Sanshirō – Chapter 1
Natsume Sōseki – 1908
When he awoke, he saw that the woman had struck up a conversation with the old man seated next to her.
This old man was a country fellow who had boarded several stations back. He’d come running on with awild shout as the train was about to pull away. On board, he’d immediately loosened his kimono top to wipe
off his sweat. Sanshirō remembered the moxibustion marks on his back. He’d watched attentively as the oldman put his kimono back in place and then took a seat next to the woman.
Sanshirō and the woman had been riding together since Kyōto. Her dark complexion had caught his eye assoon as she boarded. Once he’d left Kyūshū and transferred to the Sanyō line, he’d noticed the women growfairer in color as he approached the Kyōto-Ōsaka region. It drove home the feeling that he had really left
home, and he felt a tinge of sadness. The woman’s presence in the car was comforting, as though he’d founda compatriot of the opposite sex. Her skin tone was unmistakably southern.
She reminded him of Omitsu Miwata. Omitsu was a pesky girl, and he’d been quite happy to leave herbehind. But he felt now, after leaving, that maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.
In terms of appearance, this woman on the train was far superior, from the tightness of her mouth to thekeenness in her eyes. And her forehead was not unduly wide like Omitsu’s. All in all she had a pleasant air
about her. Every five minutes or so he’d raise his eyes and glance in her direction. Occasionally their glances
would meet. When the old man had sat down next to her, he’d taken the opportunity to study her appearance.
She’d smiled as she invited the old man to share her bench. Shortly thereafter, Sanshirō had grown drowsy
and dozed off.
It seemed that while he’d been sleeping, the woman and the old man had struck up an acquaintance. He
listened in silence to their conversation. The woman was telling the old man her story.
Compared to Hiroshima, Kyōto had better children’s toys at better prices. After attending to some business
in Kyōto, she’d bought toys by the Tako Yakushi temple. She was returning to her home town after a longabsence, and was looking forward to seeing her children, who were staying there. On the other hand, she
was returning to live with her parents under some duress, as remittances from her husband had stopped
arriving. He had worked for a long time as a mechanic in the Kure Naval Arsenal. During the war he’d gone
to work in Ryojun, and he’d returned home after the war’s conclusion. A short while later, he’d decided hecould earn more abroad and had headed back to Dairen. Things went well at first, with regular letters andmonthly remittances. Then, about six months ago, all communication ceased. He wasn’t the type to be
unfaithful, so she hoped for the best, but she couldn’t subsist indefinitely without an income. She wasreturning to her parents’ home to await further news of his status.
The old man hadn’t heard of the Tako Yakushi temple, and he seemed to have little interest in children’s
toys. He merely nodded politely through the first part of her story. However, when she mentioned Ryojun
he suddenly took notice and told her sympathetically that he was very sorry for her situation. His own child
had been drafted as a soldier and had died fighting abroad. He couldn’t understand the meaning of the war.
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It would be one thing if victory had made life easier, but he’d lost a precious child, and life had only become
harder. The whole thing was a fool’s errand. When times were good, men didn’t need to leave their families
to earn a living. It was all on account of the war. At any rate, she must keep her faith. Her husband wassurely alive and well. If she just persevered a little longer, he would certainly return. The old man thussought to reassure her. The train stopped, and he told her to take care. He disembarked with vigor and wenton his way.
Four others followed the old man off the train, and only one boarded in their place. The compartment, which
hadn’t been very full to begin with, suddenly seemed deserted. A station attendant could be heard walking
the roof to drop in lighted lamps from above. As if remembering to do something, Sanshirō started in on thebentō box he’d bought at the last station.
Several minutes after the train had started again on its way, the woman quietly rose and passed by Sanshirōon her way out of the car. He caught sight of her kimono sash for the first time. Chewing on the head of astewed ayu, he watched her from behind as she walked away. Thinking she probably went off to the restroom,
he continued his meal.
The woman came back after a while, and this time Sanshirō watched her from the front. He was almost
through eating. Looking down, he thrust his chopsticks in with vigor and stuffed his cheeks with two or
three mouthfuls. The woman hadn’t returned to her seat. Sensing a presence, he raised his eyes and saw she
had stopped directly in front of him. As soon as he looked up at her she moved, but rather than passing by
and returning to her own seat, she dropped onto the seat in front of his. She turned sideways, put her face tothe open window, and gazed silently out. Sanshirō could see her side locks dancing in the wind. Finishinghis bentō, he hurled the empty box out the open window behind him. Only one window separated his own
from the woman’s. When he saw the white lid fluttering back with the wind, he realized he’d been terribly
careless. He turned quickly to look at the woman’s face, which unfortunately was still at the window. She
withdrew from the window silently and began to gently wipe her forehead with a printed cotton handkerchief.
Sanshirō decided he had best apologize.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he told her.
“Don’t worry,” she replied, and continued with her handkerchief. Sanshirō was at a loss and kept silent. The
woman remained silent too. Then she returned to looking out the window. The weary faces of three or fourother passengers were visible under the dim lamps. No one spoke. Only the roar of the engine sounded as
the train continued on. Sanshirō closed his eyes.
After a while he heard the woman’s voice ask, “Are we close to Nagoya?” Looking up, he was surprised tosee that she had turned around and was leaning over with her face close to his own.
“I expect so,” he replied. It was his first time traveling to Tōkyō, so in truth he had no idea.
“Do you think we’ll arrive late?”“Probably.”
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“You’re getting off in Nagoya too?”“Yes.”
Their train was only going as far as Nagoya. There was nothing at all remarkable about their conversation.
Except that the woman then sat down diagonally opposite to Sanshirō. They continued on for a while with
only the sounds of the train.
When they were stopped at the next station, the woman addressed Sanshirō again. She didn’t want toinconvenience him, but she wondered if he would escort her to an inn when they arrived in Nagoya. She
asked in earnest, adding that she was uneasy about going alone. Sanshirō felt her request was reasonable,
but he found himself reluctant to accept. She was a complete stranger, so he hesitated considerably. However,
he didn’t have the courage to refuse her decisively, so he indulged her with noncommittal answers. Presently,
the train arrived in Nagoya.
His large baggage had been checked through to Shinbashi, so he didn’t need to tend to it here. He picked up
his canvas hand bag and his umbrella and exited through the ticket gate. On his head was the summer hat
from his high school, but to signify his graduation he’d torn off the school insignia. In the daylight, the color
where the patch had been looked newer. The woman followed behind him. He was a little embarrassed now
about the hat, but there was nothing he could do. To her, it must look like any other worn out old hat.
The train had arrived after ten, about forty minutes past its scheduled time of nine thirty. However, since it
was the hot weather season, the streets were still bustling like early evening. They saw several inns directlyin front of them, but to Sanshirō these looked rather expensive. He passed by the row of three-story buildings
with electric lighting and strolled on. He was on unfamiliar turf and had no idea what he’d find, but hemoved on toward darker quarters. The woman followed silently behind. On a relatively deserted side street,the second building from the corner had a sign advertising “Onyado Inn.” The modest sign seemed befitting
to both Sanshirō and the woman. He turned to consult with her, and she said it looked fine, so it was settled
and he walked in. He’d intended to explain on entering that they were not a couple, but they were barraged
with a rapid string of greetings. “Welcome! Come in. Show them to a room! Ume (plum) number four.”
Overwhelmed, the two of them said nothing as they were whisked off to their room.
They sat staring blankly at each other until the maid arrived with tea. When she brought the tea in andannounced that the bath was ready, he couldn’t muster the courage to tell her that the woman wasn’t his
wife. He excused himself, picked up his wash towel, and headed for the bathing room. It was at the end of
the hallway, next to the toilet. The room was dimly lit and filthy. He took off his kimono, jumped into thetub, and thought things over. As he soaked himself and pondered the situation, he heard footsteps in the
hallway. Someone was using the toilet. After the toilet, the sound of washing hands. Then the bathing room
door was drawn open halfway with a creak. “Would you like me to scrub your back?” the woman asked
from the doorway. Sanshirō called back in a loud voice, “No! No, I’m fine.” However, instead ofwithdrawing, the woman entered the room and began to loosen her sash. She intended to share his bath. She
seemed not the least bit inhibited. Sanshirō immediately sprang from the tub. He dried himself hastily andSanshirō – Chapter 1 – Sōseki Project3

returned to the room, where he planted himself on a cushion and sought to regain his composure. The maidcame in with the register.
Sanshirō picked up the register and wrote “Fukuoka Prefecture, Miyako District, Masaki Village, Sanshirō
Ogawa, student, 23.” This was his correct information, but he had no idea what to write for the woman. He
wished he’d waited for her at the bathing room. Now he was stuck here with the maid waiting on his entry.
Seeing no alternative, he wrote arbitrarily “same prefecture, same district, same village, Hana Ogawa, 23,”
and returned the register to the maid. Then he picked up the fan to cool himself.
After a while the woman returned to the room. “Sorry for the intrusion.” Sanshirō told her not to worry
about it.
He took out a notebook from his bag and started his journal entry. He couldn’t write, though he felt he hadlots to write about. The woman’s presence broke his concentration. Then the woman said, “I’ll be back in abit,” and left the room. Now he really couldn’t write. He was wondering where she had gone.
The maid arrived to prepare their bedding. She had brought only a single wide futon, so he told her theyneeded separate beds. She protested that the room was too small, and so was the mosquito netting. His
appeals went nowhere, as she seemed unwilling to trouble herself on his behalf. Finally, she said that thedesk clerk had stepped out for a bit, but she would talk to him when he returned. She stubbornly proceeded
to spread the single futon under the mosquito netting and left.
The woman returned and apologized for her absence. Sanshirō heard a clanging sound as she organized herthings in the shadow of the mosquito netting. No doubt it was one of the toys she had bought for her children.
Finally, she wrapped her things up again into her bundle. From the far side of the netting, he heard her say
goodnight. Sanshirō replied briefly and remained seated on the doorsill, still fanning himself. He thought tostay there all night, but mosquitos were starting to buzz round his head. Enduring a night in the open wasout of the question. He stood up, took out a printed cotton shirt and pair of underpants from his bag, andslipped them on under his robe. Then he fastened a navy blue sash over the outside. Next he took two longtowels with him into the netting. The woman was still fanning herself in the opposite corner.
“Excuse me, but I’m very particular. I can’t sleep on unfamiliar bedding. I’m going to rig up a flea barrier.
Please don’t take offense.”
Thus saying, Sanshirō started at the loose edge and began rolling their sheet toward the woman. When hefinished, there was a long, white partition down the center of the futon. On the other half, the woman rolled
over to rest on her side. Sanshirō spread out the two towels, placed them end-to-end on his own half, andlined himself up on top. Throughout the night, his hands and feet remained securely within the confines of
his towel span. The woman said not a word. She slept facing the opposite wall and never stirred.
Dawn finally broke. They washed their faces and sat down to their breakfast trays. The woman asked witha grin, “Did you survive the fleas last night?” Sanshirō answered, “Yes. Thank you for asking,” in all
earnestness as he kept his head down and poked at a cup of sweet beans.

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They settled their bill and left the inn. When they arrived at the station, the woman disclosed to Sanshirō forthe first time that she would be taking the Kansai Line toward Yokkaichi. Sanshirō’s train arrived shortly.
The woman had some time yet, so she accompanied him as far as his ticket gate. “Sorry for imposing so ...
safe travels and good luck.” She bowed her head to him graciously. Sanshirō held his bag and umbrella in
one hand, removed his cap with the other, and said simply, “Goodbye.” The woman studied his face for a
moment, then commented in a casual tone, “Not exactly a ladies’ man, are you?” She smiled at him
mischievously.
Sanshirō felt as though he’d been hurled out onto the platform. When he entered the train car, both his ears
were still burning. He hunkered in place for a time and made himself inconspicuous. Finally, the conductor’s
shrill whistle echoed down the length of the train, and they began to move. Sanshirō carefully looked out
the window. The woman was long gone, and only the large clocks caught his eye. He sank quietly back into
his seat. There were a good number of fellow travelers in the car, but none took any notice of him. However,a man diagonally across from him had glanced his way as he sat back down.
The man’s glance somehow made Sanshirō self-conscious. He decided to read to distract himself. The
towels from the previous night were stuffed into the top part of his bag, so he pushed them aside and fishedout the first book from the bottom that his hand caught hold of. It was a collection of essays by Bacon thatwere entirely over his head. The volume was in paperback and bound so poorly that one felt bad for theauthor. It wasn’t the kind of material one reads on a train, but he’d forgotten to pack it in his large trunk, so
he’d thrown it into his carrying bag with a couple of other books. Now, by mis-luck of the draw, here it wasin front of him. He opened it to page 23, but he was in no mood to study anything, much less Bacon. He
gave page 23 a respectful perusal, but rather than grapple with Bacon’s words, his mind was intent onrehashing the events of the previous evening.
What kind of woman was that? Were there more out there like her? Were all women so composed andconfident by nature? Or was it ignorance, or daring, or simply innocence? He hadn’t pushed the boundaries,
so he couldn’t know. He should have been decisive and taken things a little further, but he’d been terrified.
And he was floored then when she stated in parting that he was no ladies’ man. He felt as though she’d laidbare all the shortcomings of his twenty three years. Even his own parents had never hit the mark so squarely.
Sanshirō’s thinking to this point had thoroughly dampened his spirits. He felt as though a stranger had
approached him from out of the blue and drubbed him into submission. He was also feeling bad for Baconpage 23 and the disservice he was rendering it.
He shouldn’t have let himself be flustered so. This wasn’t about scholarship or gaining admission to theuniversity, it was about character. He should have carried himself better. However, as an educated man,what else can one do when the other party comes at one like that? If there’s no better prospect, then best to
avoid women altogether. But that seemed cowardly. And it would restrict his activities, as though he were
saddled with some kind of handicap. Then again ...
As if remembering something, Sanshirō suddenly shifted his thoughts to a separate world. -- He was on his
way to Tōkyō. He would enter the university. He would study under renowned scholars. His fellow students
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would be men of refinement and character. He would read in the library. He would publish to great acclaim.
His mother would be happy for him. Indulging himself with thoughts of a brilliant future restored his spirits
considerably, and he no longer felt compelled to hide his face in page 23. He slightly lifted his head. As he
did so, the man seated diagonally across from him glanced his way again. This time Sanshirō returned theglance.
The man had a thick mustache. He was oval-faced and slender, looking somehow like a Shinto priest, exceptthat the bridge of his nose was straight, like that of a Westerner. To Sanshirō, who was immersed in academia,
a man like this fit his image of an educator. The man wore a white kimono with a splashed pattern, layered
over a formal white undergarment. On his feet were navy blue sandal socks. Judging by his dress, Sanshirō
took him for a middle school teacher. In light of his own eminent future, this man was rather trifling. He
must be at least forty, already well past his prime.
The man smoked incessantly. He seemed quite at ease, folding his arms in front of him and expelling longtrails of smoke through his nostrils. On the other hand, he rose numerous times for the toilet or for someother purpose. Sometimes he would stretch his back on rising. He seemed restless. The traveler next to him
had finished a newspaper and set it on the seat, but he made no move to borrow it. Taking some interest in
the man, Sanshirō laid down his collection of Bacon’s essays. He’d thought of digging out a different bookto read in earnest but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He was more interested in the newspaper of theman in front of him. Unfortunately, this man was now dozing soundly. Sanshirō reached out for the paper
and asked the man with the mustache, “Do you mind?”“No one’s reading it. Help yourself.” The man replied with a look of indifference. Sanshirō took the paper,
but he felt a little unsure of himself.
On closer inspection, there was nothing much worth reading in the newspaper. After several minutes he’dflipped through its pages and was done. Folding it carefully and returning it to its original spot, he addressed
the man with a subtle nod. The man nodded in return and asked him, “Are you a high school student?”
Sanshirō was glad that someone had noticed the missing insignia on his worn hat.
“Yes,” he answered.
“From Tōkyō?” the man inquired further.
“No, Kumamoto. But ...” He started to explain, then fell silent. He wanted to tell how he was headed for theuniversity, but he decided there was no need to, so he refrained. The man replied briefly to acknowledge
Sanshirō’s response and puffed at his cigarette. He didn’t ask why a student from Kumamoto would beheading toward Tōkyō at this time of the year. He seemed to take no interest in students from Kumamoto.
At this point the man dozing in front of Sanshirō said, “Yes, I see.” Even so, he was clearly still asleep. He
was certainly not awake and talking to himself. The man with the mustache looked at Sanshirō and grinned.
Sanshirō took the opportunity to ask the man where he was going.
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“Tōkyō,” the man said slowly and stopped there. Maybe he wasn’t a middle school teacher after all.
However, since he was traveling in third class he was obviously not a man of any great importance. Sanshirō
refrained from further dialog. The man with the mustache folded his arms and occasionally tapped on thefloor with the front support of his wooden clog. He looked bored, but at the same time he seemed not todesire conversation.
When they stopped in Toyohashi, the man who’d been dozing abruptly woke and got off the train, still
rubbing his eyes. Sanshirō was impressed that the man could wake himself like that at just the right moment.
It occurred to him that maybe the man, still drunk with fatigue, had confused his stations. He looked out thewindow and confirmed that that wasn’t the case. The man passed through the ticket gate without incident
and went on his way in an ordinary manner. Reassured, Sanshirō re-seated himself, this time on the opposite
bench, next to the man with the mustache.
The man with the mustache in turn went to the window. He leaned out and bought some peaches. He placed
the peaches between the two of them and invited Sanshirō to help himself.
Sanshirō thanked him and ate one. The man with the mustache appeared fond of peaches, and proceeded toeat one after another. “Have some more.” Sanshirō ate one more. Eating peaches together broke the ice, andthey began conversing amiably on various subjects.
According to the man with the mustache, the peach was the ascetic among fruit. It had an indescribableflavor that set it apart from the rest. Then there was that ungainly pit, curiously perforated with holes acrossits surface. Sanshirō had never thought of peaches in this way, and it struck him that the man was expounding
on details of little import.
The man continued talking. “The poet Masaoka Shiki loved fruit. And he was a man of insatiable appetite.
He once ate sixteen large sweetened persimmons, and it didn’t faze him in the least.” He himself, he added,
was of course no equal to Shiki. Sanshirō smiled at this story. He felt himself less interested in fruit andmore interested in Shiki. He hoped the man would say more about him, but instead his subject shifted further.
“One naturally reaches out for what one desires. There’s no stopping it. Pigs don’t have hands like people,
so they reach out with their snouts. They say that if you take a pig, tie it firmly in place, and set a delicacy
before it, its snout will gradually extend. It will keep extending until it reaches the object of its desire.
There’s nothing more frightful than burning desire.” The man related this with a grin. However, from his
manner of speaking, it was unclear whether he was serious or tongue-in-cheek.
“Well, lucky for us that we aren’t pigs. If our noses grew toward everything we desired, then no doubt they’dbe so long by now that we couldn’t board this train.”Sanshirō laughed out loud, but the other man was unexpectedly subdued.
“There’s danger out there. Leonardo da Vinci once injected arsenic into the trunk of a peach tree to see if
the poison would spread to the fruit. Someone ate one of the peaches and died. You have to stay vigilant.

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Dangers lurk.” As he was talking, the man gathered up his mess of pits and peels, wrapped them up in apiece of newspaper, and tossed them out the window.
This time it was Sanshirō who felt subdued. The mention of Leonardo da Vinci had somehow made him
anxious. He remembered the woman from the previous evening and the discomfort she’d caused him. He
drifted into a humble silence. The man seemed to take no notice whatsoever of his change in mood. “Wherein Tōkyō are you headed?”“It’s actually my first time, and I don’t know anything about the place, so for now I’m planning to room inthe dorm with others from Kyūshū.”“Then you’re not going back to Kumamoto?”“No. I’ve graduated.”“Ah. I see.” That was all he said. No “congratulations” or “well done” followed. Only, “Then you’ll bestarting your graduate studies.” He spoke as though it were an everyday occurrence.
Sanshirō was somewhat dissatisfied, so he limited his response to a brief affirmation.
“Which college?” The man pressed further.
“First Division.”“Law?”“No. Liberal Arts.”“Ah. I see,” the man said again. Sanshirō was puzzled by this response. He was either talking to a man ofgreat achievement or to someone dismissive of others’ accomplishments. Or else the man was utterly
apathetic toward higher education. Having no idea which was the case, he was unsure how best to engagehim.
As if by prior agreement, they both bought lunch boxes at Hamamatsu. When they finished eating, the train
was still in the station. Outside the window, a number of Westerners passed by. One pair, who appeared tobe husband and wife, were holding hands despite the hot weather. The woman was beautiful, dressed inwhite from head to toe. Sanshirō had seen only five or six Westerners in his entire life. Two were instructors
at his high school in Kumamoto, one of which suffered from rickets. He knew only one female, a missionary,with a pointed face akin to a barracuda’s. In contrast, these elegant Westerners struck him as not only
unusual, but somehow vastly superior. He gazed intently, drinking in the sight. It was no wonder they carriedthemselves so proudly. He imagined how diffident he would feel if traveling to the Occident and interacting
in such society. He strained to catch the couple’s conversation as they passed in front of his window, but hecouldn’t make out what they said. Their intonation seemed markedly different from that of his instructors
in Kumamoto.

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The man joined him at the window. “I wonder if we’ll be moving soon.” He glanced at the couple who had
passed. “Lovely,” he murmured faintly, then yawned lightly. Sanshirō realized how provincial he must
appear. He quickly drew his head in and sat back down. The man, in turn, retook his seat.
“Aren’t Westerners a splendid sight?” he remarked. Sanshirō had no good answer to give, so he merely
smiled and nodded in agreement.
“We’re a sorry lot,” the man began, “with these faces of ours and our small stature. Our defeat of theRussians, marking our debut on the world stage, does nothing for us. Our houses and our yards are befittingof, and no better than, our faces. -- If this is your first trip to Tōkyō, then I take it you’ve never seen Mt Fuji.
Take a look as we pass. It’s Japan’s premier attraction. There’s nothing else we can boast of. And Fuji isnature’s work. It’s stood there forever. We didn’t create it.” The man was grinning as he concluded.
Sanshirō had never expected to hear such talk after Japan’s victory over Russia. This man struck him as
more foreign than Japanese.
Sanshirō couldn’t let the man go unchallenged. “Japan is marching toward eminence.”“Japan is headed for ruin,” the man stated calmly. -- Such a statement would be met with blows inKumamoto. Or worse yet, with charges of treason. Sanshirō had grown up in a world with no tolerance forsuch thinking. It occurred to him that this man, taking advantage of his youth, might well be playing him
for a fool. The man displayed his signature grin, but his words were calm and deliberate. Sanshirō didn’tknow what to make of him, so he retreated into silence.
The man continued. “Tōkyō is larger than Kumamoto. Japan is larger than Tōkyō. But larger than all ...”The man paused and looked at Sanshirō to see that he was following. “Larger than all are the thoughts inyour head. Don’t ever make them subservient. Blind devotion to Japan won’t serve her, it will only lead toher downfall.”When he heard these words, Sanshirō felt how distant he was from Kumamoto. At the same time, it dawned
on him how docile he’d been in his life there.
That evening Sanshirō arrived in Tōkyō. The man with the mustache went his way, having never offered
his name. Sanshirō, assuming such men were commonplace in Tōkyō, hadn’t bothered to ask.

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