And Then - Soseki Natsume

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was brimming with the last scene. . . . Far in the distance, behind trees that stood cold, two small square lamps swayed noiselessly. There the gallows had been erected. The condemned men stood in the dark. One of them complained that he had lost a shoe, that he was cold. Another asked, what? The first repeated that he had lost a shoe and was cold. Someone asked where M was. Another voice answered, here. Something large, whitish, and flat showed from between the trees. A damp wind came from its direction. It’s the ocean, said G. Presently, the lamps lit up the letter containing the sentence and the white hand—an ungloved hand—that held it. You don’t have to read it out loud, do you, someone said. His voice trembled. Soon the lamps went out. Now I’m all alone, said K. He heaved a sigh. S was dead. W was dead. M was dead. He was all alone. . . .

      The sun came up from over the ocean. They piled the bodies onto a cart. And began to pull. The stretched necks, the popped eyes, the tongues dampened by a froth of blood like a horrible flower—they piled them on and went back to the road. . . .

      Daisuke mentally reviewed the last scene from Andreev’s The Seven That Were Hanged up to this point, then drew in his shoulders and shuddered. At such times, he was overcome by intense anxiety as to what he should do if ever confronted with such a situation. When he thought about it, he knew he could not die. But still, he would be killed against his will—how cruel that was! He imagined his tortured self, trapped between the cravings of life and the oppressions of death, and as he sat picturing the agony of his wandering from one to the other, he began to feel every hair on his back stir until it was unendurable.

      His own father often told how, at the age of seventeen, he had killed a fellow clansman and had to resign himself to committing seppuku. His plan had been to serve as Daisuke’s uncle’s second and to ask Daisuke’s grandfather to be his own second when his turn came. How could he have thought of going through with such a gruesome affair! Every time his father recounted the past, Daisuke found him more distasteful than admirable. Or else he thought of him as a liar. Somehow, it would seem much more appropriate if it should turn out that his father was a liar.

      It was not just his father. There was a story like this about his grandfather also. When he was young, a fellow fencing pupil was so skilled that he had incurred someone’s envy, and one night, as he made his way through the rice fields back to the castle town, he was cut down. Daisuke’s grandfather was the first to rush to the scene, lantern in his left hand and drawn sword in his right, and beating the corpse with the sword, he was said to have shouted, Take courage, Gumpei, the wound is slight!

      Daisuke’s uncle had been killed in Kyoto when a hooded man had noisily broken into the inn where he was staying. The uncle had leaped from the second-story eaves but tripped and fell on a garden rock and was mercilessly cut down from above. The story went that his face had looked like a piece of sliced-up raw fish. Some days before he was killed, he had walked in the middle of the night from Shijō Avenue to Sanjō in high clogs, wearing a raincoat and shielding himself from the snow with an umbrella. About two hundred yards from his inn, a voice had suddenly called from behind, Master Nagai Naoki. Daisuke’s uncle had not so much as cast a glance behind, but with his umbrella held high, had continued walking to the inn door, where he opened the grating and stepped in. Then, the story continued, he slammed it shut and turned and announced, I am Nagai Naoki. What is your business?

      Daisuke’s immediate response to such stories was not admiration but terror. Before he could get around to appreciating the bravery, he was overcome by the raw smell of blood penetrating his nostrils.

      Daisuke’s current theory was that if it were possible for him to die at all, death would have to come at that instant marking the height of a paroxysmic seizure. But he was hardly the convulsive type. His hands trembled. His feet trembled. It was nothing out of the ordinary for his voice to tremble or his heart to skip a beat. But in recent years he never became agitated. Heightened agitation was a condition that naturally enabled one to approach death, and it was obvious to Daisuke that each time it occurred, it became that much easier to die. At times, out of curiosity, he wished he could at least advance to the neighborhood of that condition. Whenever he analyzed himself these days, Daisuke was startled to discover how changed he was from the self of five or six years before.

      He turned the book over on his desk and got up. The glass doors on the verandah were slightly open and a warm wind blew in gaily. It made the red petals of the potted amanthus flutter gently. Sunlight fell on the large blossoms. Daisuke bent over and peered into the flowers, then took a little pollen from the wispy stamen and carried it to the pistil, where he carefully smeared it on.

      Daisuke continued to stoop and lifted only his face toward Kadono. “You’ve already been?”

      “Yes, I have. Yes, they said they were going to move in tomorrow. He said he had just been thinking of coming over today.”

      “Who said? Hiraoka?”

      “Yes. Yes, it looked like he was terribly busy with something. You’re completely different, aren’t you, Sensei. If it’s ants, why don’t you try pouring vegetable oil over them? Then, when they can’t stand it and come out of their holes, you can kill them off one by one. I can do it if you want.”

      “It isn’t ants. On nice days like today, if you take the pollen and smear it on the pistil, it’ll bear fruit one of these days. I have the time, so I’m doing just as the man at the nursery said.”

      “Oh, I see. The world sure has become convenient, hasn’t it? But bonsai are nice things to have around—they’re pretty, and they give you something to look forward to.”

      Daisuke thought it too much trouble to answer him. Eventually he said, “Maybe I’ll quit fooling around for now,” and got up and sat down in the caned easy chair on the verandah. Kadono became bored and left for his own three-mat room at the side of the entrance. He was just about to open the shoji and go in when he was called back to the verandah. “Hiraoka said he was coming today?”

      “Yes, it sounded like he might come.” “Then I’ll wait for him.”

      Daisuke decided against going out. He had been rather concerned about Hiraoka since the other day.

      When he had last visited, Hiraoka’s situation was such that he could not afford to be leisurely. His story then was that there were two or three possibilities he planned to look into, but Daisuke had no idea what had become of them. He had gone twice himself to their inn in Jimbōchō. The first time Hiraoka had been out; the second time he was in, but he was standing on the threshold of the room, still in his Western clothes, scolding his wife hurriedly— or so it unmistakably seemed to Daisuke though he had caught but a glimpse when he went down the corridor unannounced and appeared before their room. Hiraoka had turned toward him slightly and said, “Oh, it’s you.” There was nothing hospitable in his face or in his manner. His wife’s pale face had peered from the room, and recognizing Daisuke, had blushed. Daisuke somehow felt awkward about sitting down. He brushed aside the mechanical invitations to come in and insisted that he had no business in particular, that he had just come to see how they were doing. If Hiraoka was about to go out, they could leave together. With that, he had stepped out as if to lead the way.

      Hiraoka said that he had wanted to find a house and settle down quickly, but he had been too busy to look for himself. Even when he would hear about a place through the inn, either the people had not moved out or the walls were being painted. He grumbled about everything all the way to the train, where they parted. Daisuke felt sorry for him and said, in that case, he would have his houseboy look for a place. Business was bad, there shouldn’t be too much trouble finding a vacancy. With this assurance, he had left Hiraoka.

      True to his promise, he had sent Kadono out to hunt. No sooner had he left than Kadono was back with a reasonable find. Daisuke had him show the couple the house, and they thought it would probably do; but since Daisuke felt an obligation to the landlord, and moreover, planned to have Kadono look further if this house did not suit them, he had sent Kadono back to get a definite answer. “I hope you went over

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