Natsume Soseki - To the Spring Equinox and Beyond

There was seldom any opportunity for them and me to talk even in general terms about marriage. Except that my aunt and I once had the following conversation:

"Ichi-san," she said, "you're old enough to be looking for a wife. It seems that your mother has been worrying about it for a long time."

"Well, if you find someone nice, please let my mother in on it."

"Someone gentle and tenderhearted would be best for you, Ichi-san. As attentive as a kind nurse, I should think."

"If I advertised for a bride that was like a nurse, I doubt if anyone would turn up," I said, smiling with self-scorn.

Chiyoko, who was doing something in a corner of the room, raised her head. "Shall I come nurse you?" she asked.

I looked intently into her eyes, and she looked into mine. But neither of us recognized anything meaningful there.

Without even turning her head toward Chiyoko, my aunt said, "How could Ichi-san have a liking for someone as outspoken and boisterous as you?"

In my aunt's low voice I caught something that sounded like fright as well as reproach. Chiyoko came out with only an amused laugh. At that time Momoyoko was sitting beside us too. She left her seat, smiling at her elder sister's words. After some time I got up to leave, interpreting what had been said as an informal refusal.

After this incident I found it more and more humiliating to try to gratify my mother's wish. As the son of a proud father, I find that my hypersensitivity in this respect surprises even me. Of course, on that occasion I took no offense at my aunt's words. Since she had not received any explicit proposal from us, she could not have revealed her opinion in any other way than she had. As for Chiyoko, whatever it was she said or laughed at, I took it only as a frank expression of what she was feeling at that moment in her ever candid heart. Judging from her words and behavior, I knew with certainty, as I previously had, that she was not willing to marry me, but at the same time I had something of a secret fear that if my mother were to have a confidential, intimate talk with her, Chiyoko might say right then and there, "If that's the case, I'll join your family." I had always believed her to be so singularly pure as to be able on such an occasion to sacrifice her own interests or even her parents' wishes as if none of that mattered in the least.

Being so strongly self-willed, I wished more to keep my ego from being bruised than to please my mother. Therefore, I tried discreetly to prevent what I feared might come to pass — that conversation in which Chiyoko would be persuaded by my mother into complying without my knowing anything about it. Since my mother had decided that Chiyoko would be my wife the minute the girl was born, it's obvious that she was my mother's favorite among all her nephews and nieces. And ever since she was a child, Chiyoko has regarded my home as her own, thinking nothing of coming and staying overnight. Even today, when our two families have less familiarity than they once had, she frequently visits us by herself, her face cheerful as she calls on her dear aunt as if she were her own mother. With that simplicity so characteristic of her, she has, concealing nothing, confided to my mother even the occasional marriage negotiations concerning herself. My good-natured mother would merely listen quietly, unable to reveal a single expression of her own disappointment. That intimate talk I was so afraid of could have occurred at any such moment between those two women of such deep connection.

What I've called discretion on my part was nothing more than a precaution against my mother's broaching the subject. But when I did try to bring up the question anew, I felt vaguely from somewhere inside me that it was cruel of a son to deprive his weak mother of her freedom in order to have his own way, so more often than not I left everything unuttered. But the image of my mother's frown was not the only reason for my abandoning the topic. I was also partly restrained toward her by the reflection that since she had not yet confided to Chiyoko her definite desire in spite of their close relationship, she might, if left alone, not do it for a considerable time.

And so I was able to let time go along without taking any definite steps concerning Chiyoko. In that interval though, during which I let the days pass in this kind of uncertainty, my connection with the Taguchi family was not wholly severed. I remember having occasionally used the streetcar to go to Uchisaiwaicho, if only for the purpose of seeing the delight on my mother's face. On the evening of one such day I was detained by Chiyoko, a rare moment in a long while. She said she'd serve me an unusual dish that she'd just learned how to make, and so I stayed for dinner. My uncle, who is away from home most of the time, happened to be present on that occasion and, as is his habit, told funny stories throughout the meal. Soon the whole room was in an uproar, until even the shoji were shaking from our laughter.

After dinner my uncle suggested to me — though I don't know why — that we try our hand at a game of go, since we hadn't played in a long time. I didn't feel much like playing, but since he had been kind enough to ask, I agreed, and we moved into another room. We played two or three games. Since we were both poor at go, it didn't take much time, so when the stones were put away, it wasn't that late.

We began talking over cigarettes. I found an appropriate time to ask whether Chiyoko's marriage had been settled yet or not. I had asked simply in order to show that I had no objection to her getting married. Also, I had done it because I thought the sooner the problem was solved, the more at ease I'd be and the happier Chiyoko would be too.

My uncle then said in his frank way, "No, and it's not likely to be settled soon. Every once in a while we have an offer, but each of them has something difficult that troubles us. Moreover, the more we inquire, the more complicated it all becomes. So I'm thinking of having it settled, if possible, by not getting so deeply involved in the particulars. Marriage proposals are rather odd things, aren't they? I might as well tell you now. When Chiyoko was born, your mother said that she wanted her as your future wife — she said this about an infant just out of the womb!" My uncle was laughing and looking directly at me.

"I understand my mother was very much in earnest when she said that."

"Of course she was in earnest. She's an honest woman, my sister-in-law. And really a very nice person. Even now I understand she talks about it quite seriously with your aunt."

He burst into another laugh. I thought that if he took the incident that lightly, I would speak up on my mother's behalf. But at the same time I reflected that if all this was the skillful means by which a man of the world got another person to understand a particular situation, any words put in by me would only be proof of my own stupidity, so I kept quiet. My uncle is a kind man as well as an experienced one. Even now I don't know which of those two sides his words are to be attributed to. But the fact remains that ever since then I have been inclined more and more toward not marrying Chiyoko.

After that evening I stayed away from the Taguchis for about two months. If only my mother hadn't been concerned about it, I might have gotten along quite well without once turning my steps toward Uchisaiwaicho. And even if she was anxious, had my concern about her been the only question, I might have persevered to the very end in having my own way. That's the kind of person I am. But toward the end of those two months I suddenly realized it wasn't in my own best interest to remain so obstinate. The truth was that the more I alienated myself from the Taguchis, the more my mother began trying to find every possible opportunity to be in contact with Chiyoko. So the situation was becoming even more tense in that what I most feared — my mother's entering into direct negotiations with Chiyoko— might occur at any moment. I made up my mind to move the crisis one stage forward. With this resolve I again began crossing the Taguchi threshold.