Natsume Soseki - Light and dark

Why would she have married him? Because she chose to, no doubt. But she couldn’t possibly have wanted that. And what of me, why did I marry the woman who is my wife? No doubt our marriage happened because I chose to take her. But I have never once felt that I wanted her. Chance? Poincarré’s so-called zenith of complexity? I have no idea .

Alighting from the streetcar, he walked ruminatively home.

TURNING THE corner and entering a narrow street, Tsuda recognized the figure of his wife standing in front of the gate to their house. She was looking in his direction. But as he rounded the corner she turned back to the street in front of her. Lifting her slender, white hand as if to shadow her brow, she appeared to be looking up at something. She maintained the stance until Tsuda had moved to her side.

“What are you looking at?”

As if surprised by his voice, Tsuda’s wife quickly turned to face him.

“You startled me — welcome home.”

As she spoke, she turned her sparkling eyes on him and drenched him in their light. Then, bending forward slightly she dipped her head in a casual greeting. Tsuda halted where he stood, half responding to the coquette in her and half hesitating.

“What are you doing standing here?”

“I was waiting — for you to come home.”

“But you were staring at something.”

“A sparrow. You can see the sparrow nesting under the eaves across the street.”

Tsuda glanced up at the roof of the house. But there was no visible sign of anything that appeared to be a sparrow. His wife abruptly extended her hand toward him.

“What?”

“Your stick.”

As if he had just noticed it, Tsuda handed the cane to his wife. Taking it, she slid open the lattice door at the entrance and moved aside for her husband to enter. Close behind him, she stepped up to the wooden floor from the concrete slab for shoes.

When she had helped him change out of his kimono, she brought from the kitchen a soap dish wrapped in a towel as he was sitting down in front of the charcoal brazier.

“Go and have a quick bath now. Once you get comfortable there you won’t feel like going out.”

Tsuda had no choice but to reach out and take the towel. But he didn’t stand right away.

“I might skip a bath today.”

“Why? You’ll feel refreshed. And dinner will be ready as soon as you get back.”

Tsuda stood up again as he was told. On his way out of the room he turned back toward his wife.

“I stopped in at Kobayashi’s on the way home from work and had him take a look.”

“Goodness! What did he say? By now you must be mostly better?”

“I’m not — it’s worse than before.”

Without giving his wife a chance to question him further, he left the room.

It wasn’t until early that evening, after dinner and before he had withdrawn to his study, that the couple returned to the subject.

“I can’t believe it, surgery is horrible; it scares me. Couldn’t you just ignore it as you’ve been doing?”

“The doctor says that would be dangerous.”

“But it’s so hateful, what if he makes a mistake?”

His wife looked at him, bunching slightly her thick, well-formed eyebrows. Tsuda smiled, declining to engage her. Her next question seemed to have occurred to her abruptly.

“If you do have surgery won’t it have to be on Sunday?”

On the coming Sunday his wife had made a date with relatives to see a play and bring Tsuda along.

“They haven’t bought tickets yet so you needn’t worry about canceling.”

“But wouldn’t that be rude? After they were kind enough to invite us along?”

“Not at all. Not under the circumstances.”

“But I want to go!”

“Then do.”

“And you come too, won’t you? Won’t you, please?”

Tsuda looked at his wife and forced a smile.

AGAINST THE fairness of her complexion her well-formed eyebrows stood out strikingly, and it was her habit, almost a tic, to arch them frequently. Regretfully, her eyes were too small and her single eyelids were unappealing. But the shining pupils beneath those single lids were ink black and, for that reason, very effective. At times her eyes could be expressive to a degree that might be called overbearing. Tsuda had experienced feeling helplessly drawn in by the light that emanated from those small eyes. Not as if there weren’t also moments when abruptly and for no reason the same light repelled him.

Glancing up abruptly at his wife’s face, he beheld for an instant an eerie power resident in her eyes. It was an odd brilliancy utterly inconsonant with the sweet words that had been issuing from her lips until now. His intention to respond was impeded a little by her gaze. In that moment she smiled, exposing her beautiful teeth, and the look in her eyes vanished without a trace.

“It’s not so. I don’t care a bit about going to the theater. I was just being spoiled.”

Tsuda was silent, unable for a while longer to take his eyes off his wife.

“Why are you frowning at me that way? I’m not going to the play so please have your surgery on Sunday, won’t you? I’ll send the Okamotos a postcard or drop in and tell them we can’t come.”

“Go if you want to, they were nice enough to invite us.”

“I’d rather not — your health is more important than a play.”

Tsuda felt obliged to tell his wife in more detail about the surgery in store for him.

“This isn’t a simple matter of draining the pus out of a boil. I have to flush out my colon with a laxative before the doctor goes to work with his scalpel, and apparently there’s a danger of hemorrhaging after the incision is made so I’ll have to lie still in bed five or six days with the wound packed with gauze. But that means, on the other hand, I could postpone until Monday or Tuesday or even move the date up to tomorrow or the day after and it wouldn’t make much difference — in that sense it’s an accommodating condition.”

“It doesn’t sound so accommodating to me, having to lie in bed for a week without moving.”

His wife arched her eyebrows again. As if indifferent to this display, Tsuda, lost in thought, leaned his right elbow against the brazier between them and gazed at the lid on the iron kettle atop it. Beneath the russet bronze lid the water in the kettle was boiling loudly.

“I suppose you’ll have to take a whole week off?”

“I’m thinking I won’t pick a date until I’ve had a chance to let Yoshikawa-san know what’s happening. I could just stay home without saying anything but that wouldn’t feel right.”

“I think you should talk to him. He’s always been so kind to us.”

“If I do say something he might tell me to check in to the hospital right away.”

At the word “hospital,” his wife’s small eyes appeared suddenly to widen.

“Hospital? It’s not as if you’ll be going to a hospital.”

“It’s the same thing—”

“But you said once that Dr. Kobayashi’s place isn’t a hospital — it’s only for out-patients.”

“I suppose it’s more of a clinic, but the second floor is available for staying over.”

“Is it clean?”

Tsuda forced a smile.

“Maybe cleaner than our place—”

It was his wife’s turn to smile stiffly.

TSUDA, WHOSE custom it was to spend an hour or two at his desk before going to bed, presently rose. His wife remained where she was, leaning comfortably against the brazier, and looked up at her husband.