleased, if you’d wanted,” his brother continued. Daisuke was still silent.
The third time, his brother said, “It’s not as if you haven’t had your share of dissipations up to now. If you were going to pull a blunder like this, what was the use of giving you all that money?”
By this time, Daisuke lacked the courage to try to explain his position to his brother. Only a little while ago, he had been of exactly the same opinion himself.
“Your sister’s been crying,” said Seigo.
“Has she?” Daisuke answered as if in a dream. “Father’s angry.”
Daisuke did not answer. He only gazed at his brother as if he were looking at some faraway place.
“You’ve always been a fellow who didn’t understand things. But I went along with it until today because I thought that some day, there would come a time when you would understand. But this time, I’ve finally given up—you really are a fellow who doesn’t understand anything at all. There’s nothing more dangerous in the world than a person
who doesn’t understand. You can’t feel safe about what he might do, what he’s thinking. That might suit you perfectly well, but think about Father’s or my position in society. Even you must have some notion of family honor.”
His brother’s words grazed Daisuke’s ear and spilled outside. Throughout his body, all he felt was pain. But he was not so shaken as to suffer pangs of conscience toward his brother. Needless to say, he had not the slightest inclination to go through the motions of putting a plausible face on things in order to gain the sympathy of this worldly brother. In his own mind he was confident that he had taken the path that was right for him. He was content with that. Only Michiyo could understand this contentment. Beyond Michiyo, father, brother, sister-in-law, society, human beings—all were his enemies. They would all surround the two with roaring flames and burn them to death. It was Daisuke’s deepest desire to stand in a silent embrace with Michiyo and be consumed as quickly as possible in this wind of flames. He made no reply to his brother. Supporting his heavy head, he sat as motionless as stone.
“Daisuke,” his brother called. “I came today on an errand from Father. You haven’t come near the house since the other day. Normally, Father would have called you and questioned you himself, but today he said he didn’t want to see your face and so he sent me over to find out the truth. And, if you had some explanations to make, I was to hear them; if not, if everything Hiraoka says is based on fact, then this is what Father says to tell you: I will not see Daisuke for the rest of my life. He can go where he pleases, do what he pleases. In exchange, I will not treat him as a child of my own, and he is not to think of me as his father. That’s only reasonable. And from what you say, there’s not a single falsehood in Hiraoka’s letter, so there’s no choice. And on top of it, you don’t seem to have any regrets, you don’t seem penitent at all. So there’s no way I can go home and try to plead with Father. All I can do is tell you exactly what Father said and leave. Is that clear? Do you understand what Father is saying?”
“I understand very well,” Daisuke answered simply.
“You’re a fool,” his brother said loudly. Daisuke did not raise his head.
“You’re a dunce,” his brother said again. “You’re never at a loss for words, but now, when it counts, you act as if you’re dumb. And you pull tricks behind your father’s back that’ll ruin his good name. What were you getting educated for all this time?”
His brother took the letter from the table and began rolling it himself. The stationery rustled in the quiet room. Seigo put it back in the envelope and put it away in his kimono.
“I’m going,” he said, this time in his normal tone. Daisuke bowed politely. His brother said briefly, “I won’t see you any more either,” and went to the entranceway.
After his brother had left, Daisuke sat without moving for some time. When Kadono came to clear the tea service, Daisuke suddenly stood and said, “Mr. Kadono, I’m going out to look for a job.” Then he immediately put on his cap and flew out into the heat of the day without even taking a parasol.
Daisuke hurried in the heat, almost breaking into a run. The sun shone straight down upon his head. The dry dust covered his bare feet like powdered fire. He felt as if he were being scorched.
As he walked, he repeated to himself, “I’m burning, I’m burning.” When he came to Iidabashi he got on a streetcar. The streetcar began to move straight ahead. Inside the car, Daisuke said, “Oh, it’s moving, the world’s moving,” loudly enough to be heard by those around him. His head began to spin at the same speed as the train. The more it spun, the more flushed it became from the heat. If he could ride like this for half a day, he thought he could be burnt to ashes.
Suddenly, a red mailbox caught his eye. The red color immediately leaped into Daisuke’s head and began to spin around and around. An umbrella shop sign had four red umbrellas hanging one on top of the other. The color of these umbrellas also leaped into Daisuke’s head and whirled around. At an intersection someone was selling bright red balloons. As the streetcar sharply turned the corner, the balloons followed and leaped into Daisuke’s head. A red car carrying parcel post passed close by the streetcar in the opposite direction, and its color was also sucked into Daisuke’s head. The tobacco shop curtain was red. A banner announcing a sale was also red. The telephone pole was red. One after another, there were signs painted in red. Finally, the whole world turned red. And with Daisuke’s head at the center, it began to spin around and around, breathing tongues of fire. Daisuke decided to go on riding until his head was completely burnt away.
AFTERWORD
BY NORMA MOORE FIELD
SIXTY YEARS HAVE ELAPSED since the death of Sōseki Natsume. In Japan he continues to be the towering figure of modern literature, overshadowing such writers as Kawabata Yasunari, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, and Mishima Yukio who have attracted a more enthusiastic following in the West. In 1976, Iwanami Shoten, the distinguished publishing house, came out with yet another complete edition of Sōseki’s works, in seventeen volumes. New Sōseki items continue to turn up, and the discovery of a letter warrants television coverage. A Tokyo department store is in the process of issuing facsimiles of the first editions, with original paper and bindings. When the critic Etō Jun announced that the secret woman in Sōseki’s life was his sister-in-law Tose, the response was sensational and even led to a heated exchange in the Asahi Shimbun, the mass circulation daily for which Sōseki began to write seventy years ago.
Sōseki is one of those rare writers loved and revered in their own lifetime. Now, eight decades after his death, the Japanese public continues to bestow its affection and esteem upon him. Obviously, there are important extra-literary dimensions to his stature; he was, and continues to be, a public figure as much as an artist. How are we to account for his distinctive status?
Sōseki’s life coincided with one of the most dramatic periods in Japanese history. He was born in 1867, the year before the Meiji Restoration that marked the downfall of the Tokugawa shogunate. The Tokugawas had ordered Japanese life for nearly three centuries, primarily through the imposition of a rigid social hierarchy supported by the twin pillars of neo-Confucianism—loyalty to the nation and filial piety to the family. It was into this world that Daisuke’s father, for example, was born, and these are the ideals he professes to have maintained even after the old order had collapsed.
By the middle of the nineteenth century, the image of static harmony which had long characterized the Tokugawa regime hardly fit the reality. The stability and prosperity that the regime had made possible contained the seeds of its own destruction. For instance, the merchants, who by decree were at the bottom of the social order, had been able to acquire power over the decaying warrior class and to lay the foundations for a modern economy. For this and a variety of other reasons, the stage was set for a change of players when Perry arrived with his black ships in 1853. In one of those characteristic twists of Japanese history, the shogun was overthrown for his failure to “expel the barbarians” and the emperor was restored to his ancient position of authority, whereupon his advisers embarked upon a breathtaking course of modernization—that is, Westernization.
On the eve of these events Natsume Kinnosuke (Sōseki was a pen name adopted in his student days) was born as the eighth and last child in a family of well-to-do townsfolk. Although Sōseki’s father was a commoner, the family had held for some time a hereditary administrative position that had brought them material comfort and local prestige. With the change in government, however, the Natsume fortunes began to decline steadily. When Sōseki was born, his father was fifty and his mother forty-one. Whether for reasons of economy or of shame at having a child at such advanced ages, Sōseki’s parents quickly sent him to nurse with a family that owned and operated a secondhand store. Night after night he lay in a basket in a streetside stall, until one night an older sister spotted him among the dusty household goods and took him home out of pity. Thei
r father was not pleased, and Sōseki was adopted by another couple. The miserable childhood he spent with this pair, who spoiled him materially and tormented him with demands for affection, is vividly recreated in his one explicitly autobiographical novel, Grass on the Wayside (Michikusa, 1915).
The divorce of his adoptive parents resulted in his return to his own family at the age of nine. For some time he did not know that he had come home to his parents, for they continued to let him believe that they were his grandparents. It was only through the whispered kindness of a maid that Sōseki learned his true parenthood. Despite this unpromising beginning, Sōseki developed a deep and abiding affection for his mother. She died when he was fourteen, however, and over the next few years Sōseki also witnessed the death of several of his siblings. Indeed, he, the unwanted son, soon turned out to be the only source of hope for the family; his brothers were too sickly or too dissipated.
The promising son had no easy time settling upon a course for his future. Sōseki’s struggles to find a direction for his life afford a microcosmic view of the conflicting strains in recent Japanese history. The Tokyo of his youth was still rich with the legacy of Edo culture, and Sōseki became a devotee of the vaudeville raconteurs whose language and humor would later enhance his writing. He had access to an even older world in the Chinese art and literature that he came to love in childhood. In the course of his formal schooling, he even entered a private academy where only the Chinese classics were studied. We should bear in mind that this choice was made in a society witnessing the introduction of telephones, trains, baseball, Western-style architecture, milkshakes, and beef-serving restaurants.
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