by Osamu Dazai
My mother was sick and I didn't drink one drop of my mother's milk and was cradled by a wet nurse immediately after birth. When I turned three and toddling around, my wet nurse left. In her place, a nursemaid named Take was hired. At night, I slept cuddled by my aunt, but the rest of the time, I was always with Take. From three to eight years old, I was raised by Take. Then one morning, I woke with a start and called to Take, but she didn't come. I was surprised and knew something had happened. I screamed and cried. I wailed with the heartbreaking thought, Take's gone! Take's gone! I sobbed convulsively for the next few days.
Even today, I cannot forget the pain of that time. One day a year later, I bumped into Take, but she acted strangely aloof, which enraged me. I never saw her again. Four or five years earlier, I was asked to be a guest on the radio broadcast Furusato ni Yoseru Kotoba (Words to My Hometown). I read a passage about Take from Memories. When I think of home, I remember Take. She probably did not hear the broadcast of my reading.
There was no news and has not been any to this day. From the start of this trip to Tsugaru, my long-cherished wish was to see Take. I am interested in enjoying the self-control of saving the good thing for last. My going to the port in Kodomari was the last item of this trip's itinerary.
No, before going to Kodomari, I thought I would go to Hirosaki right after Goshogawara, walk the streets of Hirosaki, go to the Owani Hot Springs, spend one night there, and finally go to Kodomari. I was gradually disheartened by the small amount remaining of my travel expenses from Tokyo. Was I tired of traveling? From here on, I will be drained by walking around here and there. I gave up on going to the Owani Hot Springs and changed my plan of going to Hirosaki on my way back to Tokyo. I made up my mind to spend the night at my aunt's home in Goshogawara and tomorrow go straight to Kodomari. I went with Kei-chan to my aunt's home in Trendy Town, but my aunt was out. Her grandchild was ill and had been admitted to a hospital in Hirosaki, and she went to attend to the child.
My cousin smiled and said, "Mother knew you were coming and wanted to see you. She called and asked for you to go to Hirosaki."
My aunt arranged for this cousin to marry a doctor, who would take their family name.
"Oh, I'm thinking about going to Hirosaki on my way back to Tokyo and will be sure to stop by the hospital."
"Tomorrow, you're going to Kodomari to see Take," said Kei-chan, who despite being busy with her own preparations, did not return home but spent time with us.
"To see Take," said my cousin with a sober look, "That's nice. Who knows how happy Take would be."
My cousin seemed to understand how much I yearned to see Take."
I worried about how would we meet. Of course, there's no reason to make any arrangements. Simply relying on the knowledge of Koshino Take of Kodomari, I will pay a visit.
"I've heard there's only one bus a day to Kodomari," said Kei-chan and stood to examine the timetable hanging in the kitchen, "If you don't leave here on the first train tomorrow, you'll miss the bus leaving Nakazato. You can't get up late on that important day."
She seemed to have forgotten all about her own important day. The first train leaves Goshogawara at eight o'clock, travels north on the Tsugaru Railway, passes through Kanagi without stopping, and arrives at nine in Nakazato, the end of the line of the Tsugaru Railway. Then I will ride the bus to Kodomari for around two hours and arrive in Kodomari by noon tomorrow. At dusk, Kei-chan and I finally went home and met the Doctor (we've been calling the doctor groom by the proper noun for a long time) returning home from the hospital. We drank sake and I talked nonsense until midnight.
The next morning I was awakened by my cousin, gulped down breakfast, and rushed to the depot in time to catch the first train. Again, the weather was good. My head was in a fog and I had a hangover. Since there was no one scary at the house in Trendy Town, I drank a little too much the previous night. A cold sweat moistened my forehead. The refreshing morning sun shined into the train. Only I had the unbearable feeling of being muddy, dirty, and rotting. I always have this feeling of self-hatred after drinking too much sake. Perhaps, I've repeated this experience several thousand times but still lack the resolve to quit drinking. Because I'm a hard drinker, I tend to be taken lightly by others. If this world had no sake, I seriously believed the nonsense that I may have become a saint. While thinking these thoughts, I lazily stared out the window at the Tsugaru Plain. Finally, we passed Kanagi and arrived at Ashinokoen, a small station no bigger than a crossing guard station.
I recall an anecdote about the mayor of Kanagi. He tried to buy a ticket to Ashinokoen at Ueno Station in Tokyo and was told indignantly that no such station existed and no one had ever heard of Ashinokoen on the Tsugaru Railway. He made the station employee search for thirty minutes and finally obtained a ticket to Ashinokoen.
When I leaned out of the window and saw that tiny station, a young woman wearing a kimono of Kurume-kasuri cloth and monpe pants made from the same fabric was carrying a large bundle in a wrapping cloth under each arm. She ran to the ticket gate and, with her eyes slightly closed, gently offered her ticket in her mouth to the good-looking, young station attendant. The young man understood and moved his hand like a skilled dentist extracting a front tooth to the red ticket held between rows of bright white teeth and deftly clipped it with his scissors. Neither the young woman nor the young man smiled the tiniest smile. Their composure seemed ordinary. The young woman hopped on the train about to leave. It seemed like the engineer had been waiting for that young woman to board. This idyllic station resembles no other in the entire country. The mayor of Kanagi should shout "Ashinokoen!" in his loudest voice the next time he's at Ueno Station.
The train ran through a forest of larch trees. This area became Kanagi Park. I could see a marsh. Long ago, my older brother donated a sightseeing boat to this marsh. In no time we arrived in Nakazato, a small village with a population of four thousand. From this area on, Tsugaru Plain becomes narrow and small. When we arrived at the hamlets of Uchigata, Aiuchi, and Wakimoto north of here, the paddy fields were considerably smaller. This place could be called the North Gate of the Tsugaru Plain. When a boy, I came to visit a relative, a dry goods dealer named Kanamaru. I may have been four and only remember a waterfall at the edge of the village.
"Shuuuchiiiyaa," I was being called and turned to see Kanamaru's daughter standing there smiling. She must have been one or two years older than me but didn't look older.
"It's been a long time. Where are you going?"
"To Kodomari," I said, impatient to see Take. I paid attention to nothing else.
"Well, my bus is here. Excuse me, bye."
"On your way back, please stop by the house. We built a new house on top of that mountain."
When I looked in the direction she was pointing, a new house stood alone on top of a small mountain of greenery to the right of the station. Even though she wasn't Take, I was happy to have this chance encounter with a familiar face from my childhood and will stop by that new house to ask about Nakazato. For no reason, I was impatient with no time to lose.
"Well, be seeing you," we separated exchanging pleasantries and I hopped on the bus.
The bus was crowded. I had to stand for the two-hour trip to Kodomari. This would be the first time in my life I would see Nakazato and parts further north. The Ando clan called the forefathers of the Tsugaru lived in this area. I discussed the prosperous Port Jusan earlier, but the center of the history of the Tsugaru Plain seems to lie between Nakazato and Kodomari. The bus traveled north along mountain roads. The roads looked bad and the bus shuddered. I clutched the horizontal bar of the luggage rack, rounded my back, and watched the scenery pass by the bus window.
So this is northern Tsugaru. Compared to the landscape of Fukaura, this place was wild everywhere. There was no scent of human skin. Mountain trees, thorny shrubs, and bamboo grass live with no relationship to humanity. Compared to Tappi on the eastern shore, this area was tamer. The grasses and trees were on the brin
k of being landscape. I didn't chat with any of the travelers. Lake Jusan turned a chilly white before my eyes.
The lake had an elegant but impermanent feeling like water filling a shallow pearl oyster. There was not one wave. Not one boat was floating on it. The quiet still lake was vast. It was a stagnant pool tossed out by people. The floating clouds and the shadows of flying birds felt like they couldn't be reflected on the surface of the lake. Soon after passing Lake Jusan, we appeared on the coast on the Sea of Japan. Because this area is crucial to national defense, as is the custom, I will avoid detailed descriptions.
A little before noon, I arrived at Port Kodomari. This port was the furthest north on the west coast of Honshu. Just over the mountain this far north is Tappi on the eastern shore. The hamlets on the west coast end here. In other words, this place was the reason I unexpectedly returned from Port Fukaura on the western shore of the old Tsugaru domain and came without resting to Port Kodomari on the northern end of the same shore centered on the Goshogawara area. This modest fishing village had a population of about two thousand, five hundred. From the Heian era, ships from other provinces entered and left this port. The boats passing through Ezo, in particular, always entered and anchored at this port to avoid strong easterly winds.
During the Edo period, mounds of rice and lumber were often shipped out from the nearby Port Jusan. I intended to write about that many times. Even now, the only port constructed in this village is splendid and does not fit the village. The paddy fields on the outskirts of the village are few, but the marine products are abundant. In addition to fish like pike, greenling, squid, and sardine, there are many marine plants like varieties of kelp and seaweed.
I got off the bus and began to approach people walking in the area to ask, "Do you know a woman named Koshino Take?"
"Koshino Take?" replied a middle-aged man wearing a government-mandated national uniform who may have been an official at the village hall. He looked puzzled and said, "A lot of families in this village have that last name Koshino."
"She used to live in Kanagi and should be around fifty years old," I eagerly said.
"Ah, I know her."
"Is she here? Where is she? Where is her house?"
Following his directions, I found Take's home. It was a small hardware store with an eighteen-feet-wide front. It was ten times more fabulous than my hut in Tokyo. The curtain was down at the shop front. It can't be, I thought. I ran up to the glass door at the entrance and, as expected, a small padlock was locked. I tried to open another glass door, but it didn't budge. She was out. At a loss, I wiped off the sweat. There is no possibility she has moved away.
Could she have gone out for a short time? But where? No, this is not Tokyo. When you step out for a little while in the country, you don't drop the curtain and close the doors. Maybe she'll be away for two or three days or longer. This is bad. Take went to some other village. It's possible. I was stupid to believe that knowing where she lived was enough. I tapped on the glass door and called, "Koshino-san! Koshino-san!" I didn't expect a reply. I sighed and walked diagonally across the street and into a tobacco shop. I said it seemed like nobody was at home at the Koshino's and asked the proprietress if she had any idea where Koshino-san had gone. The gaunt old woman nonchalantly said she was probably at the sports field day. I braced myself.
"So where is the field day being held? Is it nearby?"
She said it was close and to go straight down the road, past the paddy fields to the school. The field day is being held behind the school.
"She went out carrying a picnic box with the children this morning."
"Is that so? Thank you."
I followed her directions and came upon the paddy fields. I took the path between the paddy fields to the sand dunes. A national elementary school stood above the dunes. I went around to the back of the school to see and was stunned. I felt like I was dreaming. In this fishing village at the northern edge of Honshu, before my eyes appeared a lively festival so beautiful and little changed from long ago I was almost brought to tears. First, the flags of all nations flew high. Young women were gaily dressed. Daytime drunks were scattered here and there.
Around the perimeter of the athletic field, almost one hundred temporary huts were erected close together. No, there looked to be no empty places left around the field. The huts crowded together stood on straw mats on the small and large hills overlooking the field. They seemed to be taking a noon break. In the rooms of the one hundred small houses, a family spread out its picnic boxes. While the men drank sake, the women and children ate and talked and laughed under the clear skies. I couldn't stop thinking, Japan is a blessed country. It is surely the Land of the Rising Sun.
Even with the fate of the nation at stake in a major war, a lonely village on the northern edge of Honshu mysteriously holds this huge, merry banquet. The ancient gods observe the courageous smiles and the generous dances in this remote part of Honshu. I felt like I had become the hero in a fairy tale. In this fairy tale, I searched over seas and over mountains for my mother. I walked seven thousand miles and ended up in this province where splendid music and dance were being performed on these sandy dunes. I was compelled to search for the caretaker who raised me somewhere among the cheerful crowd playing music and dancing.
It's been close to thirty years since we parted. She had big eyes and red cheeks. She had a small red mole on her right or left eyelid. That's all I remembered. If I saw her, I would know. I was confident. Searching this crowd would be difficult, I thought while scanning the grounds and was on the verge of tears. I had no other options. I could only slowly walk around the field.
I gathered my courage to ask a lone youth, "Do you know where Koshino Take is? Do you know her? She's around fifty years old. She's Koshino from the hardware store." That was all I knew about Take.
"Koshino of the hardware store," said the youth as he thought, "Oh, I think she's in a hut over there."
"Okay, over there?"
"Yeah, I'm not really sure. I think you'll find her somehow. Go look."
The search was a major undertaking. I couldn't seem smug to the youth by telling him things like it's been thirty, long years. I thanked the young man and a little befuddled walked in the general direction he pointed but didn't know what to do. Finally, I poked my head into the huts of happy circles eating their lunches.
"Pardon me. I'm sorry to bother you, but is Koshino Take, uh, Koshino-san of the hardware store, here?"
"No," was the sharp reply from a frowning woman in a bad mood.
"Oh? Thank you. Excuse me. Have you seen her around here?"
"Uh, I don't know. Why? Are you the bonder man?"
I peeked into another hut to ask. They didn't know. Then another. I looked obsessed as I walked around asking, "Is Take here? Is Take from the hardware store here?" I made two rounds of the field but found nothing. I had a hangover. My throat was so parched I couldn't stand it. I went over to the school's well to have a drink of water and then returned to the athletic field. I sat on the sand, removed my jacket, and wiped away the sweat. With tired eyes, I watched the happy crowd of men and women, young and old.
She's here. She is definitely here. Unaware of my suffering, she's probably opening the picnic box and making the children eat. I imagined a school teacher shouting through a megaphone, "Koshino Take-san, you have a visitor," but that brutal method would be appalling. It would be inexcusable of me to create my joy by playing that over-the-top prank. It was not to be. The gods say when to meet. I'm going home. I put on my jacket and stood. Again I walked the footpath between the paddy fields back to the village.
Would the sports field day end around four o'clock? That would be four more hours. Should I go lie down at a local inn and wait for Take to return home? While waiting disheartened in a dirty room in the inn, would I get mad wondering if Take was worth the wait? Given these feelings, I wanted to see Take, but it didn't seem I would. In other words, it was not in the stars. If I traveled all this way and
know she's right there, returning home without seeing her may fit my essentially bad life so far. My plans spawned from ecstasy always ended up in chaos just like this. That is my awful fate. I'm going home.
Thinking about it, although she could be said to be the guardian who raised me, frankly, she was an employee. Isn't she a servant? Are you the servant's child? You're a man old enough to know better, but you adore the servant from long ago and want to see her. You're no good. My older brothers have the reasonable belief that I'm a vulgar, gutless sort. Among my brothers, I'm the sole oddball. Why am I so sloven, shabby, and a low life? You need to buck up.
I went to the bus depot and asked for the departure time of the bus. The last bus to Nakazato would leave at one-thirty. I decided to go home on that 1:30 bus. I had thirty more minutes here and was a little hungry. I entered a gloomy inn close to the depot and said, "I'm in a rush and would like to have lunch."
Regret remained in my heart. If this inn were pleasant, I would rest here until around four o'clock, but rejected the idea. A sickly-looking proprietress happened to peek out from inside to coldly inform me that everyone had gone to the sports field day, and there's nothing she could do.
I was resolved to go home and sat on a bench at the bus depot. After resting for about ten minutes, I stood and loitered around the area. All right, I'll try one more time. I'll go up to the front of Take's empty house. I will force a smile and bid farewell for life without anyone knowing. I went to the front of the hardware store and glimpsed an unlocked lock at the entrance. The door was ajar two or three inches. It was a gift from god! My courage multiplied one hundred times. I braced myself and pushed open a clattering glass door, which couldn't be described as shoddy but was inadequate.