Sōseki: Ten Nights' Dreams - The Eighth Dream

As I crossed the threshold into the barber shop, I saw several people there, all dressed in white, who asked in chorus if they might help me.

I stood in the middle of the room, looking around. It was square. The windows on two sides were open and on the two other walls hung mirrors. I counted six mirrors.

I went to one of the mirrors and eased myself deep into a facing chair, which wheezed pleasantly as my body sank into it. It was quite a comfortable piece of furniture to recline in. I saw my face resplendent in the mirror. Behind it there was reflected a window and slantwise I could see the lattice-work that separated the cashier’s counter from the rest of the shop. Behind it there was no one to be seen. Outside the window I could see reflected clearly the upper-halves of the passers-by.

Shotarou walked by with a woman. He had bought a panama hat which we all took no notice of, and he was wearing it. I wonder when he met that woman. I have no idea of such things. Both of them looked proud of being seen together. I wanted to have a close look at the woman’s face, but I missed my chance as they had already passed by.

A soybean-curd maker passed blowing on his horn, his lips on the mouth-piece, his cheeks puffed out as if he had been stung by a swarm of bees. I could not help worrying about the man and his puffed cheeks. It looked as though he had spent his whole life being stung by bees.




A geisha came up. She had not yet out on her make-up. Her hair was done up in a loose root of shimada knot, which made it look wobbly on top. She looked sleepy, too. A pity her complexion was so extremely bad. She made a bow and introduced herself to someone, but the person was out of range of the window.

Then a big fellow dressed in white stepped up behind me with a pair of scissors and a comb in his hands and began to scrutinize my face. Twisting my thin mustache, I asked him if anything could be done with it. The man I white made no answer, patting my head with the dark brown comb.

I said, listen, aside from the matter of my head, will this mustache ever amount to anything? Still without a word he began to snip at my hair with the scissors.

I tried to keep my eyes open to see everything reflected in the mirror, but I soon closed them because black hairs began flying to and fro and every snip frightened me. The man in white finally said in a loud voice, did you see the goldfish vendor outside, sir?

I said I hadn’t. The man in white did not ask me anything further and continued busily trimming my hair. I suddenly heard somebody bellow, watch out! I opened my eyes to glimpse the spokes of a bicycle wheel visible from just the man’s white sleeve. The steering wheel of a rickshaw cart appeared. Just then the man took my head in both hands and turned it forcefully to one side. The bicycle and the rickshaw snapped out of sight. The sound of snipping was all that could be heard.




The man in white soon came around to my side and started cutting the hair around my ear. I was relieved to open my eyes now that the hairs were no longer flying about. Awa rice cake; rice cake; rice cake, somebody chanted outside. They were making rice cakes, beating out a rhythm with a small mallet against the large wooden mortar. I would like to have had a look at how they were going about it. The last time I had seen Awa rice cake making had been when I was a small boy. The Awa rice cake maker however, never appeared in the mirror. I could only hear the sound.

I peered as hard as I could into the mirror, trying to see inside, beyond the corner of its frame. I saw a woman whom I had not noticed until then. She was a big dark woman with bushy eyebrows. Her hair was done in the gingko style and she was wearing a linen kimono with a black satin decorative collar as she sat on the mat with one knee up, counting bills. The bills looked like ten-yen ones. The woman was counting intensely, eyes down and thin lips drawn tightly. She certainly worked up speed. She acted as though she was going to count bills forever. Yet the number of bills on her knee was a hundred at most; however much she counted them they would never amount to more.

I was gazing absently at the woman’s face and at the bills. Just then the man in white announced loudly in my ear, I will wash your hair. It was a good moment to have a direct look at the scene, so as soon as I stood up I turned around toward the lattice. But nothing, neither the woman nor the bills, could be seen.

I paid and went out, whereupon I found about five oblong basins lined up to the left of the entrance. In them were a lot of goldfish-red ones, spotted ones, lean ones, fat ones. The goldfish seller sat behind the tubs. His eyes were fixed on the goldfish before him. He remained still, with his chin resting on his hands. He hardly cared about the busy people passing by. For a little while I stood looking at this goldfish seller, but all that time he didn’t move at all.


(Natsume Sōseki)

My comment:

The impossibility to catch a moment could tell you a lot about The Time Delusion.

(Sōseki)