Pathway to Japanese Literature

Snake

On this summer night that seemed reluctant to darken, I wondered why I’d ended up lodged in such a clamorous house. Swatting at mosquitoes that persistently buzzed around my cheeks, I gazed vacantly from the two-mat engawa at the cramped little garden beyond—a space crowded with tightly arranged stones and planted with various trees.

Beside the zabuton cushion sat an earthenware mosquito-repellent incense burner. Blue smoke rose ceaselessly from the holes pierced in its sides, swirling in the windless engawa and coiling around me—yet still the mosquitoes swarmed insistently at my face.
Because I had drunk two or three cups of the unpleasant sake served with dinner, I thought my breath must reek of alcohol.
I shouldn’t have drunk it, but my parched throat had betrayed me—a decision I now regretted.

When I had been guided this far earlier, even judging by the number of rooms we passed through—a grand house that seemed steeped in history yet oddly devoid of people for its size—the sound of a woman talking incessantly reached me without pause from beyond several rooms.

The speech was dreadfully rapid, and the words were impossible to make out. The local dialect’s “nii” syllable—like the counting beads of a Buddhist rosary—rang clearly through gaps in the monotonous stream of words. In Tokyo, you know—that’s how they’d put it. This was a station in the mountains of Shinshu.

I listened attentively for a while, but not a single word from the other party reached my ears. The woman appeared to be talking to herself.

The old man who had come out to greet me said apologetically, “We have a patient here, so it may be causing a disturbance,” but surely no patient would keep talking like that incessantly.

Could she possibly be a madwoman?

Though I couldn't make out the words, judging by her tone, she seemed to be pleading for something from whomever she addressed.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock tolled.
I took out my pocket watch and saw that it was ten o'clock.

The moon shone on the small garden.
Its light was a pale, hazy bluish-white.
Though yesterday's rain on the mountain pass had dried under the day's sun and today's path was good, the moss in the little garden remained damp.
Recalling how at dusk, when the old man had brought me here saying, “This side should be somewhat cooler for you,” there had been a large toad that stayed perfectly still except for occasionally opening its mouth wide to swallow the mosquitoes I loathed, I looked beyond the water basin—but nothing remained there now.

The eight-tatami room adjoining this engawa had a tokonoma alcove with a thick black-lacquered frame, upon which hung a darkened literati landscape painting.
On the tightly shut sliding doors across the way, a poem by Du Shaoling was written in stark, angular characters.
Thinking I heard some sound, I looked toward the sliding doors. There, beyond a dim lamp mounted on a bamboo tube stand, a fusuma inscribed with “和気日融々” slid open, and out came the old man from earlier, clad in an old unlined kimono and hakama.

“I have prepared your bedding over there.”
“Whenever you wish to retire.”

“Right.”
“I don’t think I can sleep yet.”
“Your way of speaking isn’t like the local people’s.”

“Oh.”
“In my youth, I served in Tokyo, so it must be somewhat different,” he said, scratching his bald head.

As the house gradually grew quieter, that woman’s voice became more distinct than before.
I inadvertently pricked up my ears, whereupon the old man, seeing this, spoke as follows.

“I sincerely apologize.
“It must be terribly disturbing for you.”

The old man’s manner of speaking was not merely a perfunctory apology but seemed to stem from genuine remorse, so I found myself feeling rather sorry for him.
But at the same time, the more I listened, the more suspicious his manner of speaking became, and though aware it might be indiscreet, I resolved to ask about what sort of woman she was.

Unaware of this, the old man pressed only his right fingertips against the tatami and raised his hips. Then he looked at my face and said.

“Is there anything else you require?”

“Well.
“There’s nothing in particular, but if you aren’t busy, there’s something I’d like to ask.”

“Not at all.
“Not at all.
“Please feel free to ask me anything at all.”
He settled back into a seated position.

“Tell me now.
“People around here probably don’t stay up this late even in summer, but would it be all right if I kept you here talking like this?”

“Oh.
“Here, unlike an inn, we retire relatively early, but in any case, I will be holding a vigil again tonight.”

“So you’re holding a vigil?”
“That would mean there’s been a recent bereavement in the household.”

“Ah.”
“Since the master’s mother passed away, tomorrow will mark the fourteenth day, so it will be.”

“Hmm. I hear there’s a patient here too—and being in mourning besides—so taking in lodgers like this must be quite troublesome for you.”
“That was truly thoughtless of me.”
But since I’d already imposed myself on them through circumstance, there was nothing to be done about it now.

“Since the engawa is somewhat cooler, why don’t you come over here for a chat?”

“Thank you kindly.”
“No, not at all.”
“For our household to be entrusted by the prefectural office with providing lodging is an utmost honor.”
“Though we must be causing you great inconvenience by humbly making you stay in such a place as this, for our household, this too is one way of repaying gratitude to those above us.”

While saying this, the old man noticed the mosquito-repellent smoke had grown sporadic, took out fresh incense from the cupboard to replace it, and settled back into his place.
And then, as I asked, he began to speak about such things in fragments.

The Hozumi family was said to be one of the three great households in Su District and the prefecture.

The deceased former master had been a large taxpayer who was on the verge of becoming a member of the House of Peers, but citing illness, he retired early.
He revered Mr. Sakuma Shōzan and kept the Shōkenroku by his side until his death.
The old man said, “A book of poems written entirely in square characters—whatchamacallit.”

And yet he was a Buddhist believer.
People henceforth needed to know about Western matters.
However, they were not to become Christians.
He had read Christian books but found them all shallow, saying they did not even come close to Buddhism’s feet.
Thus he would even tell someone like me about Buddhism’s invaluable aspects on a regular basis.
That was not particularly difficult.
The old man said it had been taught that one needed only never to forget the Four Graces—that this alone sufficed.
Indeed, I now recalled that earlier too, when speaking of what might be termed a national obligation, he had called it “repayment of gratitude.”

The former master’s wife was truly a gentle woman who never once opposed her husband in anything. And she had kindly looked after and employed those beneath her—starting with himself—and treated them considerately. The one who would reach her fourteenth-day memorial tomorrow was this woman. Having lived a long life of eighty years until her recent death, she had made it a practice to give twenty-five sen each to ten beggars every day; therefore, in recent years, the county office had been investigating the impoverished and having them come by turns to receive it. There were those among the young servants who would laugh behind her back, calling them "the Retired Madam’s guests," but none ever did anything to hurt the feelings of those who came to receive.

This couple had no children for some reason and were lamenting bitterly when, in the early years of the Meiji era, the Madam became pregnant at forty.
The couple was overjoyed, but the obstetrician summoned from Nagano reportedly frowned, saying he had never handled a first birth at forty before.

Even so, the current master was born safely. Around the time elementary schools were first established, he became known even to the prefectural office for his academic excellence. Around that time, I decided to become a merchant and went into apprenticeship at a wholesaler in Nihonbashi that did business with the master. They had a policy of only employing those who had served since their apprenticeship days, but through the master’s guarantee, I was allowed to train as a clerk apprentice.

At the time of the Satsuma Rebellion, when the wholesaler had supplied military provisions and seen considerable profit, four or five years had passed since then. Just when I had become a senior clerk and was set to be given a wife and branch off under their shared name, the former master of Hozumi suffered a stroke and died suddenly at sixty-five years old. It was said that through barely intelligible speech—“Entrust everything to Seikichi”—the Retired Madam had finally comprehended what he meant.

I returned to this land without delay.
The Retired Madam was over fifty, yet the current master had only just entered middle school in Nagano.
From then on, he took charge of all Hozumi family affairs and ended up living single his entire life.

The current master, who had been reputed to be a good child, gradually grew into a somewhat frail youth as he came of age.
His academic performance remained excellent.
Inheriting the former master’s will—who had insisted he absolutely must earn a bachelor’s degree—the Retired Madam had taken charge of overseeing this.
The current master, who attended middle school while lodging at a temple where the former master had put the head priest at ease, would return for summer and year-end holidays—something the Retired Madam eagerly anticipated.

From around that time, the current master’s health began to deteriorate.
If he studied even a little too hard, he would grow dizzy and faint.
There were instances where he collapsed in the lecture hall and had to be escorted back to the temple by his classmates.

Nevertheless, he managed to graduate from middle school adequately, but after going to Tokyo and taking the higher school entrance exams, he repeatedly failed and gradually became neurotic.
Because it was said that he shouldn’t be made to overexert himself, they advised him from the sidelines and decided to enroll him in Waseda.
From then on, he gave up and no longer studied much.

When he eventually came of age, he took the one-year volunteer soldier exam but was rejected due to his physique.
In the very year of the First Sino-Japanese War, he graduated from Waseda and returned home.

Thinking he had now become a full-fledged man, I tentatively tried consulting him about managing the Hozumi household—something I had until then only formally reported to the Retired Madam—but he would merely say, “Seikichi, I leave it to you. Carry on as before,” and refuse to give it further consideration.
Then, thinking there must be something he was passionately devoted to, I paid close attention—yet I couldn’t discern it.
Since he treated the Retired Madam, already over sixty, with kindness and had entrusted all household affairs to me, he was an excellent master in that regard, but I began to feel he lacked vigor.

What I found most puzzling was when he married his current Madam at twenty-four, the year after returning from Tokyo.
Though their fortune was smaller than the Hozumi family's, there was a daughter from an old family known in the same county—one who had also gone to Tokyo, graduated from a girls' higher school, and returned.
They say someone from Echigo once saw this girl and remarked that while their province was known for beautiful women, none could compare to Otoyo-san.
When Otoyo-san was young, people at festivals where she happened to meet Hozumi's current master would tease that Hozumi Chisoku and Otoyo-san would make a fine couple. Though neither family had discussed it, rumors spread that her going to Tokyo for training was to avoid being outdone when marrying into Chisoku's household.
When she turned eighteen, she returned from the capital around the same time as Hozumi's son.
Thus their marriage became something practically forced upon them by those around.
When consulted by his mother about this matter, the current master said, "Whatever's fine."
His mother—interpreting this reserved response from a son who'd lived in morally questionable Tokyo yet remained untouched by women—took it as eager acceptance and immediately set things in motion.
The other side appeared to have been waiting.
Even the daughter herself seemed expectant—a fact conveyed through the matchmaker's words to the Hozumi family.
By the time formal arrangements concluded—when this rare auspicious match made Nagano's newspapers—amid relatives' praise and strangers' envy, only Old Man Seikichi found the young master's demeanor unsettling.
This reminded him of when the wholesaler's master first mentioned getting me a wife.
I was thirty-five then.
Having worked myself to exhaustion by then, my days of heart-pounding at women's mention had passed, leaving my mind settled.
Yet merely hearing I'd be given a wife—with no particular candidate in mind—left me restless for days, unable to focus.
If the master's "whatever's fine" had been polite deference to his mother's wishes, that would be one thing—but his very demeanor suggested true indifference.
He didn't care about the family business.
He didn't care about his wife either.
That couldn't be right—so I alone thought.

The wedding concluded successfully.

It was the next morning.
The breakfast trays had been arranged.
Until then, the Retired Madam and young master would sit at the head.
I was to take my place at the lower seat.
This custom had persisted since the year the former master passed away.
Owing to his final wishes and my status as more than a mere servant, the Retired Madam had established this arrangement.
Though a widow, she being past sixty meant such proprieties were deemed unnecessary.
Among the relatives were those strict about formalities, yet no objections were raised about this matter.

That morning, the master sat in the center, with the Retired Madam and the bride seated on either side.
Seeming pleased at having acquired a beautiful bride, the Retired Madam cheerfully addressed the master.
The master responded.
The bride kept her head bowed and listened, but without properly eating anything, she silently left her seat before anyone else.
I watched from across the room and thought she had probably left because she felt awkward.
The Retired Madam and the master must have thought the same.

However, at both noon and evening meals alike, only the bride left her seat early.
From the following day onward, she began coming out late to eat under various pretexts.
When the master inquired why, she declared she found the Retired Madam’s stories utterly intolerable.
This was a custom unique to the Hozumi household—during meals, they would recount exemplary words and deeds from their vicinity.
It was a practice left by the former master.
The tales resembled something one might find on the social pages of a newspaper.
If no notable events occurred, anyone might share something read in a book or heard from others the previous day.
For this reason, whether listening to conversations or reading texts, they made a habit of noting matters that could seed mealtime discussions.

The master also found it strange.
There might be people who find tales of good deeds and wise sayings uninteresting to hear.
Yet they were not particularly unbearable to listen to.
Even if irritating, there should be no reason one couldn’t endure them.
Wondering why, he decided to ask the bride.
When he did so, she reportedly declared she detested such hypocritical tales.

After hearing this, the Retired Madam grew taciturn and increasingly restrained.
When not spoken to, one naturally feels inclined to speak—such is human nature.
She bore it.
Bearing it became habitual, until she suppressed even her desire to speak of other matters.

The Hozumi household became a house of silence.

When I had heard this much of the story, the sliding door inscribed with “Harmony Melts Like the Sun”—the same one Old Man Seikichi had emerged from earlier—swished open again.

When I looked, a refined man of about forty appeared, wearing a Satsuma kasuri-patterned kimono with a black gauze haori draped over it. In a voice that seemed nervously excited, he said:

“I am the master of this household, and my name is Hozumi Chisoku.”
“Since you have been staying here, Doctor, and yet I failed to come greet you—only to suddenly appear before you now—you must think me a most peculiar fellow. But in truth, I have been unwell for about two weeks now and was resting.”
“When we received the notification from the county office under the prefecture’s directive, though we were in mourning and considered refusing, recent misfortunes had continued one after another, and this old man seemed deeply desolate—so he suggested that if we had a renowned scholar like yourself stay here, we might perhaps gain some useful insights.”
“Though I knew it would cause you inconvenience, we accepted your lodging request.”
“From what Seikichi has been telling you earlier, our entire family has truly fallen into a wretched predicament.”
“I had come as far as the doorway a short while ago.”
“I am aware that an educated person should not eavesdrop.”
“However, since suddenly visiting without having come to welcome you or offer my greetings seemed rather discourteous, I hesitated.”
“As Old Man Seikichi says, ever since I was small I caused my mother nothing but hardship, and yet I ended up letting her die in that lonely house.”
“In that regard, I believe I did everything possible in terms of material provision.”
“However, in her later years, my mother lived a terribly lonely life for the sake of us as a couple.”
“In that case, people would say, ‘Why not divorce your wife?’ but such a thing isn’t so easily done.”
“For some reason, since my wife has long been childless, divorcing her does not seem to be such an easy matter.”
“Yet we do have the Civil Code in this day and age.”
“There is no clear-cut wrongdoing I can point to in my wife.”
“She isn’t kind to my mother.”
“That being said, she doesn’t go so far as to be physically rough.”
“Even if I were to attempt divorce, my wife would of course not consent.”
“In my wife’s mind, she had been thinking that by spending each day like this, a time would eventually come when she would enter a joyful life.”
“With my wife being that way and no agreement being reached, even if I were to propose something, her family relatives would not consent.”

“What reason could I possibly give?”
“She doesn’t speak much.”
“What reason could that possibly be?”
“Of course, that could never serve as grounds for a court dispute.”
“Moreover, there is also the matter of social reputation.”
“The Hozumi family is an old-established house well-known throughout Shinshu.”
“I do not want our family affairs written about in newspapers.”
“Thus have fourteen or fifteen years finally passed.”
“As for Old Man Seikichi—being such a dutiful man with formidable endurance—he has quietly attended to household matters all this time, though deep down he likely considers me spineless or believes I indulge my wife.”
“I am by no means indulging her.”
“If called weak-willed and ineffectual, there is nothing I can do.”
“The cause lies in my lack of a settled life philosophy.”
“Though my sickly constitution prevented university entry, I studied various disciplines.”
“Had I possessed some foundational ideology for living—something worth sacrificing everything to uphold—perhaps some resolution might have been reached by now.”
“I would disregard society’s praise or censure.”
“Let people die if they must.”
“Were I to deem even my own death acceptable, resolution might have come.”
“Lacking that conviction, I remain paralyzed.”
“And now my mother has finally died.”
“My wife too has gone mad in this fashion.”

“I too have no idea what will become of me.”

The master’s bloodshot eyes remained fixed unblinkingly on my face.
I shuddered.
Only Old Man Seikichi kept sitting with arms crossed and head bowed.
The clock struck eleven.

“Then, the voice that had been speaking until just now was Madam’s?” I asked.

“That’s correct. It’s always like that until just before eleven o'clock. In a state of hallucinations or something similar，she keeps talking in that manner and doesn't sleep until completely exhausted.”

“I see. According to Mr.Seikichi，Madam’s dislike for tales of virtuous words and deeds was said to mark the start of unpleasantness within the family—but what exactly was the reason behind it?”

“It’s utterly absurd.”
“In my wife’s view, there are no true good people among humans.”
“Even if they did exist, they would be something like one in a vast country or one emerging over a thousand years—but among those we actually associate with, such beings cannot possibly exist.”
“When people do or say good things, it’s always with some ulterior motive—they’re just benefiting themselves.”
“That’s despicable.”
“On the other hand, nobody wants to do bad things.”
“But since there’s no need to go proclaiming that, it’s better to keep silent.”
“Even if she were to speak up again, she claims that speaking honestly about bad things would be neither falsehood nor baseness.”
“Hearing my wife say such things with her gentle face and beautiful voice struck me as both ridiculous and perplexing.”
“Then something strange happened.”
“Was it last year? When I was in Tokyo, a friend I’d grown close with at school came to visit a hot spring and stopped by my place.”
“This man said something like this:”
“I took a wife and had many children.”
“But this wife of mine refuses to acknowledge any concept of authority and won’t listen to a word I say.”
“Even if you argue it wouldn’t satisfy one’s parents, wouldn’t satisfy the authorities, wouldn’t satisfy God or Buddha or the Heavenly Emperor—none of these serve as leverage to make this woman comply.”
“He insisted that all women graduating from girls’ schools these days seem to hold ideas resembling those of anarchists and socialists.”
“At the time I thought he was making rather extreme claims as I listened, but upon reflection, even my own wife doesn’t acknowledge authority.”
“Could it be that modern women have become like animals—fighting against everything in this struggle for survival?”
“How on earth did things come to this state?”

“If one leaves it neglected, that’s how it turns out.”
“A baby is a born égoiste, you see.”

“But why are they different from men?”

“No matter how you put it, men are those in whom rationality prevails.”
“You were told earlier that you lack a life view, but even without one, you understand society’s stakes.”
“If driven solely by egoism, you know your position would collapse.”
“Dogma goes unacknowledged.”
“I bow to no commandments of ‘thou shalt not.’”
“Yet from profit-loss calculus alone, recklessness stays checked.”
“Even women—those ruled by reason—would act no differently.”
“But such women are rare.”
“Were humans to grasp even mere self-interest truly, recklessness would prove impossible.”
“They call Christ’s mountain sermon lofty—yet even that courts self-interest, you see.”

“I see.”
“If a baby’s eyes are stimulated by something red, they will grab even fire.”
“In the same way, women persist in their selfish desires and bring about their own ruin.”

“Well, that’s about how it is.”
“So you let the baby cry to keep them from grabbing fire.”
“You do not treat babies the same as adults.”
“Whether they be anarchists or socialists, they are mistaken because they attempt to treat even the lowest of humans as rational beings.”
“This is precisely the case with the issue of universal suffrage.”
“Something like majority rule may also be abandoned in the future if some better method that should replace it is established.”
“In other words, the ideology of égalité is fundamentally mistaken, you see.”
“Even women—because they cannot see far ahead—if they do something that invites their own ruin, they must be restrained by violence, I suppose.”

“Do you think so, Doctor?”
“In Germany, elementary school teachers are permitted to whip students.”
“And I’ve heard husbands are allowed to beat their wives as well—in your judgment, Doctor, would that too be permissible?”

I involuntarily smiled.
“Someone like me doesn’t possess such thoroughly considered views.”
“Not long ago, someone in France wrote in a newspaper that British flogging was yielding good results.”
“Then Bernard Shaw took the trouble to publish a rebuttal.”
“After all, striking is an extreme measure—codifying rules like ‘teachers may strike’ or ‘husbands may strike’ would be ill-advised.”

“That certainly makes sense.”
“In any case, had I possessed a firm resolve—enough to strike if necessary—I would not have reduced poor wife to such a state.”
“Ah, how pitiable late mother was, and how truly pitiable wife is.”

The master was lost in thought.

I asked.
"What was the motive behind her losing her sanity?"

Old man Seikichi, who had been sitting with his arms crossed, loosened his hands and leaned forward.
“This is truly difficult to say, but upon learning you are a Doctor of Science, we thought if we could ask you to stay with us, we might seek your advice on the matter.”
“It was the evening of the seventh-night memorial.”
“When Madam peered into the Buddhist altar to offer incense, they say a large coiled snake raised its head and stared fixedly at her face.”
“She let out a shriek and collapsed, becoming as she is now.”
“We too were startled, and since there was a young man among us accustomed to handling snakes, we had him catch it and sent it off to be discarded in the fields.”
“As the master is also knowledgeable in modern learning—well, snakes are said to keenly sense things like atmospheric pressure, so before storms they may leave their familiar nests and enter human dwellings.”
“The master had explained its presence in the altar was entirely coincidental.”
“Yet when we checked the altar the next morning, the snake had properly returned.”
“This time I was even more astonished.”
“Such matters must never reach the ears of the lower servants.”
“It seems they’ve been whispering that Madam’s illness is punishment for neglecting the Retired Madam.”
“Should they learn of this, I cannot imagine what they might say, so since then we’ve kept everyone out of the altar room.”
“In truth, I immediately consulted the master residing here, but he dismissed it, saying it was better not to meddle with such a filthy thing and that it would flee on its own someday.”
“Though I believe this mere superstition—and am deeply ashamed to admit it—I wished to consult you upon your arrival, Doctor.”

The master made a bitter face and remained silent.

"Is it still there?" I asked the old man.

“Yes.”
“It has remained there.”

“I see,” I said, then discarded the cigar I had been smoking during our conversation and stood up.
“Let me take a look at it.”

The old man took the lead and guided me.
Upon entering the Buddhist altar room, I saw an imposing altar spanning two ken in width, with multiple candles standing upright and incense burning in a large bronze censer.
The white memorial tablet at the center must have belonged to the newly deceased.
When I peered beyond the censer, there indeed lay a snake.

It was a large Japanese rat snake.
Appearing remarkably well-nourished, its body had grown obese.
The tail—looking as though abruptly severed—extended about six inches before the coiled mass of its torso.

I looked up at the Buddhist altar’s ceiling.
The ceiling, paneled with broad, splendid hinoki planks, had warped over time and aged into jet-black.

The old man sat firmly planted, murmuring Buddhist sutras under his breath.
The master walked with a sleepwalker’s gait—having trailed behind me—and now stood dimly at my back.

I turned to look at the old man and said.
“There’s a storehouse containing rice nearby, isn’t there?”

“Yes. Just one room ahead, there is a storehouse connected to the corridor by the entrance.”

“It came from there,” I said. “Animals are easily governed by habit—once they settle somewhere, they’ll settle there again. Even if you discard it outside, it returns to its original nest. There’s nothing mysterious about it at all. In any case, I’ll take this snake away.”

The old man’s eyes grew round.
“Now then, go call a young man.”

“No—
“Your caution in not letting the young ones see it again is most commendable.”
“Even I can catch a snake.”
“If it were a venomous snake, you’d need a stick.”
“So you press down on its neck, roll the stick along to the nape, and grasp it right at the base of the head.”
“This is what is commonly known as a Japanese rat snake.”
“You don’t need a stick.”
“In the place where my luggage is stored, there is a basket that had yesterday been used to hold char.”
“Please be so kind as to bring that here.”

The old man promptly brought the basket.

I firmly grabbed the snake by its tail, dragged it out with a scraping sound, and hung it suspended mid-air.
The snake raised its head and coiled its body like a twisted rope, but could not reach my hand.
I placed the snake into the basket and closed the lid.

Just as the clock struck twelve.

Before departing the next morning, when I inquired about what doctor had been attending to the master’s wife, he said that even the one called from Nagano was not a specialist in mental illness. Since this concerned such an eminent family, I advised that it would be best to call a specialist from Tokyo to examine her.

(January of Meiji 44 [1911])