by Osamu Dazai
I caught sight of a small poster stuck to a pillar in the center of the factory. A man with a face shaped like a sake bottle was sitting cross-legged with his sleeves rolled up, and was holding a large cup at an angle. A house or a storehouse was inside the cup. Printed on this strange picture was a complaint, "Sake drinks you and drinks your home." I stared at this poster for a long time. N noticed and grinned while looking at my face. I grinned too. Both of us were guilty of this offense. It had the feeling of "Oh well, what can you do?" I sympathized with N who stuck that poster onto a post in his factory. Who holds a grudge against heavy drinkers? In my case, the twenty or so books I've written also decorate that large cup. I have no home or storehouse to drink. It should probably say "Sake drinks you and drinks your books."
Inside the factory, two large machines were not running. When I asked N what they did, he lightly sighed and said, "Oh, one machine makes rope and the other, straw mats. They're too hard to operate and too unruly for me. Four or five years ago, crops failed all around here, and orders for rice polishing dried up. It was bad. Everyday, I sat beside the furnace and smoked cigarettes. After a great deal of thinking, I bought these machines and plopped them in this corner of the factory. But I'm all thumbs and never got them running well. I was alone. My family of six had a meager existence. I didn't know what to do at that time."
In addition to his four-year-old son, N was raising the three children of his late younger sister. His sister's husband died in the war in northern China. Of course, N and his wife took in the three orphans and loved them like their own children. His wife told me N tends to spoil them too much. Of the three orphans, the oldest son is attending a technical school in Aomori. Every Saturday, he rides the bus seventeen miles from Aomori, walks the rest of the way home to Kanita, and gets home around midnight. "Uncle, Uncle," he calls out as he knocks on the door at the entryway.
N leaps from his bed to open the door and feverishly hugs the boy's shoulders. He only asks, "You walked the whole way? You walked?" His wife scolds him haphazardly and issues a quick succession of orders. "Here, have him drink some sugared hot water. Toast a rice cake, and warm up the noodles." While his wife remarks on how tired the child must be, "What?! What?" he says while waving his fist at her. During this quirky fight, their nephew explodes into laughter as does N while waving his fist, and his wife joins in. The matter is confused and remains unsettled. I felt this anecdote reveals a part of N's personality.
"Well, life has its ups and downs. Life goes on," I said. Thinking about my fate, too, I was touched. I envisioned the lonely figure of this good-natured friend alone in a corner of the factory weaving straw mats using an unfamiliar technique. I love this friend.
When we finished our respective work that night, we drank beer and talked about the crop failures in our province. N was a member of the Aomori Prefecture Local History Study Group and had quite a few documents about the history of this prefecture.
"Here's what has happened," said N and opened a book to show me. The following pages list an ominous table entitled The Chronological Table of Crop Failures in Aomori.
Genna year 1
Severe failure
Genna year 2
Severe failure
Kan'ei year 17
Severe failure
Kan'ei year 18
Severe failure
Kan'ei year 19
Minor failure
Meireki year 2
Minor failure
Kanbun year 6
Minor failure
Kanbun year 11
Minor failure
Enpo year 2
Minor failure
Enpo year 3
Minor failure
Enpo year 7
Minor failure
Tenwa year 1
Severe failure
Jokyo year 1
Minor failure
Genroku year 5
Severe failure
Genroku year 7
Severe failure
Genroku year 8
Severe failure
Genroku year 9
Minor failure
Genroku year 15
Moderate failure
Hoei year 2
Minor failure
Hoei year 3
Minor failure
Hoei year 4
Severe failure
Kyoho year 1
Minor failure
Kyoho year 5
Minor failure
Genbun year 2
Minor failure
Genbun year 5
Minor failure
Enkyo year 2
Severe failure
Enkyo year 4
Minor failure
Kan'en year 2
Severe failure
Horeki year 5
Severe failure
Meiwa year 4
Minor failure
An'ei year 5
Moderate failure
Tenmei year 2
Severe failure
Tenmei year 3
Severe failure
Tenmei year 6
Severe failure
Tenmei year 7
Moderate failure
Kansei year 1
Minor failure
Kansei year 5
Minor failure
Kansei year 11
Minor failure
Bunka year 10
Minor failure
Tenpo year 3
Moderate failure
Tenpo year 4
Severe failure
Tenpo year 6
Severe failure
Tenpo year 7
Severe failure
Tenpo year 8
Minor failure
Tenpo year 9
Severe failure
Tenpo year 10
Minor failure
Keio year 2
Minor failure
Meiji year 2
Minor failure
Meiji year 6
Minor failure
Meiji year 22
Minor failure
Meiji year 24
Minor failure
Meiji year 30
Minor failure
Meiji year 35
Severe failure
Meiji year 38
Severe failure
Taisho year 2
Minor failure
Showa year 6
Minor failure
Showa year 9
Minor failure
Showa year 10
Minor failure
Showa year 15
Moderate failure
This chronology would give anyone pause even if they were not from Tsugaru. Over the three hundred and thirty years from the first year of the Genna era, the summer campaign in the Siege of Osaka and the downfall of the Toyotomi until today, there have been about sixty crop failures. That comes to a crop failure every five years. Then N opened another book to show me. It said:
The following year, Tenpo year 4, easterly winds blew in beginning on the auspicious first day of spring until the Girls' Day festival in March, but the accumulated snow had not disappeared and sleds were used by the farmers. At the height of May, the seedlings grew a little in clusters and should have blossomed in stages by that time of year, and planting finally began under these conditions.
However, easterly winds blew violently over several days. After the hottest days of June came, billowy, dense clouds and fine, clear days were rarely seen…the cold grew every day and quilted clothes were worn again. Evenings were particularly cold. Even by the time of the nighttime Nebuta festival in July, no mosquitoes were heard on the roads. Few of them were heard inside the houses, and the use of mosquito nets was rare like the voices of locusts. (Author's note: Around the time of the seventh day of the seventh month of the lunar calendar, the brilliantly colored, giant lanterns in the forms of warriors or the rivalrous dragon and tiger are loaded onto carts and pulled. Young people dressed in costumes dance and parade down the streets in one o
f Tsugaru's annual events. The giant lanterns from different towns always bump into each other, and fights break out. Large lanterns with the themes of Sakanoue no Tamuramaro and the Conquest of Emishi are paraded. One story says the Emishi people in the mountains were lured out and annihilated, but the story has little credence. Not only Tsugaru, similar customs are found in other parts of Tohoku. Would it be a mistake to think of floats for summer festivals in Tohoku?)
The hot weather began around July 6, and people wore unlined kimonos before the Bon Festival. The popular dances of the Bon Festival livened up around the thirteenth when the ears have appeared on most of the grains of early-ripening rice. Around the fifteenth and the sixteenth, a band of bright, white sunlight resembled a mirror at night. At midnight on the seventeenth, the dancers scattered and the crowds on the streets thinned. With the gradual arrival of dawn, an unexpected heavy frost settled on and bent the necks of the early-ripening rice. The old and young still out on the streets saw this and shed many tears.
More than miserable, an indescribable situation is described. When we were very young, the old people told us about the horrendous circumstance of the kegazu. (In Tsugaru, kegazu means crop failure. It may be dialect for starvation.) Although young, I became despondent and was close to tears. Returning to my home province after a long time and being plainly shown this sort of record, my feelings passed through sorrow and turned to an impossible-to-understand rage.
"This is awful," I said, "The scientific world makes all kinds of extravagant claims but can't teach farmers how to prevent these crop failures. That's irresponsible."
"No, experts are engaged in a myriad of research. Varieties of rice resistant to damage by cold weather are being improved. Various tactics are also devised for the planting period. Although the total crop failures of the past are gone, once every four or five years, the indefensible happens."
"It's ridiculous," I said not angry at anyone in particular and cursed.
N smiled and said, "People also live in the desert. The only choice is to get angry. Peculiar human feelings are born from this kind of climate, too."
"These are not excessively nice human feelings. There are no places with balmy spring weather, and I'm always losing ground to artists in the southern provinces."
"But you aren't losing, are you? From long ago, the Tsugaru region was never attacked and destroyed by people from other provinces. Although beaten, they were not defeated. Isn't the Eighth Division a national treasure?"
The blood of our ancestors haunted by crop failures from birth and raised by sipping rain and dew is transmitted to us. The virtue of balmy spring weather is enviable, without a doubt, but I can do nothing other than work as hard as possible to make splendid flowers bloom in the sorrowful blood of the ancestors. Without lamenting past sorrows in vain, it may be better to take enormous pride in the tradition of struggling through hardship like N does. Moreover, Tsugaru no longer endlessly repeats the disastrous picture of hell.
The following day, N told me how to travel north by bus along the Sotogahama Road. I stayed a night in Minmaya and then walked a lonely road along the coastline to Cape Tappi at the northern tip of Honshu. Even in the desolate and forlorn hamlets between Minmaya and Tappi, the homes are reinforced against gales and unflinching against the angry waves. The excellent health of the people of Tsugaru is lovingly displayed. A serene life unfolded before my eyes in the bright atmosphere of the elegant seaports reaching Minmaya and each hamlet south of it, particularly Minmaya and Imabetsu. Oh, there's no point in fearing the shadow of kegazu.
Below is an enjoyable composition written by Professor Sato Hiroshi. I'll borrow his writings as a merry farewell toast from the people of Tsugaru to erase the melancholy of the reader of my writings. In an outline of industry in Oshu, Professor Sato writes:
Oshu is the territory of the Emishi people who hide in the grass when attacked and enter the mountains when followed. In Oshu, natural barriers are formed by mountains rising above other mountains and hinder passage. Oshu is enclosed by the Sea of Japan with its rough waves and unsuitable for shipping by sea and the Pacific Ocean with many serrated capes and bays cut off by the northern mountain range and unreachable. Snowstorms often assault Oshu in the winter, the coldest part of Honshu. During ancient times, Oshu suffered dozens of crop failures. In contrast to forty percent of Kyushu being arable land, Oshu has a pitiful fifteen percent. From any perspective, Oshu is controlled by unfortunate natural conditions but today supports a population of 6.3 million and could form the base for any industry.
Reading any geography book will tell you the clothes, food, and dwellings are simple when living in the far away lands of Oshu and the northeastern part of Honshu. They are satisfied living under thatched roofing, shingled roofing, cedar bark roofing from the old days, and tin roofs today, wear wrapping cloths on their heads, monpe work pants, and eat average or worse than average, plain foods. What is authentic? Is the land of Oshu blessed with industry? Will twentieth-century culture that takes pride in speed not reach only the Tohoku region? No, that is already the Oshu of the past. If people wish to talk about present-day Oshu, the repressed emerging power appeared in Italy right before the Renaissance must be recognized in this land of Oshu. The emperor's spirit related to the education of the Meiji Emperor about culture and industry swiftly permeated the entire country of Oshu. This encouraged the decline of the unpleasant nasal sounds peculiar to the people of Oshu and the advance of standard language. The glory of enlightenment was given to the uneducated households that had fallen into a primitive state. From today's perspective, development and cultivation are increasing well-fertilized fields bearing products every moment. With added improvements, cattle farming, forestry, and fisheries will grow prosperous day by day. And given the sparse distribution of inhabitants, this land has plenty of room for future development.
During the era of expansion, the Yamato people, the ethnic Japanese, moved north from each region and reached Oshu like large flocks of migratory birds of starlings, ducks, chickadees, and geese roaming this region in search of food, and conquered the Ezo, the non-Yamato people. They hunted in the mountains, fished in the rivers, were attracted by various natural resources, and wandered all over. Thus, after several generations passed, the people living here are a part of the land in their own way. They grew rice on the plains of Akita, Shonai, and Tsugaru, planted trees in the mountains of Kitaoku, grazed horses on the plains, and were dedicated to the fisheries near the sea. These provided the foundations of today's thriving industries.
The six provinces of Oshu and the 6.3 million inhabitants do not neglect the industries developed by their predecessors and develop them further. Migratory birds wander for eternity. The simple people of Tohoku no longer wander but grow rice, sell apples, and let splendid foals with fine hair run through the expansive green plains lined by beautiful luxuriant forests. And fishing boats loaded with dancing silvery fish enter the harbors.
There was no spontaneous running up for a polite handshake to express appreciation. The next day, I traveled north to Sotogahama in Oshu accompanied by N. Before setting out, the first problem was sake.
"Would you like some sake? Can a couple of bottles of beer fit in your backpack?" his wife asked. I felt ashamed. I wondered if I was born a man into the disgraceful race of heavy drinkers.
"Oh no, I'm fine. If there's none, it's fine," I said vaguely stumbling over my words while picking up my backpack and hurried out of the house, almost running away.
N followed me out. I honestly said to him, "Sorry. I feel a chill when I hear sake. It's a straw mat of needles."
He appeared to have the same thought and blushed as he chuckled.
"I don't have the strength by myself. When I see your face, I have to drink. M in Imabetsu gathered sake rations a little at a time from his neighborhood, so why not stop at Imabetsu?"
I released a complicated sigh and said, "It'll put everyone to too much trouble."
Our plan was to first
go straight to Tappi from Kanita and return by walking and by bus. However, strong easterly winds began in the morning. The weather could be described as rough. The ferry we planned to board was canceled. Our plans changed and we went by bus. The bus was unusually empty, and the two of us could stretch out in our seats. After going north for about an hour along the Sotogahama Road, the winds gradually subsided and blue skies peeked out. With weather in this state, I believed the ferry probably would not depart.
If we dropped by M's house in Imabetsu and the boat was running, we would have a drink and return by boat from the port at Imabetsu. I thought that going the same route by land both ways was smart and of no consequence. From the bus, N pointed out and explained various landmarks. We were approaching a fortified zone, and I probably should have been discreetly writing down N's kind descriptions.