Natsume Soseki - Light and dark

He passed the unfurled letter across the brazier to O-Nobu. His wife accepted it in silence but made no attempt to read it. It was this coldness in her attitude that Tsuda had feared from the beginning.

“It’s not as though he needs that rent to manage his payment to us if he wanted to send it. And how much can a fence cost; he’s not building a brick wall.”

Tsuda was speaking the truth. His father may not have been wealthy, but neither were his circumstances such that covering the shortage in funds needed by his son and his young wife for monthly expenses would burden him. It was simply that he lived modestly. Tsuda might have called him plain and simple to a fault. To O-Nobu, far more inclined to extravagance than her husband, the old man appeared to be meaninglessly frugal.

“Your father probably thinks we love to throw money away on things we don’t need. I bet that’s exactly what he thinks.”

“The last time we were in Kyoto he did imply something like that. Old people remember how they lived when they were young, and they tend to think that young people today should behave just as they did when they were the same age. Thirty may be thirty no matter whose age it is, but we live in a completely different world. He once asked me what a ticket cost me when I went to a lecture, and when I told him five yen he looked horrified.”

Tsuda worried constantly that O-Nobu would feel contempt for his father. Even so, he couldn’t avoid speaking critically about him in her presence. And what he said was what he truly felt. By preempting O-Nobu’s own criticism, he was also proffering what amounted to an excuse for himself and his father.

“So whatever shall we do? We can’t make ends meet as it is, and now you’re going in for surgery and that has to cost something—”

Reluctant to criticize the old man out of consideration for her husband, O-Nobu shifted the subject to concrete issues. Tsuda was not ready with a reply. Presently he spoke as if to himself, his voice low.

“If Uncle Fujii had any money I’d go to him.”

O-Nobu gazed steadily into her husband’s face.

“Can’t you write back to Father? And mention your illness in passing?”

“I can always write, but I know he’ll come back at me with something or other and that’s such a nuisance. Once he clamps down it’s harder than hell to break away.”

“But what other options do we have?”

“I’m not saying I won’t write. I intend to do what I can to make our circumstances clear to them, but that won’t put money in our pocket in time.”

“I suppose—”

Tsuda looked O-Nobu squarely in the face. When he spoke, there was determination in his voice.

“How about going to the Okamotos and asking them for a small loan?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! I won’t!”

O-Nobu declined at once. There was no trace of hesitation in her voice. Her fluency, beyond all reserve or consideration, caught Tsuda off guard. The shock he received was as if an automobile traveling at considerable speed had suddenly braked to a stop. In advance of anger or resentment at his wife’s lack of sympathy for him was surprise. He gazed at her face.

“I won’t. I’m not going to the Okamotos with a story like that.”

O-Nobu repeated her refusal.

“Fine! I’m not going to ask you against your will. It’s just—”

These cold yet calmly delivered words O-Nobu scooped up and tossed aside.

“It’s so awkward for me. Every time I visit I’m told how fortunate I am to have married so well with no cares or troubles and no financial worries; I can imagine how they’d look at me if I showed up out of the blue with a sad story about money.”

This allowed Tsuda to satisfy himself that O-Nobu’s categorical rejection of his request was prompted less by a lack of sympathy for him than by her need to maintain appearances in front of the Okamotos. The cold light that had lodged in his eyes flickered out.

“You shouldn’t be carrying on as if we’re having such an easy time. It’s nice to have people think you’re doing better than you are, but there’s no guarantee the time won’t come when that will create its own problems.”

“If anyone’s carrying on it certainly isn’t me — they’ve decided how things are all by themselves.”

Tsuda chose not to pursue this. Nor could O-Nobu be troubled to explain further. For a moment their conversation seemed at an end; then they returned to practical matters. But Tsuda, who until now had suffered little pain as a result of his financial circumstances, had nothing useful to contribute. “Father is such a nuisance!” was all he had to say.

Abruptly O-Nobu shifted her gaze to the colorful kimono and obi as if noticing for the first time her overlooked clothing on the floor.

“Shall we do something with these?” Grasping the edge of the thick obi laced with gold thread, she held it up to the electric light for her husband to see.

“Do something?” Tsuda asked, unsure of what she meant.

“If I take this to a pawnshop, wouldn’t they lend us money on it?”

Tsuda was surprised. If his young bride so recently come to wife had known for years about something he had never once undertaken to do, contriving by one means or another to make ends meet, this surely was an unexpected and a valuable discovery.

“Have you ever pawned a kimono or anything else?”

“Of course not — never.”

Laughing, O-Nobu replied in the negative to her husband’s query as though disdainfully.

“So you have no idea what happens when you take something to a pawnshop.”

“No, but I don’t see how that matters — once we’ve decided to do it.”

Short of an emergency, Tsuda would have preferred not to allow his wife to have anything to do with such disreputable behavior. O-Nobu defended her own suggestion.

“Toki knows all about it. When she was living with us at the Okamotos, she was always going to the pawnshop on errands with a parcel wrapped in a furoshiki .* These days she tells me all she has to do is send a postcard and they come to the house to pick up whatever she has.”

It pleased Tsuda to think that his wife was willing to sacrifice her precious kimono and obi for his sake. But allowing her to make the sacrifice could only be described as painful. More than feeling sorry for her, it was the wound to his pride as a husband that gave him pause.

“Let’s give it some thought.”

Without arriving at any financial solution, he returned to his study on the second floor.

* A furoshiki is a large, silk cloth used to wrap parcels for carrying.

THE NEXT day he went to work as usual. Mid-morning he ran into Yoshikawa on the stairs. But since he was starting down as his employer was on his way up, he merely bowed politely and said nothing. Shortly before it was time for lunch, he knocked softly at Yoshikawa’s door and peeked into the room hesitantly. Yoshikawa, smoking a cigarette, was conversing with a visitor. The visitor was of course unknown to Tsuda. As he opened the door halfway their conversation, which seemed to be in full swing, abruptly ceased, and both host and visitor turned in his direction.

“What is it?”

Addressed before he had a chance to speak, Tsuda halted in the doorway.

“Just a word—”

“Personal?”

Tsuda wasn’t someone who came in and out of this office in the course of normal business. The awkwardness he was feeling showed in his face as he replied.