Natsume Soseki - Kusamakura

The woman takes two steps in pursuit of him. She is wearing straw sandals. He pauses—has she cal ed him? As he turns, her right hand goes to her waist. Watch out!

What she produces is not the dagger I anticipate, however, but a cloth object like a purse of money. Her white hand holds it out toward him, a long string swaying below it in the spring breeze.

One foot placed before her, the body bent slightly from the waist, the extended white hand and wrist, and that purple cloth bag—this image is al I need for a picture.

The composition, with its dash of purple, is beautiful y connected by the perfect balance of the man’s turned body a few inches away. Distant yet close—that expression could have been made to fit this moment. The woman’s figure seems to draw him toward her, the man’s seems drawn backward by her, yet these forces are merely notional. The relationship between them is cleanly broken by the edge of the proffered purple bag.

The interest of the picture is intensified by the fact that the delicate balance these two figures maintain is set against the clear contrast in their faces and clothes.

This swarthy, thickset, bearded man; that delicate form, with her long neck and sloping shoulders and firm, clear features. This wild figure twisted harshly toward her; that elegant shape, sleekly graceful even in her everyday kimono, leaning gently forward from the waist. His misshapen brown hat and indigo-striped garment tucked to the thigh; her elegant curve of hair, combed to a gossamer glint, and the captivating glimpse of padding deep within the glowing black satin of her obi folds—al this is marvelous material for a picture.

The man puts out his hand and takes the purse, and at once the beautiful y balanced tension in their mutual poses disintegrates; the woman’s figure ceases to draw him, while he in turn has broken free of that force. Painter though I am, I have never before realized just how powerful y psychological states can influence a picture’s composition.

They move apart now, to left and right. No tension holds the two figures in relation, and the composition has lost al vestige of coherence. At the entrance to the wood the man pauses and turns to look back, but the woman never glances behind her. She is walking smoothly toward me. At length she arrives directly in front of me.

“Sir!â€​ she exclaims, and again, “Sir!â€​

Damn! When did she notice me?

“What is it?â€​ I inquire, poking my head up above the japonica. My hat tumbles back onto the grass behind me.

“What are you doing there?â€​

“I was lying here composing a poem.â€​

“Liar! You saw what happened just now, didn’t you?â€​

“Just now? You mean, you two. . . . Yes, I did see a bit.â€​

She laughs. “You didn’t need to just see a bit. You could have watched al of it, you know.â€​

“To tel the truth, I did see quite a lot.â€​

“There you are, then! Come on over here a moment. Come out from under that japonica.â€​

I meekly do as instructed.

“Was there something else you wanted to do there?â€​

“No, I was just thinking of heading back.â€​

“Wel then, let’s go together.â€​

“Very wel .â€​

Stil submissive, I return to the clump of japonica, put on my hat, retrieve my painting equipment, and set off to walk beside her.

“Did you paint anything?â€​

“No, I gave up.â€​

“You haven’t painted a single picture since you’ve been here, have you?â€​

“That’s so, yes.â€​

“But surely it’s odd coming here special y to paint and then producing nothing?â€​

“There are no odds about it.â€​

“Real y? Why not?â€​

“What’s the odds whether I paint a picture or not, after al ?â€​

“That’s a pun, isn’t it.â€​ She laughs. “You’re very nonchalant, I must say.â€​

“What’s the point of coming to a place like this if you’re not going to be nonchalant?â€​

“Oh, come now. No matter what place you’re in, being alive has no point unless you’re nonchalant. Look at me, I’m not at al embarrassed to have been seen as you saw me back there.â€​

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, surely.â€​

“You think so? So who do you imagine that man was?â€​

“Hmm. Wel , he certainly isn’t someone with a lot of money.â€​

She laughs again. “A good guess. You’re a master of insight, aren’t you! Actual y, he has so little money he can’t stay in the country, and he came to get some money from me.â€​

“Real y? Where did he come from?â€​

“He came from the town down there.â€​

“That’s a long way. And where is he going?â€​

“Wel , it seems he’s going to Manchuria.â€​

“What wil he do there?â€​

“What wil he do there? I don’t know, he may make some money, or he may die.â€​

I raise my eyes to look at her. The little smile that has been hovering on her lips is rapidly disappearing. I can’t guess the meaning of her words.

“That man is my husband.â€​

Quick as a flash, she has landed me a slashing blow! I’m utterly caught by surprise. I had of course had no intention of asking who he was; nor had I expected her to expose herself to me like this.

“How was that? Did I surprise you?â€​ she said.

“Yes, you did a bit.â€​

“He’s not my present husband. He’s the one I had to sever relations with.â€​

“I see. So . . .â€​

“So nothing. That’s al .â€​

“I see. . . . That fine white-wal ed house over there in the mandarin orchard, it’s in a nice place, isn’t it? Whose house is it?â€​

“That’s my older brother’s house. Let’s cal there on the way home.â€​

“Do you have some business there?â€​

“Yes, he’s asked me to do something.â€​

“I’l come with you, then.â€​

When we reach the beginning of the path down the mountainside, we don’t descend but turn right and, after a climb of a little over a hundred yards, arrive at the front gate of the house. Rather than proceeding straight to the entrance, we go to the garden at one side. Nami strides boldly along, so I fol ow suit. Three or four palms stand in the south-facing garden. Immediately beyond the earth wal , the mandarin orchard begins.

Without preliminaries, Nami seats herself on the edge of the veranda and remarks, “It’s a fine view. Look.â€​

“Yes, it certainly is.â€​

Behind the sliding doors to the house, al is quiet. Nothing suggests anyone is home. Nami shows no sign of cal ing on anyone. She simply sits at her ease, gazing down at the slope of mandarin orchard beyond. I feel rather puzzled. What business has actual y brought her here?

Our conversation has petered out, and we sit on in silence, looking at the mandarin trees. The noonday sun floods the mountain with its warm rays, and the mandarin leaves that fil our vision seem to steam and glitter. After a while a cock crows loudly in the barn behind the house.

“Good heavens, it’s noon!†Nami exclaims. “I was forgetting what I had to do. Kyuichi! Kyuichi!†She reaches over and slides open the door with a slight clatter. I can see a large empty room; a pair of scrol s in the style of the Kano School hang somehow mournful y in the alcove.4 “KyÅ«ichi!â€​