And Then. Soseki Natsume

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      CHAPTER I

      AS HURRIED FOOTSTEPS clattered past the gate, a pair of large clogs hung suspended from the sky. When the footsteps grew distant, the clogs slipped quietly away and vanished. Daisuke awoke.

      Turning to the head of his bed, he noticed a single camellia blossom that had fallen to the floor. He was certain he had heard it drop during the night; the sound had resounded in his ears like a rubber ball bounced off the ceiling. Although he thought this might be explained by the silence of the night, just to make sure that all was well with him, he had placed his right hand over his heart. Then, feeling the blood pulsating correctly at the edge of his ribs, he had fallen asleep.

      For some time, he gazed vacantly at the color of the large blossom, which was nearly as large as a baby’s head. Then, as if he had just thought of it, he put his hand to his heart and once again began to study its beat. It had become a habit with him lately to listen to his heart’s pulsation while lying in bed. As usual, the palpitation was calm and steady. With his hand still on his chest, he tried to imagine the warm, crimson blood flowing leisurely to this beat. This was life, he thought. Now, at this very moment, he held in his grasp the current of life as it flowed by. To his palm it felt like the ticking of a clock. But it was more, it was a kind of alarm that summoned him to death. If it were possible to live without hearing this bell—if only his heart did not measure out time as well as blood—then how carefree he would be! How thoroughly he would savor life! But—and here Daisuke shuddered involuntarily. He was a man so attached to life that he could scarcely bear to picture his heart calmly beating to the coursing of his blood. There were times when, lying in bed, he would place his hand just below his left breast and wonder, what if someone gave me one good blow with a hammer here. Although he lived in sound health, there were instances when his consciousness awakened to the indisputable fact of his being alive as a near-miracle of good fortune.

      Lifting his hand from his heart, he picked up the newspaper beside his pillow. He reached from beneath the covers and with both hands spread out the paper. On the left was a picture of a man stabbing a woman. He quickly averted his gaze and turned to another page where the school dispute was written up in large print. Daisuke read the article for a while but soon let the paper slip from languid hands onto the covers. Drawing on a cigarette, he slid himself about six inches from the bed, picked up the camellia from the floor mat, and turning it over, drew it to the tip of his nose. His mouth, mustache, and nose were all but hidden in the flower. The smoke, mingling with the petals and stamens, curled out thickly. Then placing the flower on the white sheet, he got up and went to the bathroom.

      He carefully brushed his teeth, taking pleasure, as always, in their regularity. He stripped and scrubbed his chest and back. There was a deep, fine luster to his skin. Whenever he moved his shoulders or lifted his arms, his flesh exuded a thin layer of oil, as if it had been massaged with balm that was then carefully wiped away. This, too, gave him satisfaction. Next, he parted his black hair, which, even without oil, was perfectly manageable. Like his hair, his mustache was fine and gave him an air of youthful freshness, elegantly defining the area above his mouth. Stroking his full cheeks two or three times with both hands, Daisuke peered into the mirror. His motions were precisely those of a woman powdering her face. And in fact, he took such pride in his body that had there been the need, he would not have hesitated to powder his face. More than anything he disliked the shriveled body and wizened features of a Buddhist holy man, and whenever he turned to the mirror, he was thankful that at least he had not been born with such a face. If people called him a dandy, he was not in the least disturbed. To this extent had he moved beyond the old Japan.

Some thirty minutes later he sat at the table. As he sipped his tea and buttered his toast, Kadono, the houseboy, brought in the newspapers, placing them, neatly folded, beside the cushion and beginning loudly, “It’s really something, isn’t it, Sensei, this business!’’ This houseboy always used the respectful term Sensei* in addressing Daisuke. At first, Daisuke had protested with a wry smile, but Kadono had always answered, oh, yes, yes, but Sensei—and so Daisuke had been forced to leave the matter as it was; eventually, it had become a custom so that now, with Kadono alone, Daisuke felt no qualms about passing off as Sensei. It was only when he began to keep a houseboy that Daisuke realized there were no other appropriate forms of address to use toward a master like himself.

      “I suppose you mean the school dispute?” Daisuke calmly continued to eat his toast.

      “Well, don’t you think it’s awfully exciting?’’ “You mean, trying to get rid of the principal?”

      “Yes, that’s it. He’s going to have to resign.” Kadono was gleeful. “Do you stand to gain in any way if the principal resigns?”

      “Oh, come on, Sensei, you shouldn’t joke like that. A fellow doesn’t get excited over something just because he might gain or lose.”

      Daisuke continued to eat. “Do they want to get rid of the principal because they really hate him, or is there a question of profit involved—do you know?”

      “No, I don’t know about that. How about you, Sensei, do you know?”

      “No, I don’t know either. I don’t know, but there’s no chance that people today would stir up all that trouble if they didn’t think they were going to get something out of it. They’re just making excuses.” “Is that right?” Kadono’s face showed some concern. With this, Daisuke abruptly put an end to the conversation. Kadono could understand no more. Beyond a certain level, no matter what anyone said, Kadono would unabashedly cling to his favorite “Is that right?” It was impossible to tell whether one’s words had registered with him or not. It was precisely this uncertainty, and the consequent absence of any need to stimulate the youth, that appealed to Daisuke and led him to keep Kadono as a houseboy. He neither went to school nor studied, but spent all his time loafing. Why not try his hand at a foreign language, Daisuke might ask. Kadono invariably answered, do you think so? Or, is that right? Never would he actually say that he would СКАЧАТЬ