Read Online I Am a Cat by Natsume Sōseki - Free Book Online Page B

silly answer, but I could do no other since I couldn’t think of anything brighter to say.
    “You may not think so, but she used to be a person of high standing.
    She always tells me so.”
    “What was she originally?”
    “I understand that she’s the thirteenth Shogun’s widowed wife’s private-secretary’s younger sister’s husband’s mother’s nephew’s daughter.”
    “What?”
    “The thirteenth Shogun’s widowed wife’s private-secretary’s younger sister’s. . .”
    “Ah! But, please, not quite so fast. The thirteenth Shogun’s widowed wife’s younger sister’s private-secretary’s . . .”
    “No, no, no. The thirteenth Shogun’s widowed wife’s private-secretary’s younger sister’s. . .”
    “The thirteenth Shogun’s widowed wife’s. . .”
    “Right.”
    “Private-secretary’s. Right?”
    “Right.”
    “Husband’s. . .”
    “No, younger sister’s husband’s.”
    “Of course. How could I? Younger sister’s husband’s. . .”
    “Mother’s nephew’s daughter. There you are.”
    “Mother’s nephew’s daughter?”
    “Yes, you’ve got it.”
    “Not really. It’s so terribly involved that I still can’t get the hang of it.
    What exactly is her relation to the thirteenth Shogun’s widowed wife?”
    “Oh, but you are so stupid! I’ve just been telling you what she is.
    She’s the thirteenth Shogun’s widowed wife’s private-secretary’s younger sister’s husband’s mother’s. . .”
    “That much I’ve followed, but. . .”
    “Then, you’ve got it, haven’t you?”
    “Yes.” I had to give in. There are times for little white lies.
    Beyond the sliding paper-door the sound of the two-stringed harp came to a sudden stop and the mistress’ voice called, “Tortoiseshell, Tortoiseshell, your lunch is ready.” Tortoiseshell looked happy and remarked, “There, she’s calling, so I must go home. I hope you’ll forgive me?” What would be the good of my saying that I mind? “Come and see me again,” she said; and she ran off through the garden tinkling her bell. But suddenly she turned and came back to ask me anxiously, “You’re looking far from well. Is anything wrong?” I couldn’t very well tell her that I’d eaten a rice-cake and gone dancing; so, “No,” I said, “nothing in particular. I did some weighty thinking, which brought on something of a headache. Indeed I called today because I fancied that just to talk with you would help me to feel better.”
    “Really? Well, take good care of yourself. Good-bye now.” She seemed a tiny bit sorry to leave me, which has completely restored me to the liveliness I’d felt before the rice-cake bit me. I now felt wonderful and decided to go home through that tea-plantation where one could have the pleasure of treading down lumps of half-melted frost. I put my face through the broken bamboo hedge, and there was Rickshaw Blacky, back again on the dry chrysanthemums, yawning his spine into a high, black arch. Nowadays I’m no longer scared of Blacky, but, since any conversation with him involves the risk of trouble, I endeavor to pass, cutting him off. But it’s not in Blacky’s nature to contain his feelings if he believes himself looked down upon. “Hey you, Mr. No-name. You’re very stuck-up these days, now aren’t you? You may be living in a teacher’s house, but don’t go giving yourself such airs. And stop, I warn you, trying to make a fool of me.” Blacky doesn’t seem to know that I am now a celebrity. I wish I could explain the situation to him, but, since he’s not the kind who can understand such things, I decide simply to offer him the briefest of greetings and then to take my leave as soon as I decently can.
    “A happy New Year, Mr. Blacky. You do look well, as usual.” And I lift up my tail and twist it to the left. Blacky, keeping his tail straight up, refused to return my salutation.
    “What! Happy? If the New Year’s happy, then you should be out of your tiny mind the whole