When I first went home to the country during summer break, my parents were dead, and in the house where I had lived, a new master had taken over—my uncle and his wife had moved in in my place. This had been arranged before I left for Tokyo. With me, the only one left behind, no longer living there, there was nothing to be done but that.
My uncle seemed at the time to be involved with various companies in the city. He laughed and said that, from the standpoint of business convenience, it was far handier to sleep and wake in his old residence than to move to my house, two ri away. These were words that slipped from my uncle’s mouth when we consulted, after my parents died, about what to do with the mansion and how I was to go to Tokyo. My house had an old history, and was somewhat known in the neighborhood. As you will likely find in your own hometown too, in the country, to tear down or sell a house of standing while there is an heir is a great event. Were I now, I would think nothing of such a matter, but being still a child then, though I had left for Tokyo, the house had to be left as it was, and I was sorely troubled as to what to do.
My uncle reluctantly agreed to move into my empty house. But he said he must be allowed the convenience of keeping his city residence as well, and going back and forth between the two. I, of course, could have no objection. I was of a mind that I would be happy just to get to Tokyo, on any terms.
Child that I was, even after leaving my homeland, I still gazed at the home of my birthplace with longing, in the eye of my heart. Naturally, I gazed as a traveler who believes there is still a home to return to. The feeling that I must go back when vacation came was, however much I had left longing for Tokyo, strong in me. After studying hard and playing happily, I often dreamed of that home in the country, thinking I could return there on breaks.
How my uncle went back and forth between the two houses during my absence I do not know. When I arrived, the whole family was gathered under one roof. The children who went to school were probably usually in the city, but these too had been brought to the country for the holiday, half as play.
Everyone was glad to see me. And I was happy to see the house, livelier and merrier than when my father and mother were alive. My uncle turned out the eldest boy who had occupied the room that used to be mine, and put me there. There were no few rooms, so I declined, saying I was fine with another room, but my uncle would not listen, saying it was your house.
Except that I now and then thought of my dead father and mother, I spent that summer with my uncle’s family with no discomfort, and went back to Tokyo. The one thing that, as an event of that summer, cast rather a dim shadow on my heart, was that my uncle and aunt, in one voice, urged marriage on me, who had only just entered high school. This was repeated, before and after, a good three or four times. At first I was only surprised at the suddenness. The second time I plainly refused. The third time I was driven to ask them in turn the reason. Their intent was simple: take a wife soon, return to this house, and succeed my dead father. I thought the house was fine so long as I came back when on holiday. Succeed my father—for that a wife is needed, so take one—both sound, as reasoning, well enough. Especially to me, who knew the ways of the country, it was clear. I probably did not absolutely dislike it. But to me, who had just left for Tokyo to study, it was as if seen through a telescope, only visible at a far distance. Without giving my uncle’s wish my consent, I at last left my house again.
