Natsume Soseki - Kusamakura

“When you say tea, you mean the ceremonial sort?â€​

“No, there’s no ceremony about it at al . It’s the kind of tea you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.â€​

“Wel then, I’d be more than happy to have a cup while I’m there.â€​

She titters again. “My father loves to have someone to show his col ection to. . . .â€​

“Does that mean I have to praise his things?â€​

“He’s an old man, so he’d be thril ed if you did.â€​

“Al right, I’l give them a bit of praise, then.â€​

“Oh, come on, why not make it a discount and praise them lots?â€​

It’s my turn to laugh. “By the way,â€​ I remark, “you don’t use the language of a country girl, do you?â€​

“You mean, even though I have the character of one?â€​

“As to character, country people are better than city folk.â€​

“Wel then, I’ve got the upper hand there.â€​

“But you must have spent time in Tokyo, surely?â€​

“Yes, and in Kyoto too. I’m a wanderer, so I’ve been al over the place.â€​

“Which do you prefer, this vil age or Tokyo?â€​

“There’s no difference.â€​

“Doesn’t life feel easier in a quiet place like this?â€​

“Easy, difficult—you can make it whatever you want, depending on your state of mind. There’s no point in moving to the land of mosquitoes because you’re sick of the land of fleas.â€​

“You could go to a land of neither fleas nor mosquitoes.â€​

“If you know such a place, go ahead and show me. Go on,â€​ she persists, leaning closer, “show me!â€​

“I’l show you if you want,†I say, picking up my sketchbook, and I draw—not a picture, since it’s done quite on impulse—just a hasty sketch of a woman on horseback looking at a mountain cherry tree. “Here,†I say, thrusting it under her nose, “come inside this world. There are no fleas or mosquitoes here.â€​ Wil she register surprise? Embarrassment? I watch her, certain that she won’t be upset.

She evades the problem by dismissing it. “What a cramped little world it is!†she exclaims. “It has only length and breadth. You like this sort of two-dimensional world? A crab is what you are.â€​

I burst out laughing. The bush warbler that has just begun to cal by the eave breaks off his song at the sound and flies away to a farther branch.

We both pause in our talk and listen intently for a while, but once interrupted that voice wil not easily begin again.

“You met Genbei on the mountain yesterday, didn’t you?â€​

“Yes.â€​

“And did you visit the grave of the Nagara maiden on your way here?â€​

“I did.â€​

“‘As the autumn’s dew that lies a moment on the tips of the seeding grass so do I know that I too must fade and be gone from this brief world,’â€​ she recites swiftly, without any modulation to her voice. I can’t guess what has prompted her.

“Yes, I heard that poem at the teahouse yesterday.â€​

“The old lady told you, did she? She came as a servant to our house original y, you know, before I went off as a . . .†she begins, then casts me a quick glance to see how I’l react. I feign ignorance.

“It was while I was stil young. Every time she came I’d tel her the story of the Nagara maiden. She could never remember the poem, but eventual y she heard it so often that she did manage to memorize it al .â€​

“Aha, so that’s it. I must say I wondered how she came to know something so difficult. But it’s a touching poem, isn’t it?â€​

“Is it touching? I wouldn’t compose a poem like that, myself. To begin with, how sil y to go throwing yourself into a pool.â€​

“Yes, I suppose it is, now that you mention it. What would you do?â€​

“There’s no question what I’d do. The only thing to do is to have the two men as your paramours.â€​

“Both of them?â€​

“Yes.â€​

“You’re amazing.â€​

“There’s nothing amazing about it. It’s perfectly obvious.â€​

“Yes, I see—in that case you wouldn’t have to commit yourself to either the flea world or the mosquito world, would you?â€​

“One can get by in life without having to think like a crab, after al .â€​

At this moment the half-forgotten bush warbler, its ful energy restored, bursts out with a startlingly splendid high-pitched cal . Hooo-hoKEkyo!

Once revitalized, the lilting cal s begin to flow forth again seemingly of their own accord. “Body flung upside down,†as the famous haiku has it.8 The base of its swel ing throat atremble, its “smal mouthâ€​ almost split open with the ful ness of its song, as the bird cal s again and again.

Hoo-hoKEkyoo! Hooo-hoKEkkyoo!

“Now that is real poetry,â€​ she says firmly.

CHAPTER 5

“Pardon my asking, but I’m guessing you’re from Tokyo, are you, sir?â€​

“I look like a Tokyo man, do I?â€​

“Look like it? Why, a single glance . . . First off, I can tel just from hearin’ you speak.â€​

“Can you tel whereabouts in Tokyo?â€​

“Yees, wel , Tokyo’s awful big, ain’t it. But I’d make a stab it’s not the downtown part. Uptown Yamanote area, I’d say.

Maybe Kojimachi? No? Wel then, Koishigawa? Wel , it must be Ushigome or Yotsuya, then?â€​

“Not too far wrong, yes. You certainly know your Tokyo, don’t you.â€​

“You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I’m an old Tokyoite myself.â€​

“So that’s it. I could tel you had some style.â€​

He chuckles. “Not a bit of it! Just look at me now, misery that I am. . . .â€​

“So how did you end up spending your days in a place like this?â€​

“No kidding, you’ve hit the nail on the head there, sir. End up here is exactly what I’ve done. Just couldn’t make ends meet. . . .â€​

“Have you always been boss of a barbershop?â€​

“Not a boss, a worker. What’s that? Where, you say? I worked in Matsunaga-cho in Kanda. Tiny filthy little place it is, Matsunaga-cho, not even room to swing a cat. The likes of you wouldna heard of it. You know Ryukanbashi Bridge? What? Don’t know that either? Ryukanbashi, famous bridge.â€​

“Hey, could you soap that up a bit more? It’s hurting.â€​

“Hurts ya, does it? I’m the fussy type, ya know, not happy til I can dig right in and get every hair on yer face, like this, shavin’ against the grain, see? Not something your barber of today does, oh no, he just strokes, he does. You just put up with it a bit longer.â€​

“I’ve been putting up with a lot for quite a while now. Come on, add a bit more hot water or soap, can’t you?â€​

“Can’t take it, huh? It didn’t oughta be that painful. Yer whiskers have gotten too long, that’s what the problem is.â€​

Reluctantly, he lets go of the pinch of flesh he’s been gripping on my cheek. Then he takes down a wafer of red soap from the shelf, dips it briefly in cold water, and without further ado quickly runs it al over my face. I’m not at al used to the experience of having raw soap rubbed over me like this; nor am I too impressed with the water he dips it in, which looks as if it’s been sitting there who knows how long.