Heredity of Taste. Soseki Natsume

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      1

      Under the influence of the weather, even the gods lose their reason. "Let's exterminate mankind! Let loose the ravenous dogs!" was the cry that resounded from the heavens to the depths of the Sea of Japan and made it rage in all directions. The cry penetrated as far as Manchuria. As soon as they heard it, the Japanese and Russians responded by creating an immense slaughterhouse in the plains to the north of the Continent of Asia, stretching over more than 400 kilometers. So, under the skies, great hordes of ferocious dogs appeared and sped across the vast expanse. These four-legged bullets tore endlessly through the air, scenting fresh flesh. Delirious in their joy, the gods shouted to the dogs "Drink the blood!" Tongues darted out effortlessly like flames and lit up the dark earth with their brilliance. The sound of blood spurting down the beasts' throats echoed across the plains. Then the gods, walking on the edge of the black clouds, clamored "Devour the flesh!" again and again. "Devour the flesh! Devour the flesh!" The dogs all reared up, barking with one voice. Then, without further delay, they tore limbs to pieces with sinister crunching sounds. Opening their deep jaws from ear to ear, snatching at the trunks of the bodies and tugging at them from all sides, they stripped the skin from the bones. At last, when the gods saw that all the flesh had been devoured, their terrifying voices pierced through the clouds that covered the skies: "When you have done with the flesh, go on to the bones and suck them dry! Now, suck the bones!" Dog's teeth are better suited to gnawing bones than to devouring flesh. Created by demented gods, the creatures are equipped with instruments perfectly adapted to carrying out their insane commands. Their teeth have been especially designed by the divinities for that purpose. Of that there can be no doubt. "Make noise! Make noise!" ordered the gods. The dogs planted their fangs with brute force into the bones. Some bones were shattered so that the beasts could eat the marrow. Others were reduced to tiny pieces and made shapes on the earth that might have been paintings. The bones that the dogs' teeth did not manage to destroy were used to sharpen their fangs....

      I was lost in my accustomed reverie. As I reached Shimbashi station,¹ I told myself that such images sent shivers down my spine. Paying attention to what was going on around me, I saw that there was a large crowd on the square in front of the station, although an access path of about four meters² leading to a triumphal arch,³ had been left free. From both sides people pressed forward in a long line, which it seemed impossible to pass through. What was going on then?

      Among the crowd I noticed a suspicious-looking man wearing a silk hat on the back on his head, his ears fortunately preventing his headdress from falling off. Another individual was wearing traditional trousers, which seemed too tight or uncomfortable for him, because he was continually gazing at his silk twill outfit as if it belonged to someone else. A third fellow afforded a very singular spectacle. He was dressed in a frock coat, that I freely acknowledge, but he had put on white canvas shoes and gloves, which he made no attempt to conceal and which in fact he was displaying to all and sundry. A score of people brandished conveniently sized banners. The majority of these bore inscriptions in white characters on a mauve background, but on others someone had prettily emblazoned ebony inscriptions on white fabric. To find out why all these people were assembled there, I started to read the banners and was struck by the one nearest to me, which proclaimed, "The volunteers of the Renjaku⁴ district celebrate the triumphal return of Mr Kimura Rokunosuke." I understood then for the first time that an enthusiastic welcome was being organized in honor of somebody; and even the gentlemen I had just seen, decked out in the strange accouterments, acquired a certain distinction in my eyes. Moreover, I quickly began to regret having imagined that war had been provoked by gods who had descended into madness and that soldiers were going to the battlefield to be devoured by dogs. In fact, I was going to the station because I had an appointment to meet someone. With this crowd amassed all about me, I realized that to get there I would have to walk on my own along the path that split the impenetrable throng. Surely no one here was capable of fathoming those poetic visions that had been in my mind a moment before. Even under normal circumstances I am uncomfortable about walking alone in the road, attracting glances and feeling people's eyes concentrated on my little self. But if they knew that I had imagined their loved ones as leftover dog food, it was safe to assume they would be annoyed. With such thoughts in my mind, I had to fight against unease and reluctance beneath my air of nonchalance as I forged a path to the stone steps of the station.

      Once I had reached the building, the next problem was to get inside it. Given the number of people who had turned up to welcome the combatants, it was no easy task to get to the appointed place, and when I did finally arrive at the first-class waiting room I found that the person I had arranged to meet there had not yet come. Near the fireplace, an officer in a red cap was talking enthusiastically, his sword clicking continuously. Next to him were two silk hats, side by side. Above one of them there was a widening ring of cigar smoke. In a corner at the other end of the room, a woman was talking to a fine looking lady of about fifty years of age, whispering so quietly that their conversation could not have been overheard by someone sitting next to them. A man in a traditional "haori" cotton⁵ jacket, with his cap sideways on his head, went up to the two ladies and told them that they could not buy platform tickets because the area beyond the ticket gate was already full of people. He must have been their servant. People in the crowd who had grown tired of waiting were gathered around tables in the center of the room, leafing through newspapers and magazines and rolling them up to kill time. Very few were reading seriously. The expression "leafing through" describes what they were doing perfectly, I think.

      The man I was meeting still had not arrived so, bored with waiting, I decided to take a short walk outside. Just then, however, a bearded man walked into the room and said as he passed in front of me, "There is not much longer to wait—the train is expected to arrive at 14.45."

      I looked at my watch and saw that it was half past two. So in just quarter of an hour's time, I would be able to see the triumphal return of the soldiers. With apologies for the diversion, СКАЧАТЬ