Natsume Soseki - Light and dark

“I wouldn’t say finished exactly.”

The next words were the woman’s.

“Katsu-san, there’s someone in there.”

“There is?”

“Isn’t there a fresh tub?”

“Of course — it might be a little hot yet.”

From down the hall came the sound of another door opening, presumably to the bath Katsu had led them to. Almost at once the door at the entrance to Tsuda’s tub rattled open again.

“Good evening.”

So saying, a small man with a square face entered the room.

“Shall I do your back, Boss?”

Stepping down at once to the sink, he filled a small bucket with hot water from the springs. Tsuda was obliged to present his back to him.

“You must be Katsu-san?”

“One and the same, Boss — how did you know?”

“I heard you mentioned just now.”

“I see. I don’t recollect I’ve seen you down here before.”

“I just got here.”

“Ah!” Katsu exclaimed again and laughed.

“From Tokyo?”

“Right.”

Using words like “inbound” and “outbound,” Katsu pursued a more precise answer. He followed with other questions — Had he come alone? Why hadn’t he brought his wife along? — and provided sundry information: the couple just now were silk-thread dealers from Yokohama; evenings, the wife gave her husband a lesson in puppet theater recitation; his own old lady was a skilled singer of traditional songs. Having been told more than he needed to hear, it seemed to Tsuda that Katsu-san had touched on every subject but one. That subject was of course Ki-yoko. This was more than a little disappointing. But he wasn’t equipped with a means of coaching the man, and in any event before there was time Katsu-san, having run on about this and that, had finished washing and rinsing his back.

“Please take your time.”

Watching Katsu leave the bath, Tsuda felt no need to stay longer. He toweled himself dry and stepped outside. But when he had climbed the stairs with the wet towel in his hand, passed the sink and the mirror at the top, and turned once down a corridor, he realized, as he had feared, that he had lost his way back to his room.

AT FIRST he had walked along scarcely noticing. He wasn’t even certain whether he had passed this way before with the maid; the blurred memory was part of a pale d ream. But when he had failed to arr ive anywhere that seemed even vaguely to resemble his room, notwithstanding the distance he had traveled down one hallway after another, he stopped short.

Hold on. Can I have passed it? Or is it just ahead?

The halls were brightly lit. He was able to proceed in any direction he liked. But there was no sound of footsteps to be heard anywhere. There were no maids to be seen hurrying back and forth. Putting down his towel and soap, he tried clapping his hands as he did in his study at home when he wished to summon O-Nobu. But there was no response from any direction. Unfamiliar with the premises, he had no idea in which direction he might find the maids’ room. As he had come in through an entrance at the back of a thickly planted garden, indistinguishable from the front entrance of a private residence, the locations of the front desk or the kitchen or the service entrance were as good as secrets from him.

When he had tried clapping several times and confirmed that no one was responding, he retrieved his towel and soap with a faint smile. He began to feel amused. Perhaps circling around and around until in the end he came to his room was a kind of adventure. In the spirit of someone intentionally savoring an experience he had never had at an inn, he began to walk again.

The hallway came abruptly to an end; up two or three steps at an angle were more sinks. Into four glittering metal basins in a row, water that was piped either from the mountain or directly from the hot spring was running in an uninterrupted stream from nickel-plated faucets; not only were the basins full, but a thin film of overflow like colorful crystal was constantly running down the sides. The surface of the water in the basins, subtly agitated by the incoming stream, trembled minutely.

Tsuda was accustomed to using tap water, and his eyes quickly tricked him into forgetting where he was. His only thought was that water was being wasted. He was on the verge of turning the faucets off when he became aware of his own misapprehension. At the same time he felt strangely stirred by the irregular eddying on the surface of the water in the white enamel basins.

How quiet it was! Just as the maid had said as she served him his supper. More precisely, the reality itself affirmed her words, though in fact it was far quieter than he had imagined at the time. It wasn’t simply a matter of thinking it odd that no guests were in evidence; one had to wonder if the place were deserted. In the silence the electric lights illuminated every corner. But this was merely light; there was neither sound nor movement. Only the water in the basins moved. It circled like an eddy, rippling across the surface and folding in on itself as he watched, as if it were breathing.

He looked away from the water and encountered abruptly the figure of another person. Startled, he narrowed his gaze and peered. But it was only an image of himself, reflected in a mirror hanging alongside the sinks. It wasn’t full length, but it was large, at least as long as the mirrors in a barber shop. It was also, like a barber’s mirror, due to the space it occupied, perpendicular: not only his head but his shoulders and trunk and hips as well were reflected back at him in the same plane as he was standing. Even after he had recognized that he was facing an image of himself, he was unable to avert his eyes. Though he was fresh from the hot bath, he looked pale. He couldn’t understand how that could be. His hair, badly in need of a haircut and disheveled, covered his head like a mop. Having just been soaked in the tub, it glistened like lacquer. For some reason it put him in mind of a garden in the aftermath of a violent storm.

He was handsome, with regular features. The skin of his face had a silky abundance that was wasted on a man. He was inveterately confi-dent about his looks. He couldn’t remember ever glancing in a mirror and failing to confirm his confidence. He was therefore a little surprised to observe something in this refection that struck him as less than satisfying. Before he had determined that the image was himself, he was assailed by the feeling that he was looking at his own ghost. Horrified, he resisted. He widened his eyes and studied the reflection even more closely. Stepping closer, he picked up the comb in front of the mirror. He combed his hair carefully, composing himself.

When he finished with the comb and threw it down, the spell was broken; he was looking for his room as before. Glancing up the stairs facing the sinks, he perceived something distinctively different about them. The steps were a third wider than usual. And they were built so sturdily it seemed they wouldn’t creak even if an elephant ascended them. Moreover, unlike ordinary stairs, they were thickly varnished as if they belonged in an imitation Western building.

No matter how inattentive he may have been, Tsuda was certain he had not come down these stairs on his way to the baths. Realizing that ascending them was not the way back and resolved to retrace his steps once again, he turned away from the mirror.

JUST THEN he heard a shoji door being slid open and closed again on the second floor. Judging from the imposing stairway, the rooms upstairs in this large building seemed likely to number more than two or three, yet the sound had reached Tsuda with a distinct immediacy that allowed him to gauge the distance of the room from where he stood. Immediately at the top of the stairs there appeared to be the sort of sizable room with a wood floor commonly seen in restaurants and other similar establishments. He couldn’t determine its width from below, but judging by the wall at the back it appeared easily deep enough to accommodate the long side of a tatami mat, about six feet. Without ascending the stairs, there was no telling whether the hall twisted in three directions or simply moved down either side of the room, but it seemed certain that the sound of the shoji must have issued from the room immediately behind the wall and accordingly closest to the stairs.