by Osamu Dazai
Disparaging others and taking pride in oneself is vile. I have done that vile thing. Many poets of other schools sniped at Basho but never behaved disgracefully. They did not make their eyebrows jump up, mouths turn down, square their shoulders, or abuse other novelists as I, an uncouth man, have done. My behavior has been unpleasant and shameful. Asked about the work of a fifty-year-old author in Japan, I thoughtlessly answered, "Not so good."
Recently, the past work of that author somehow provoked feelings close to awe in readers in Tokyo. Strangely, some came to call him God. A confession of liking that author offered a glimpse of the odd tendency to demonstrate the loftiness of the hobby of the reader and does a disservice. This may trouble the author who may force a smile. However, I previously looked from afar at the bizarre force of that author. From the silly heart of the typical Tsugaru man, "He becomes greedy, and simply got stronger by the fortunes of war at the time." I cannot be excited and docilely followed that trend.
By this time, I had reread most of that author's works and found them good but did not particularly feel the loftiness of the hobby. Instead, I wondered if this author found strength in greed. The world he described alternated between the joys and sorrows of the greedy petty bourgeois. Sometimes the hero of the work honestly reflected on his way of life. However, that aspect is particularly old-fashioned. If this sort of reflection is disagreeable, doing nothing is better and is separated from literary inexperience. Instead, it felt like being mired in stinginess. Strangely, many places appeared to be attempts at humor. Did he discard too much of himself? The reader does not docilely laugh because one trivial nerve is jittery. An immature criticism of the aristocracy was also heard but was ridiculous and a disservice. Can the aristocracy be thought of as untidy generosity?
During the French Revolution, the mob broke into the king's living quarters, but at that time, the French King Louis XVI went crazy, cackled with laughter, and snatched the revolutionary hat from the head of a rioter in the archery range and put it on his own head. Then he cried out "Vive la France!" The rioters hungry for blood were impressed by his perfect, mysterious dignity and joined the king in shouting "Vive la France!" Not one finger touched the king's body, and they obediently withdrew from the king's living quarters. A true aristocrat possessed this artless, unalterable dignity. The one who tightly closes his mouth and adjusts his collar often took the form of an aristocrat's servant. A pathetic word like aristocracy must not be used.
My companions drinking beer on Kanranzan in Kanita that day appeared to be ardent admirers of the fiftyish author and only questioned me about that author. Finally, I broke a rule of Basho and spoke abuse. I grew excited as I started to speak. As a result, my shoulders squared and my mouth drooped. The talk of aristocracy digressed at a strange place. The group did not express the least bit of agreement with my words. M, who came from Imabetsu, looking bewildered said, "We aren't saying aristocracy is stupid." He was embarrassed and looked like he was talking to himself. His words resembled careless remarks from a drunk. The others exchanged glances and smirked.
"In short," my voice seemed to shriek. Oh, I'm not criticizing a senior author. I got off track and said, "You can't be fooled by a man's appearance. King Louis XVI was a homely man rarely seen in history."
In the end, I was only further sidetracked.
"Well, I like his work," M declared his disagreement.
"Is that man's work good for Japan?" asked T from the Aomori hospital; he looked humble and conciliatory.
My position was wrong.
"That may be the best way. Well, it may be good. But while seated before me, isn't it horrible none of you have a word to say about my work?" I confessed my true motive with a smile.
Everyone smiled. I pushed my luck only to reveal my true intentions and said, "My work is a confused mess, but I have ambitions. I'm currently staggering under that heavy ambition. You probably see before you a filthy mess with sloppy ignorance, but I know true elegance. Higashi rice candies are shaped like pine needles, and daffodils are tossed into a celadon vase. I don't think they are elegant in any way. It's a hobby of the nouveau rich. And it's rude. True elegance is a single white chrysanthemum on a massive black rock. It's no good if the foundation is not a large, dirty rock. That is true elegance. Young fellows like you consider the lyricism of a schoolgirl like a carnation supported by wire tossed in a cup to be artistic elegance."
My language offended. "I must not present the flaws of others and display my merits. Disparaging others and taking pride in oneself is vile." This pilgrimage rule of the old man resembles a serious truth. In fact, this is terrible. I have this vile habit. Even in literary circles in Tokyo, I unnerve everyone and am kept away as a grimy fool.
"Well, there's nothing I can do," I said and placed both hands behind me and turned my face up, "My work is so bad, talking about it will change nothing. Your appreciation of one-tenth of my work would be fine. Because you have no appreciation of my work, I blurt out the wrong thing. Please appreciate it. One-twentieth would be good. You must appreciate it."
Everyone laughed hysterically. The laughter spared my feelings, too. S, the manager at Kanita Hospital, rose and, with the soothing charity peculiar to a sophisticated man, said, "Shall we have a change of venue?"
He said he would have lunch prepared for everyone at the E Inn, the biggest in Kanita. With a glance, I asked T if that was all right.
"Great. We will have an enjoyable meal," T said as he rose to put on his jacket, "We planned this from the beginning. S has set aside some high-quality sake rations, so from now on, we will enjoy them. We can't let N be the only one treating us."
I obediently followed T's words. I felt reassured with T by my side.
The E Inn was very pretty. The alcove in the room was decent, and the toilet was clean. Inns on the east coast of the Tsugaru Peninsula are first-rate compared to those on the west coast. This may reflect their tradition from long ago of welcoming travelers from other provinces. In the past, when crossing to Hokkaido, boats always departed from Minmaya. This Sotogahama Road moves travelers from the entire country. Crabs were added to the trays of the inn. Anyone would say, "Of course, you're in Kanita." [Kanita is written using the kanji characters for crabs and rice paddies.]
T can't drink sake and ate his meal alone. Everyone else drank S's premium sake and put off eating. As he got drunk, S became cheerful.
"You see, I like novels by anyone all the same. When I read them, they're all interesting. Somehow, they're quite good. So I can't help but like novelists. I like any novelist so much I can't stand it. My son, he's three. I think he'll become a novelist. I even named him Fumio and write his name using the characters for literature and man. He's smart like you. Excuse me for saying, but your head is shaped like an open fan."
That's the first time I've heard my head looks broken. I should be well aware of every one of the various flaws in my looks, but I didn't realize the shape of my head was odd. Am I oblivious to many other defects? Immediately after I criticized other authors, I got very anxious. S cheerfully said, "Well, soon all the sake will be gone. Everyone is invited to my home. Well? It's okay. Come and meet my wife and Fumio. Please. If it's apple cider, we have more than enough in Kanita. Come to my home and have some. Okay."
He tempted me nonstop.
I was grateful for the temptation but was shattered about the crown of my head and wanted to return to N's home and go to bed. I was distressed by the thought of going to S's home and the inside of my head being seen through someplace on my skull which would lead to my being reviled. As usual, I gauged T's feelings. If T said to go, I was prepared to go. T looked serious while thinking.
"Should we go? S will get pretty drunk today, but he has been waiting a long time to enjoy your company."
I went. I stopped being sensitive about my skull. Thinking about it again, it was S's attempt at humor. I don't have much confidence in my appearance but must not fret about these trivialities. Not only my looks, my
biggest flaw may now be my confidence.
We went to S's home and received an enthusiastic welcome that is the nature of the people of Tsugaru. This was a little confusing for me, despite being a native of Tsugaru. S stepped into his home and the rapid-fire orders for his wife began.
"Hey, I brought the guest from Tokyo home. He finally came. He's the Dazai fellow. Can you come here and greet him? Hurry, come and see him. And bring the sake. No, we already drank sake. Bring apple cider. Just one bottle. No, that's too little! Go and buy two more bottles. Wait.
"You're ripping up the dried cuttlefish hanging on the veranda. Wait. If you don't pound it first to tenderize, the ripping is no good. Wait. Don't hold it that way, I'll do it. This is how you pound dried cuttlefish. Like this. Ouch! This way. Hey, bring some soy sauce. It's no good without soy sauce. Get a cup. No, we need two. Hurry up. Wait. Are these teacups okay? Let's have a toast. Hey, go buy two more bottles. Wait. Go get the kid. It'll get him used to novelists. Let Dazai see him.
"How about the shape of this head? It looks like a busted bowl, kind of like yours. Great! Hey, go get the boy. Don't be so noisy. Isn't it rude to show this dirty kid to a guest? The bad taste of the newly rich. Quick, two more bottles of cider. It's no good if the guest runs away. Wait, you have to serve. Serve drinks to everybody. Go buy some cider from the lady next door. She wants sugar, give her a little.
"Wait, you can't give Auntie the sugar. I'm giving a gift of all the sugar in this house to our guest from Tokyo. Okay, don't forget. Give him all of it. And wrap it in newspaper and oiled paper then tie it up with string. The kid's gotta stop crying. Isn't that rude? The vulgarity of the nouveau rich. Aristocrats aren't like that. Get the sugar when the guests leave.
"Music. Music. Play a record. Maybe Schubert, Chopin, or Bach would be good. Play the music. Wait. What? That's Bach? Stop. It's too loud, we can't talk. Put on a quieter record. Wait. There's nothing to eat. Fry up some angler fish. Bring some of our delicious sauce. Will our guest like it? Wait. Serve the fried angler and kayaki fish stew with egg miso. You can't eat this anywhere but Tsugaru. There. Egg miso. The only egg miso. This is egg miso. This right here."
Nothing in this description is an exaggeration. A welcome resembling gales and angry waves is an expression of love by a Tsugaru native. Dried cuttlefish is a large cuttlefish that has been exposed to snowstorms, frozen, and dried. Its taste is light and refined and was enjoyed by Basho. Five or six fish hung from the eaves on the side of S's house. A wobbly S stood up and pulled off a few. He haphazardly pummeled them and his left thumb with a hammer. He poured a round of apple cider to everyone while twisting and squirming.
I realized the incident of the crown of my head was an attempt by S to make fun of me or an attempt at humor. S may earnestly respect my broad head. He may think it's a good thing. The simple honesty of Tsugaru's natives must be seen. He ended up repeatedly calling for egg miso, but this kayaki stew with egg miso probably warrants an explanation for the ordinary reader. Tsugaru has sukiyaki and chicken stew that are called beef kayaki and chicken kayaki. These are probably thought of as kaiyaki, the word for baked shellfish in the local dialect. Although that may not be so today, when I was young, large scallop shells were used for steaming meat in Tsugaru.
There may be the blind belief that varieties of broth come from the shells, which may have been believed in the old traditions of the aboriginal Ainu people. All of us grew up eating kayaki. For egg miso kayaki, a primitive dish, a shell is used as the pot for seafood and vegetables, shavings of dried bonito are added for flavor and everything is steamed, and then a hen's egg is dropped in before eating. When you're ill and have lost your appetite, this egg miso kayaki is made into a porridge and eaten. This was a dish unique to Tsugaru. S held this belief as he repeatedly called for me to eat it.
I asked to say goodbye to his wife who had been so hospitable and left S's home. I'd like the reader to pay particular attention to this. The welcome by S on that day expressed the love of a man of Tsugaru, moreover, a trueborn native of Tsugaru. I can say without reservation that I often act exactly like S. When a friend comes from afar, I have no idea what to do. I've had the experience of my heart excitedly fluttering in meaningless confusion, and my head hitting the electric light breaking the bulb.
When an unexpected guest drops by during a meal, I immediately abandon my chopsticks and go out to the entryway while munching away and frown at the guest. I'm unable to put on the performance of making him wait while I calmly continue my meal. In essence, like S, I am distraught and puzzle over what to do. And if I bring out everything in the house as a treat, my guest is thrown off balance. Later, I apologize to the guest for my rudeness.
The expression of love by flinging away hesitation, hurling away neglect, grabbing them and throwing them away, and going as far as throwing away one's life may be thought of as rude violence to the people of the Kanto and Kansai regions so they stay away. On the way home, I felt like my fate was known by S, but he did not sympathize as I remembered from long ago. The expression of love by a Tsugaru native, if not given in a dose diluted by a little water, may be unreasonable to the people of other provinces. The people of Tokyo will simply put on airs and bring out a few scraps of food. Although they're not unsalted oyster mushrooms, because an excessive love is exposed, I, like Lord Kiso, may have been held in contempt by the arrogant, elegant people of Tokyo.
He urged me with, "Please help yourself. Please."
Later I heard that for the next week, S was embarrassed when he recalled the egg miso on that day and could not be around others without drinking sake. He usually appeared to be more sensitive than the others. This was also a trait of a native of Tsugaru. Normally, a trueborn Tsugaru native is never a brutal savage. In contrast to the rash man from the city, he possesses immense grace and subtle sympathy.
Depending on the situation, when that restraint bursts open like a dam, he doesn't know what to do.
"The unsalted oysters are here at last."
He was mortified feeling that his urgency was frowned on by the frivolous man from the city. The following day, S became timid, drank sake, and went to visit a friend.
When the friend asked through his laughter, "Well? Were you scolded by your wife?" S bashfully said, "No, not yet."
He seemed to be expecting a scolding.
Chapter Three
* * *
Sotogahama
I left S's home and went to N's. I drank more beer with N. That evening, T dropped by and stayed the night. The three of us slept in the back room. Early the next morning while I was still sleeping, T returned to Aomori by bus because he was busy at work.
"He was coughing," I said.
T woke up and coughed lightly as he dressed. While sleeping, my sharp ears heard a strange sadness. When I woke up, I immediately told N. When he got up and was putting on his pants, he said with a solemn look, "Yes, he was coughing." Whether drinking sake or not, he always looked somber. No, not only his face, his spirit was always stern.
"It wasn't a good cough," N also said. Although he seemed to be asleep, he clearly heard the coughs.
"It's willpower," said N in a defeated tone and buttoned his pants.
"None of us are well, are we?"
For a long time, both N and I have been fighting respiratory diseases. N has a bad case of asthma but seems to have fully recovered.
Before setting out on this trip, I promised to send a short story to a magazine published for the troops in Manchuria, and its deadline loomed. For that day and the next, I borrowed an inner room and worked. During that time, N was working in the rice polishing factory in another building. On the evening of the second day, N came to the room where I was working and asked, "Did you finish? Did you write two or three pages? I'll be done in about an hour. A week's worth of work done in two days. If you'd like, we could go out later. Work efficiency will improve. At least a little. It'll give you that final spurt of energy."
He promptly returned to
the factory. Before ten minutes passed, he was back in my room.
"Are you finished? I have a little more to do. The machinery sounds good now. You haven't seen our factory, have you? It's dirty. It may be better if you don't see it. Well, I'll get back to work. And I'll sleep in the factory," he said and went back. Insensitive me finally realized N wanted me to see him energetically working in the factory. My dilemma was to finish my work soon and go to see him before he finished. I realized this and smiled. I quickly put my work in order and crossed the road and went to the rice-polishing factory in the other building. N was wearing a patched up and darned corduroy jacket and standing with both hands behind his back and a meaningful look on his face beside a huge rice-polishing machine with whirling rotations.
"That's lively," I shouted.
N spun around, happily smiled, and said, "Did you finish? Good. I have a little more to do. Come here. You can keep your sandals on."
I'm not so insensitive as to enter a rice-polishing factory wearing geta clogs. N had changed to a clean pair of straw zori sandals. I looked around but didn't see any indoor slippers. I just stood and smiled at the factory door. I wondered if I could go in barefoot but thought that overly hypocritical act would make N feel regret so I didn't go in barefoot. I have the very bad habit of performing commonsense good deeds.
"Now that's a big machine. You operate it all by yourself," I said with no flattery. Like me, N did not have many friends with technical knowledge.
"Oh, it's simple. When you turn these switches," as he was speaking, he turned switches here and there to show the motor coming to a dead stop, and easily operated the gigantic machine to display an avalanche of rice hulls and polished rice cascade down like a waterfall.