Sōseki: Ten Nights' Dreams - The Fourth Dream

In the middle of the wide dirt floor something like a bench had been placed, and around it small stools had been arranged. The bench shone with a black luster. In the corner, an old man with a small square table set before him was drinking sake alone. His appetizer looked like meat and vegetables boiled in soy sauce.

The old man was becoming quite red thanks to the fine sake. Moreover, his face had a bright complexion, and I couldn’t see anything that even looked like a wrinkle. The only way you could tell he was old was by the full white beard he had grown. As I was a child, I wondered how old he could be. And then the proprietress came in carrying a bucket of water that she had collected from the water pipe out back. While wiping her hands on her apron she asked, how old are you old fellow?

The old man swallowed the food he had stuffed in his mouth and gravely stated, I’ve forgotten.

The proprietress took her now dry hands and stuck it in her thin obi, stood and watched the old man’s face from the side. He gulped down sake in a cup as big as a bowl and blew out a long breath from between his white beard with a sigh. Then the proprietress asked, old fellow, where is your home?

The old man interrupted a long breath and said, deep in my belly button. The proprietress, with her hands stuck in her thin obi, asked again, where are you headed? Once again the old man gulped down hot sake from the cup as big as a bowl, and like before, breathed out a sigh and said, I’m headed over yonder.

When the proprietress asked, are you going straight there? the breath the old man expelled passed through the shoji screen, under a willow tree, and headed straight toward the river beach.

The old man went out the front. I left after him. He had a small gourd hanging from his waist. From his shoulder, he had a square box hanging down under his armpit. He was wearing pale yellow fitted trousers and a pale yellow sleeveless coat. Only his socks were yellow. They looked, somehow, like they were made from leather.

The old man went straight until he was under the willow tree. Three or four children were under there. Laughing, he pulled a pale yellow hand towel from his waist. It had been twisted long and thin like paper string. He placed it on the ground, and then he drew a large, round ring around the hand towel. Finally, from the box hanging from his shoulder, he pulled out a candy seller’s flute made of brass.

Let’s keep looking, let’s keep looking, soon the towel will become a snake, he repeatedly said.

The children watched the towel determinedly. I also watched.

Let’s keep looking, let’s keep looking, okay? he said while he blew on the flute, and he started going round and round the ring. I looked only at the towel. But it didn’t move at all.

The old man whistled on his flute, and over and over he went around the ring. He went around like he was standing on the tips of his straw sandals, like he was walking on his tiptoes, like he was being deferential to the towel. It looked frightening. It also looked interesting.

Before long the old man abruptly stopped playing the flute. He opened the lid of the box hanging from his shoulder, picked up the neck of the towel slightly in his fingers, and threw it in.

If I put it in, it’ll become a snake inside the box. I’ll show you soon. I’ll show you soon, he was saying as he started walking straight. He passed under the willow tree and went down to a narrow road. I wanted to see the snake, so I followed him to wherever the road led to. Now and then, the old man said as he walked, soon it’ll happen, and it’ll become a snake.

In the end, as he was singing, soon it’ll happen, it’ll become a snake, it surely will, my flute will sing, we finally came to the shore of the river. Since there were no bridges or boats, I thought we might rest here and he would show me the snake in the box. The old man started to splash into the river. At first the water was only as deep as his knees, but then quickly from his waist, up to his chest, he became submerged and harder to see.

But even then, while he was singing, it’s getting deep, it’s turning night, it’s becoming straight, he walked straight to wherever. Then his beard, and his face, and his head, and his hood completely disappeared from sight.

I thought the old man would show me the snake when he came up on the opposite shore. He would be standing where the reeds rustled, waiting alone forever. But in the end, the old man never came up.


(Natsume Sōseki, translation by Chris Pearce)


My comment:

History and Universe. We live in History, where each fact has a sense. For us there should always be reason and outcome. But this is only our logic. The Universe has its own way, and for us it seems gratuitous. Actually the Universe is unknown for us. The Universe has nothing in common with our reasons and expectations, with our past and future. A hundred years is nothing, there is no past, no future, only eternity.



(Sōseki)