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This is a translation of “The Second Night” from Natsume Soseki’s 1908 work of short stories 夢十夜, also known as Yume Juuya, Ten Nights’ Dreams, and Ten Nights of Dream. I will refer to my own translation as Ten Nights and Dreams, to make it more original.

I had this dream.

I had left the priest’s room, and when I returned to my room via the passageway, the paper lantern was burning faintly. I fell to a cushion on one knee and when I poked at the wick, a flower-like clove suddenly fell to the vermilion-lacquered stand. At the same time the room burst into light.

The painting on the sliding screen door was Buson’s work. Here and there black willow trees were drawn with shades of light and dark, a cold looking fisherman with his bamboo hat askew was passing along the top of an embankment. A scroll of “Monju Crossing the Sea” was hanging in the alcove. The dark portion of the burnt remains of incense was still fragrant. The temple was large, so it was silent and deserted. As I looked up, the round shadow from the round paper lantern that shone on the black ceiling looked almost alive.

I sat with one knee upright and flipped the cushion over with my left hand. When I thrust my right hand into the cushion it was right where I thought it would be. If it was there it was a relief, so I put the cushion back and sat on it heavily.

“You are a samurai. There should be no reason why a samurai can’t attain enlightenment,” the priest said. “So if you try to carry that part of you that can’t reach enlightenment forever, you must not be a samurai. You’re human waste…Ha ha, you’re mad,” he said with a laugh. “If you regret it then bring back proof that you’re enlightened,” he said and abruptly turned his back to me. It was insulting.

I would surely reach enlightenment before the clock set in the alcove in the neighboring hall strikes the next hour. After I was enlightened, tonight, I would again enter the priest’s room to be educated. Then, I would exchange enlightenment with his neck. If I wasn’t enlightened then I couldn’t take his life. I had to become enlightened at any cost. I am a samurai.

If I couldn’t become enlightened I would commit suicide with my sword. There can be no meaning in living for a samurai that has been humiliated. I would die beautifully.

When I thought this my hand went again, unconsciously, under the cushion. I pulled out a dagger with a vermilion scabbard. I gripped the handle tightly. When I drew the scabbard off, the cool edge of the blade lit up the room at once. It made me think that some amazing thing was escaping from my hand. It would all gather at the tip of my blade, my thirst for blood concentrated into a single point. I looked at the sharp edge, unfortunately shrunken like the head of a needle, down twelve inches to where it inevitably came to point, and suddenly, I wanted to stab. My body’s blood started to flow to my right wrist and the handle became slimy. My lips quivered.

I put the dagger back in its scabbard and fixed it to my right side. Then I sat in the Lotus position—the Zen master Zhaozhou had said “Nothing.” What is nothing? “Damn priest!” I said gnashing my teeth.

Since I was strongly clenching my teeth, I violently exhaled hot breath from my nose. My temples cramped and hurt. My eyes opened at least twice as large as normal.

I could see the hanging scroll. I could see the paper lantern. I could see the tatami. I could vividly see the priest’s bald-kettle-head. I could even hear his sneering voice from his fat open mouth. Insulting priest! I must remove that kettle-head at all cost. I’d enlighten him! “Nothing, nothing,” I recited from the root of my tongue. And in spite of nothing the incense still smelled. Hateful incense!

I suddenly clenched my fist and hit myself in the head terribly hard. Then I gnashed my teeth. Sweat poured from my armpits. My back became like a rod. My knee joints suddenly became painful. I wondered what I would do if my knees broke. But it hurt. It was painful. Nothing wouldn’t come. When I thought nothing would come, it instantly became agony. I was getting angry. I was vexed. I was becoming extremely frustrated. Tears fell from my eyes. Once and for all, I wanted to throw my body onto a large rock, and smash my flesh and bones to pieces.

Yet I endured and sat still. I endured while an almost unbearable sadness filled my chest. That sadness was lifting up the muscles of my body and hurried to try to blow out of my pores. But it was completely blocked. It was like being in a state of the most extreme cruelty without escape.

While that was happening my head became strange. The paper lantern and Buson’s painting, the tatami and the staggered shelves looked there and not there, I could see them not there and there. But nothing didn’t appear at all. It was like I had just sat there half-assed. Then, all of a sudden, the clock in the next room started to chime.

I was startled. My hand went instantly to my dagger. The clock chimed a second time.

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 16th, 2005 at 6:45 pm and is filed under Translation, Natsume Soseki’s “Ten Nights and Dreams”. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.