Eminent Authors of Contemporary Japan/Volume 1/The Awakening
The Awakening
(“Nobijitaku”)
(A Short Story)
By
Toson Shimazaki
Translated by
Eitaro Sayama & Eric S. Bell.
Toson Shimazaki
Toson Shimazaki
Haruki Shimazaki (Toson is his pen-name), the author of the following story, ‘The Awakening,’ was born in the 5th year of Meiji, in a far away place in the mountains of Kiso, in the province of Nagano, Japan.
When he was a boy he came to Tokyo and studied English Literature at the Meiji Gakuin. After graduating from that school, he became a school-teacher in a school at Komuro, in his native province. After that he taught in a school in Sendai.
When he first began to write he was known as a poet, and his writing was always romantic and idyllic. He showed a vivid sense of sentimentalism in all his poems.
Later, he became influenced by naturalism, due to his love and keen study of European literature.
His first great novel, ‘Hakai’ (Apostasy), which was published in the 39th year of Meiji, marks one of the epoch-making works of naturalism in Japan. Then followed ‘Sakura no Mi no Jukusuru Koro’ (When the Cherries Ripened), ‘Shinsei’ (New Birth), and other excellent stories.
In writing, Mr. Shimazaki never fails to get at the truth that lies at the depths of life. His mode of expression is soft and tender. I must not forget to mention that his ‘Arashi’ (Storm) is one of his most loved works.
The Awakening (“Nobi Jitaku”)
As is the case with most girls of fourteen or fifteen years old, Sode-ko, at that age, had become rather indifferent to her dolls.
Sode-ko had been a mere child in the way she fussed about the dresses and underwear for her dolls. How many little gowns and hoods she had made for them, and what enjoyment it had brought to her childhood! She had possessed various kinds of dolls; some of the cheaper ones had been bought at a toy-shop in the neighbourhood, and a few of these had lost their heads, and some had been thrown away, because of their smeared faces and broken noses. But in her collection was one particular doll which her father had bought her once when she visited Maruzen’s with him before the great earthquake disaster, and this one had the longest life of them all. This beautiful doll was a new arrival from Germany, and was dressed in real European style. It had cost little, but was strongly made. It was a boy doll, with brown clustering curls, and when it was laid on its back it closed its pretty round eyes, and when it was raised into a sitting position it opened them wide again.
This doll was kept upstairs in an honoured place amongst her very best toys. Sode-ko spoke to it and treated it as if it were a real boy. She adored it with such love that she often embraced and caressed it with fervour. She carried it in her arms, and every day she dressed and undressed it, and even made it a little bed and a tiny pillow to rest upon. Whenever she happened to be absent from school with a cold, it was always this particular doll which was chosen to sit cross-legged near her bed, and with its smiling face it seemed to listen intently to the fairy tales which she told it.
A little girl who lived near by would often call upon Sode-ko, and would say:
“Sode-ko-san, let us play.”
Her name was Mitsu-ko, and her hair was cut across her brow in the style of little girls who attend kindergarten. Sometimes Sode-ko would go to see her when she had a little time to spare, and they would play happily together, making all kinds of pretty things from folded paper, or amusing themselves in other ways. At such times, the boy doll was always with them.
But Sode-ko’s love and devotion for her dolls gradually waned, and she did not go to play with Mitsu-ko so often as before. However, before she had finished the first course of the higher elementary school, being fond of the company of other children, she could not be without someone or something to play with, so she began to bring a little boy, of two years of age, the son of a neighbour, to her house. But he was a very quiet baby compared with the headstrong Mitsu-ko, her former playmate.
His name, Kinnosuke, suited him well. He had a lovely face, with plump cheeks which dimpled merrily when he smiled. He was very obedient to Sode-ko, and so they got on well together. How much easier it was to amuse him than to amuse Mitsu-ko, who was restless, and often proved too much for Sode-ko! She was able to go anywhere she liked carrying this baby boy like a doll in her arms, or if she desired, she could keep him always at her side.
Kinnosuke was born in the month of January, two years before, but he could hardly speak at all. The only sounds that came from his rose-bud lips were “uma, uma,” or some sounds to that effect. The only other word that he knew was “Char-chan,” and this he used when he wanted to address his mother, or any other person who was dear to him.
When he was with Sode-ko, he was often brought into close contact with her father and her two brothers, but he never once addressed them as “Char-chan,” for this word was kept specially for the ones who were specially dear to him. It was Ohatsu, the maid-servant, who had first brought Kinnosuke to play with Sode-ko, for she too was extremely fond of little children.
“Char-chan!” was the cry from the child as he toddled toward the sitting-room to seek for Sode-ko. “Char-chan!” And when he went into the kitchen to seek for Ohatsu, this also was the name that he called. He would cling, intensely happy, to the shoulders of Sode-ko or Ohatsu, or would follow them about, hanging onto their skirts.
In March snow fell, and covered the town like cotton-wool, and again completely melted away in the night. But there was no little voice calling Mitsu-ko then. It was always “Kinnosuke-san, Kinnosuke-san!” instead.
“Sode-ko-san, why don’t you play with me now? Hsve you forgotten me?”
Mitsu-ko’s voice was heard calling from the window of a neighbouring upstairs window. Her precocious girlish voice sounded clear in the early spring air.
Sode-ko had been busy preparing for an entrance examination of a certain girls’ school, and had returned home late from class. As she approached the house, she heard the shrill voice of Mitsu-ko, but passed on without paying any heed to her call. She entered her home and found Ohatsu sewing and playing with Kinnosuke near the paper shutters of the sitting-room.
That afternoon, Sode-ko provoked Kinnosuke, and for the rest of the day he never left Ohatsu’s side.
“Char-chan!”
“Yes, Kinnosuke-san.”
Thus these two exchanged words of love with one another in the presence of Sode-ko, and each time that the baby called to her, she smiled lovingly upon it.
“Char-chan!”
“Yes, Kinnosuke-san.”
“Char-chan!”
“Yes, Kinnosuke-san.”
Ohatsu’s voice became so loud that Sode-ko’s father appeared at the door with a smiling face.
“What a noise you are both making! From my room it sounds as if you were both singing a duet!”
“Sir,” she said, smiling in turn from Sode-ko to Kinnosuke, “I love little Kinnosuke very much, and he and Sode-ko have had a quarrel today.” This remark made the father laugh. Sode-ko began to feel embarrassed as she looked at the baby who refused to leave Ohatsu’s side. The little fellow was so fair in complexion that one almost wished he had been a girl. His silken eyebrows, his little parted lips, his short downy hair, and his childish brow were very pretty to see. His somewhat sulky yet innocent expression, as he looked at Sode-ko, made him even prettier to look upon. There was no such sweetness in the lifeless doll that Sode-ko used to adore with such passion.
“After all, Kinnosuke-san is Sode-ko’s doll,” said the father good-naturedly.
Sode-ko’s father was a widower, but somehow he had managed to bring up his children alone, as men who lost their wives in early manhood are often able to do. But he must not laugh at his daughter for treating Kinnosuke like a doll, for after all, wasn’t Sode-ko her father’s doll too? Father had always chosen his daughter’s dolls himself, and had carefully chosen the best one from Maruzen’s stock of German dolls. Just as Sode-ko had made many dresses for her dolls, so had her father chosen the most tasteful kimono for his little girl.
“Sode-ko-san looks wretched in such plain frocks. When are you going to allow her to wear brighter and more becoming clothes?”
This remark would sometimes be made by lady visitors, but her father took no heed of such remarks. His daughter’s clothes must be as neat as possible, and always according to his own taste. He always had chosen her clothes for her, for he wanted to keep her a child as long as he could, and liked to look upon her as his own pet doll.
One morning, Ohatsu was working in the kitchen, and turning round suddenly, she saw Sode-ko standing near her. She was extremely pale, and hung her head in silence.
“Sode-ko-san, what is the matter?”
At first, Ohatsu was puzzled, for the child did not answer, but only stood silently with hung head. Suddenly, an older woman’s intuition told her the truth. She was a strong woman, and seeing that the child looked weak and ill, she took her gently in her arms and bore her to the sitting-room. She laid her down in the corner of the room, and said as kindly as possible:
“You need not be anxious, Sode-ko-san. I know what is the matter, and I will attend to you … it is every young woman’s experience … you had better remain away from school today, and keep to your bed.”
Sode-ko had no mother and no grandmamma to tell her what would happen to her when she reached the first stages of womanhood, and such a thing was so unexpected to Sode-ko. It had come just as she was very busy with her lessons preparing for her entrance examinations, and she seldom stayed away from school.
When the warm spring sun of March was shining through the shutters of the sitting-room, her father came to see her, and enquired anxiously from Ohatsu about his daughter’s condition.
“She is a little …”
She replied vaguely to the question put to her. Sode-ko was silent, for staying in bed made her unhappy, and she was also rather restless. Her father was very anxious about her, and visited her room many times that day. Ohatsu, seeing his anxiety, was unable to conceal the child’s real condition any longer.
“Sir, Sode-ko-san’s illness is nothing to be anxious about.”
On hearing this, the father left the room in doubt. He had always been in the habit of acting as mother to his child, looking after her clothes, and attending to her with the utmost care, but somehow today he felt that he no longer possessed the confidence of his young daughter. He felt that he was only the poor male parent, who could not ask anything further from Ohatsu.
“What is the time now, by the way?” he remarked as he was passing out of the door, and glancing at the clock, he saw that it was ten o’clock.
“Her brothers will be back at noon,” he went on, “Ohatsu, if the children enquire what is the matter with Sode-ko, tell them that as she had a headache I bade her remain home from school.”
The father pondered over the questions that her brothers would ask when they came home from school, and in his mind he was puzzling what to answer them.
A little before noon, the two brothers returned one after the other, in very good spirits. The first, finding Sode-ko in bed, said in surprise:
“What are you doing there? Whatever is the matter?” Sode-ko shrank back a little in her bed when she saw his jeering face. It was hard for her to keep back her tears. He knew nothing about her indisposition, and seemed to understand nothing, but continued roughly.
“How can you stay away from school only because you have a headache? You molly-coddle!”
“Don’t be so hard on her,” Ohatsu answered, trying to make him be quiet. “I advised her to remain at home. Do not blame her, but me.”
A strange silence followed, and even the father was unable to explain things in any better way. He paced to and fro along the corridor of Sode-ko’s room, and it seemed to him that the last day of his daughter’s childhood had come. The day when she was no longer his cherished doll had arrived.
“Ohatsu, I beg you to take charge of Sode-ko.” After saying this, he went back to his room.
Sode-ko spent a distressing and hateful day in bed. In the evening, she heard Mitsuko’s high voice, mingled with the voices of other little girls and boys playing outside. The evening was mild and sweet, and Sode-ko knew that young green grass would be springing up freshly in the night, but sad thoughts weighed heavily upon her mind.
The next day, she was able to dress herslf and was going to school as usual, for she felt she must study very hard, or she would have to stay one more year in her present school. Just as she was leaving, Ohatsu told her of her own experience when she first became a woman.
“With me, it was very late. It happened when I was seventeen. I wish I had told you about it earlier. I have often thought of speaking to you, but I feared it might be too early, so I kept silence until now. I think that you better absent yourself from the gymnastic lesson today, Sode-ko-san.”
Uneasy and anxious, blushing and confused at the mere thought of this thing, Sode-ko went off to school. She wanted hard to understand this change, which, once gone through, seems quite a natural thing, and she puzzled hard over the possible reasons for its occurrence. She had been told everything by Ohatsu, but she ardently wished that her dear mother were yet alive and could have folded her in her arms and comforted her at such a time. When she arrived at school she had a feeling that she was not quite the same as usual. She seemed to have lost her freedom, and felt constrained and depressed. She seemed to have been suddenly separated from her playmates of yesterday, and looked sadly at the other children playing merrily with their teacher at ball and skipping-rope in the corner of the playground.
A week later her health was quite restored. All that flows is pure. As the young grass gathers strength to grow from the snow of spring, so did Sode-ko rapidly become stronger and more full of life. She looked about her and said to herself:
“At last, I feel well and at ease again in my heart.” But something struck her as she looked round her. It was a deep feeling of sadness at the thought of parting with her childhood. She could no longer look at the children with the same eyes as before, and when she beheld Mitsu-ko running merrily around the house, with laughing, artless face, and her little head of dark fleecy hair, she longed to be back again in her own innocent childhood.
The difference between man and woman was plain to her now. Quite unlike her free and easy-going brothers, she felt that she must stand on her guard. If she had not yet thoroughly learned about the world of grown-up people, she had at least peeped into it, and she was filled with wonder at its inexpressible mysteries.
Ohatsu, who loved children dearly, would often bring Kinnosuke to her home and play with him. The innocent boy clung to Sode-ko’s shoulders, or followed her about as usual.
“Char-chan!”
There was no change in the sweet voice of Kinnosuke. But Sode-ko felt that he could not hold him in her arms as she used to do in the days that had passed.
Sode-ko’s mother had died from profuse bleeding after childbirth. As she was dying, a red tide of blood ebbed from her poor tired body, and so she died.
The tide that had so rapidly ebbed from the mother’s body flowed again—after fifteen years—in the doll-like frame of the daughter, in exchange for her death. A tide that moves in and out to the waxing and waning of the moon in the sky, a miracle, yet not a miracle—this was far too great a problem for Sode-ko to comprehend. That it ebbed and flowed regularly, as everybody said, she could not believe. An unfounded anxiety constantly troubled her and destroyed her happiness, and Sode-ko, in this uneasiness of her heart, often trembled and panted on the wayside which leads from the world of children to the kinddom of grown-ups.
The End