And Then. Soseki Natsume

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      DAISUKE’S FATHER, NAGAI TOKU, was old enough to have seen the battlefield during the Restoration, but he was still in robust health. After quitting the civil service he had entered the business world, and while trying his hand at this and that, money had seemed to accumulate naturally, until, in some fourteen or fifteen years’ time, he had found himself a wealthy man.

      Daisuke had an older brother named Seigo. After finishing school, he had gone straight into a company with which his father had ties, so that by now he held a position of considerable authority. He had a wife, Umeko, and two children. The older of these was a boy, Seitarō, now fifteen years of age. The girl, Nui, was three years younger.

      Besides Seigo, there was an older sister, but she had married a diplomat and they now made their home in the West. There had been another brother between Seigo and this sister, and still another between her and Daisuke, but both of them had died young. Their mother was dead as well.

      Such was the composition of Daisuke’s family. The married sister and Daisuke, who had recently set up his own household, were gone, so that left five people, including the children, in the main house.

      Once a month without fail, Daisuke went home for money. He lived on money that could be specified neither as his father’s nor his brother’s. When bored, he went more frequently. He would tease the children, play a game of go with the houseboy, or engage his sister-in-law in theater talk.

      Daisuke was fond of his sister-in-law. Hers was a character in which Tempō mannerism and Meiji modernism were ruthlessly patched together. Once she had gone to the trouble of ordering an inordinately expensive piece of brocade with an unpronounceable name through her sister in France. She had cut it up with four or five other people to fashion into obi. Later, when it was discovered that the material had been exported from Japan, the family had a good laugh. It was Daisuke who had investigated the matter by checking the display cases of Mitsukoshi. Umeko also liked Western music and was easily persuaded to accompany Daisuke to his concerts. At the same time, she showed an unusual interest in fortunetelling, idolizing Sekiryūshi and a certain master Ojima. On two or three occasions Daisuke had tagged along in a ricksha to keep her company on her visits to these fortunetellers.

      These days, Seitarō was completely absorbed in baseball and sometimes Daisuke would toss him a few pitches. He was a child with a peculiar ambition: every year, at the beginning of the summer when all the hot-potato venders converted into ice parlors, Seitarō liked to be the first to run over and buy ice cream, well before the first hint of perspiration. When there was no ice cream, he contented himself with ices and still came home triumphant. Lately, he was saying that he wanted to be the first person to enter the new sumō wrestling hall as soon as it was completed. Once he asked if Daisuke knew any wrestlers.

      Nui was given to answering everything with “I’m warning you, you’d better watch out.’’ She also changed her hair ribbon several times a day. She had recently begun violin lessons, and as soon as she got home, she would practice what she had learned, producing sawlike noises. But she would never play if someone was watching. Since she shut herself up in her room and squeaked away, her parents thought she must be quite good. Daisuke was the only one who would ever peek in on her, at which times she would scold, “You’d better watch out.”

      Daisuke’s brother was often away from the house. When he was especially busy the only meal he took at home was breakfast. The children had no idea what he did with the rest of his day and Daisuke was equally ignorant on this point. In fact, he had decided that it was preferable not to know; as long as it was unnecessary, he did not probe into his brother’s outside activities.

      Daisuke was enormously popular with the children, reasonably so with his sister-in-law. With his brother, he could not tell. On the rare occasions when they met, they exchanged stories about their experiences with women. They talked perfectly nonchalantly, like men of the world trading common gossip.

      Daisuke’s biggest headache was his father, who, in spite of his age, kept a young mistress. Daisuke had no objections to this; indeed, he was rather in favor of it, for he thought that it was only those who lacked the means who attacked the practice. His father was quite a disciplinarian. As a child, there were times when this had sorely troubled Daisuke, but now that he was an adult, he saw no reason why he should let it disturb him. No, what bothered Daisuke was that his father confused his own youth with Daisuke’s. Hence, he insisted that unless Daisuke adopted the same goals with which he himself had ventured into the world long ago, it would not do. Since Daisuke had never asked what would not do, the two had not quarreled. As a child, Daisuke was possessed of a violent temper and, at eighteen or nineteen, had even come to blows with his father once or twice. But time passed and soon after he finished school, his temper had suddenly subsided. Since then, he had never once been angry. His father believed this to be the consequence of the discipline he had imparted, and he secretly prided himself.

      In actuality, this so-called discipline had succeeded only in slowly cooling the warm sentiments binding father and son. At least Daisuke thought so. His father had completely reversed this interpretation. No matter what happened, they were of the same flesh and blood. The sentiment that a child felt toward a parent was endowed by heaven and could not possibly be altered by the parent’s treatment of the child. There might have been some excesses, but these had occurred in the name of discipline, and their results could not touch the bond of affection between father and son: so Daisuke’s father, influenced by the teachings of Confucianism, firmly believed. Convinced that the simple fact of bestowing life upon Daisuke permanently guaranteed him grateful love in the face of any unpleasantness or pain, his father had pushed his way. And in the end, he had produced a son who was coldly indifferent to him. Admittedly, his attitudes had changed considerably since Daisuke finished school. He was even surprisingly lenient in some areas. Still, this was only part of the program designed at the moment Daisuke was delivered into this world, and it could not be construed as a response to whatever inner changes the father might have perceived in his son. To this day he was completely unaware of the negative results his plan of education had yielded.

      His father was enormously proud of having gone to war. Given the slightest opportunity, he was apt to dismiss the likes of Daisuke with sweeping scorn; they were useless, those fellows, because they had never fought; they had no nerve. He spoke as if “nerve” were man’s most glorious attribute. Daisuke felt an unpleasant taste in his mouth every time he had to listen to such speeches. Courage might well have been an important prerequisite to survival in the barbaric days of his father’s youth, when life was taken right and left, but in this civilized day and age, Daisuke regarded it as a piece of equipment primitive as the bow and arrow. Indeed, it seemed plausible to him that many qualities incompatible with courage were to be valued far above it. After his father’s last lecture Daisuke had laughed about it with his sister-in-law, saying that according to their father’s theory, a stone statue would have to be admired above all else.

      Needless to say, Daisuke was cowardly. He could feel no shame in this. There were even occasions when he proudly styled himself a coward. Once, as a child, at his father’s instigation he had gone to the cemetery in Aoyama all by himself in the middle of the night. He had withstood the eeriness of the place for one hour, then, unable to endure it any longer, had come home pale as a sheet. At the time he himself was somewhat chagrined. The next morning, when his father laughed at him, he found the old man hateful. According to his father, it had been customary for the boys of his day, as part of their training, to get up in the middle of the night and set out all alone for Sword’s Peak, some two and a half miles north of the castle, where they climbed to the top and waited in a small temple to greet the sunrise. “In those days we started out with a different understanding from young people nowadays,” he observed.

      The old man who had uttered such words, who even now might utter them again, cut a pitiful figure in Daisuke’s eyes. Daisuke disliked earthquakes. There were times when, seated quietly in his study, he could feel their approach far in the distance. СКАЧАТЬ