Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 8

 

 

 A dream.
 Everyone is going away from me.
 For the next month, after cleaning up the mess of Naoharu's death, I lived alone in the winter villa.
 Then I wrote him a letter, probably my last, with a feeling like water.

 It seems that you, too, have abandoned me. No, it seems that you are gradually forgetting me.
 But I am happy. It seems that I have a baby, just as I wanted. I feel as if I have lost everything, but the little life in my belly is the source of my lonely smile.
 I can't help but think of it as an embarrassing mistake. I have come to understand why there is war, peace, trade, unions, and politics in this world. You don't know, do you? That's why you'll always be unhappy. I'll tell you why. It's so that women can give birth to good children.
 From the beginning, I had no desire to rely on your character or responsibility. The only thing that mattered to me was the fulfillment of my single-minded adventure in love. And now that I have completed my dream, my heart is as quiet as a swamp in the forest.
 I believe that I have won.
 Even if Mary gave birth to a child that was not her husband's, if she had a shining pride, it would be the Virgin Child.
 I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have defied the old morality and had a good child.
 I'm sure you'll continue your guillotine-guillotine, drinking with gentlemen and ladies, and living the decadent life. But I'm not going to tell you to stop doing that. But I'm not going to tell you to stop doing that, because I'm sure that is also your last form of struggle.
 I don't want to say that you should quit drinking, heal from your illness, live a long life, and do a good job. I don't want to talk about such frivolous things anymore.
 Victim. Victims of the moral transition. That's what you and I are, I'm sure.
 Where in the world is the revolution taking place? At least around us, the old morality is still there, unchanged, blocking our way. The waves on the surface of the sea may be making some kind of noise, but the seawater at the bottom is laying in a raccoon's bed, not even retreating, let alone revolutionizing.
 However, I believe that in the first round of the war so far, we were able to push aside the old morality. So now I am going to fight the second and third battles with my unborn child.
 Giving birth to and raising the children of my beloved people is the completion of my moral revolution.
 Even if you forget me, and even if you lose your life to alcohol, I will be strong enough to live for the completion of my revolution.
 I've heard a lot about the triviality of your personality from some people recently, but it is you who have given me such strength. But it is you who gave me such strength. It is you who put the rainbow of revolution on my chest. It is you who gave me a goal to live for.
 I am proud of you, and I intend to make my children proud of you as well.
 The bastard and his mother.
 I am proud of you and I will make my children proud of you.
 Please, you, too, continue to fight your battles.
 The revolution has not been done yet, not even a little. It seems that more and more regrettable and precious sacrifices are needed.
 In today's world, the most beautiful thing is the victim.
 There was one more small sacrifice.
 Mr. Uehara.
 I don't want to ask you for anything more, but I would like to ask you to forgive me for one thing for the sake of that little victim.
 I would like to ask for your forgiveness for my little victim, and that is to let your wife hold my baby in her arms, just for once. Then you will say to me, "This is what Naoji wanted.
"This is the child that Naoji gave birth to a woman in secret.
 I can't tell anyone why I do that. No, I don't really know why I want to do that either. But I have to, I have to, I have to. I have to do it for the sake of that little victim, Naoji.
 Is it uncomfortable for you? Even if you are uncomfortable, please accept my apologies. I believe this is the only subtle harassment of a woman who has been abandoned and almost forgotten, and I hope you will listen to me.
M.C. Mai, comedian.
February 7, 1947.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 7-3

 

 He probably doesn't know anything about other people's paintings, whether they are foreign or Japanese. In addition, he probably doesn't even know what he's painting. You are just self-consciously smearing paint on the canvas for money to entertain yourself.
 And what's even more amazing is that he doesn't seem to have any doubt, shame, or fear about his horseshit.
 He's just good at it. In any case, since he doesn't understand his own work, there is no way he can understand the quality of other people's work.
 In other words, his decadent life is just a foolish country bumpkin playing around in his euphoria over his unexpected success in the city he had longed for.
 One day I'll say.
When I said to him, "It's too embarrassing and horrible for me to study alone when all my friends are slacking off and playing, so even if I don't want to play at all, I'll join them and play.
 The middle-aged Western-style painter said.
The middle-aged Western-style painter said, "Huh? The middle-aged Western-style painter replied, "That's what you call aristocracy, isn't it? The middle-aged Western-style painter replied, "Huh?
 At that time, I despised the Western-style painter from the bottom of my heart. There was no anguish in this man's indulgence. Rather, he is proud of his foolish games. He is a true fool and a joyous child.
 But even if I were to speak ill of this painter in various ways, it would be none of my sister's business.
 The only thing I want my sister to know is that I longed for his wife, wandered around, and had a hard time. So, even if you find out about it, there is absolutely no need for you to complain to anyone about it, to make your brother fulfill his wishes before his death, or anything like that. In addition, if you want, I would be very happy if you could at least understand more deeply the pain of my life so far, based on my shameful confession.
 One day, I dreamt that I was holding hands with my wife. When I woke up from the dream, I could still feel the warmth of her fingers on my palm, and I knew that I should be satisfied with that and give up. It wasn't that I was afraid of morality, it was that I was afraid of that half-crazy, almost crazy, Western-style painter. I wanted to give up, so I tried to turn the fire in my heart elsewhere, and I went on a wild goose chase with every woman I could find, so wild that even the painter frowned at me one night. I wanted to get away from the illusion of my wife, to forget her, to do away with everything. But no. In the end, I'm a man who can only fall in love with one woman. I can say it clearly. I've never found any of your wife's other girlfriends to be beautiful or attractive.
 Sister.
 I'd like to write about it just once before I die.
 …… Suga-chan.
 That's his wife's name.
 It's not that I don't like her at all (she has an inherent stupidity about her), but I didn't come to the lodge with the intention of dying this morning. I was planning to die someday soon, but yesterday I came to the lodge with the woman because she wanted to go on a trip and I was tired of playing in Tokyo, so I thought it would not be a bad idea to spend a couple of days with this stupid woman at the lodge. I thought it would be a good idea to rest at the mountain cottage for three days.
 I had always wanted to die in the back room of that house in Nishikatamachi. I didn't want to die on the street or in the field, and have my corpse tossed around by the yajimas. But now that the house in Nishikatamachi was in the hands of someone else, I knew I had no choice but to die in this mountain cottage, but I was afraid that my sister would be the first to discover my suicide, and how shocked and frightened she would be. I didn't think I would be able to do it.
 But, what a chance. My sister was not here, and instead, Dansaa, who was extremely dull, was going to be the one to discover my suicide.
 Last night, we had a few drinks together, put the woman in the western-style room upstairs, and I pulled up a futon in the room below where my mother died.
 My sister.
 There is no ground for hope for me. Good-bye.
 In the end, my death was a natural death. People can't die from thought alone, you know.
 Also, I have a very tedious request. My mother's hemp kimono. I'm sure my sister sewed it back together for Naoji to wear next summer. Please put that kimono in my coffin. I've always wanted to wear it.
 The dawn came. Thank you for all the trouble you have put me through for so long.
 Good-bye.
 I am completely sober from last night's alcohol. I'm going to die sober.
 One more time, goodbye.
 Sister.
 I'm a nobleman.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 7-2

 

 I was already taking money and goods out of my house, making my mom and you sad, and I myself wasn't having any fun at all. Even when I planned to start a publishing business, it was just for show, and I didn't really mean it at all. I'm not sure what to do, but I'm sure I'll be able to do it.
 Sister.
 We're poor now. While I was alive, I wanted to give food to others, but now I have to give food to others to survive.
 Sister.
 Why do I have to live anymore? I can't do it anymore. I'm going to die. I have a medicine that will make it easier for me to die. I got it when I was in the army.
 My sister is beautiful (I was proud of my beautiful mother and sister) and wise, so I'm not worried about her at all. I don't even have the right to be worried. It's like a thief caring for his victim, and it makes me blush. I'm sure that you will get married, have children, and depend on your husband to survive.
 Sister.
 There's one secret I'd like to share with you.
 I have kept this secret for a long time, and even when I was in the war zone, I thought about that person, dreamed about him, woke up and cried many times.
 I can't tell anyone the name of that person even if I wanted to. I thought that since I was dying now, I should at least tell my sister, but I was too frightened to tell her the name.
 But I can't help but feel that if I were to die in absolute secrecy, never revealing the secret to anyone in this world, and keeping it deep in my heart, even if my body were cremated, only the back of my heart would be left with a foul smell. I'll leave it to you. I'm sure my sister will soon realize who it is. It's not fiction, it's just a deception using kana.
 Do you know her?
 I'm sure you know her, but you've probably never met her. She is a little older than my sister. He has single eyelids, with the corners of his eyes hanging up, he has never had permanent hair, and always wears his hair in a very simple and strong bun. He was always neatly dressed and clean. She was the wife of a middle-aged Western-style painter who had suddenly become famous after the war for producing a succession of paintings with a fresh touch, and although the painter's behavior was extremely violent and depraved, the wife was always smiling kindly and unaffected.
 I stood up and said
I stood up and said, "Well, I'll be going now.
 The man also stood up, walked up to me without warning, looked up at me, and asked, "Why?
"Why?
 He looked up at me, said "Why?" in a normal voice, tilted his head slightly as if he was really suspicious, and continued to look me in the eye for a while. There was nothing evil or pretentious in her eyes, and although I tend to wince and avert my gaze when I meet a woman's, this was the only time I didn't feel the slightest bit of embarrassment. And then I smiled.
"But, ……
I'll be home soon.
 I'll be home soon," he said, still with a serious face.
 It occurred to me that honesty could be described as this kind of expression. I wondered if the original virtue expressed by the word "honesty" wasn't something cute like this, instead of the brutal virtue of a shugyo textbook.
"I'll be back.
"Yes.
 From the beginning to the end, it was all an ordinary conversation. When I went to the painter's apartment one summer afternoon, he was not there, but he would be back soon. He was not there, but he was expected back soon, so why don't you come in and wait?
 Noble, I guess you could call it. I can assure you that none of the aristocrats around me, or my mother for that matter, had such an unguarded, "honest" look in their eyes.
 Then, one winter evening, I was struck by the profile of a man. I was forced to stay with a Western-style painter in his apartment, where we sat in a kotatsu (a table over a table top heater), drank sake from morning, and laughed and laughed with the painter about the so-called cultural figures of Japan. As I lay there dozing off, a blanket was pulled over me, and I opened my eyes to see that the winter evening sky over Tokyo was clear and light blue, and the wife was sitting on the window ledge of her apartment with her daughter in her arms, looking as if nothing had happened. The kindness with which he gently draped the blanket over me was not in any way sexual or greedy, and I wondered if humanity was a word that could be revived and used in such a situation, as a natural and wretched human consideration. He was gazing into the distance with a quiet presence that was almost unconscious, just like the painting.
 I closed my eyes and longed for her, and felt as if I were going crazy. Tears welled up from behind my eyelids, and I pulled the blanket over my head.
 I pulled the blanket over my head.
 The reason why I went to visit the painter was because I was initially intoxicated by the unique touch of his works and the fervent passion hidden beneath them. However, as I got to know him more and more, I became more and more amused by his illiteracy, bullshit, and unseemliness, and in proportion to that, I was attracted by the beauty of his wife's feelings.
 If there was even a hint of the noble smell of art in the painter's work, I now thought that it might be a reflection of his wife's kind heart.
 The Western-style painter, I can now say exactly what I feel, is just a clever merchant who drinks heavily and likes to play. He just wants money to play with, so he smears paint on canvas haphazardly, rides the wave of fashion, and sells it at a high price. All he has is the brazenness of a country bumpkin, his foolish confidence, and his cunning business acumen.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 7-1

 

 Naoji's suicide note.

 Sister.
 No, you can't. I'll go first.
 I don't know why I have to live at all.
 Only those who want to live can live.
 Human beings have the right to live as well as the right to die.
 My way of thinking is nothing new, it's just that people are too scared to say such a natural and primitive thing out loud.
 If you want to live, no matter what you have to do, you have to live strongly, and that is splendid, and I am sure there is a human crowning glory in that.
 But I don't think dying is a sin either. There is something lacking in my life. It's not enough. I have been living my life to the best of my ability.
 When I entered high school, I had my first encounter with a strong and tough grass friend who had grown up in a completely different class from the one I had grown up in. In order not to be defeated, he turned to drugs and fought back in a half-crazed manner. Then he became a soldier, and there, too, he turned to opium as a last resort. You don't understand how I feel, do you?
 I wanted to be vulgar. I wanted to be strong, or even violent. I thought it was the only way I could be a friend to the people. Drinking was not enough for me. I had to be dizzy all the time. The only way to do that was with drugs. I had to forget my home. I had to rebel against my father's blood. I had to reject my mother's kindness. I must be cold to my sister. I had to be cold to my sister, or else I would not get a ticket to the people's room.
 I became vulgar. I began to use vulgar language. But half of it, no, sixty percent of it, was a pathetic ploy. It was a lousy trick. In the eyes of the people, I was still an obnoxious, pretentious man. They didn't really want to get to know me and play with me. But then again, I can't go back to the salon I abandoned. Now, even though 60 percent of my vulgarity is artificial and tasteless, the other 40 percent is real vulgarity. I am so disgusted by the snobbish elegance of the so-called upper class salons that I can't stand it even for a moment. I can't go back to the world I left behind, and the people will just give me a seat in their malicious and shitty audience.
 In any world, a weak and flawed weed like me may be destined to disappear by itself, without thought or shit, but I also have a few things to say. However, I do have some arguments.
 All human beings are the same.
 What kind of thought is this? I don't think the person who invented this mysterious phrase is a religious person, a philosopher, or an artist. It is a word that came out of the people's bar. Like a maggot, it came out of nowhere, without anyone knowing who said it, and covered the whole world, making the world awkward.
 This mysterious word has nothing to do with democracy or Marxism. It is, without a doubt, a word hurled by an ugly man at a beautiful man in a bar. It's just frustration. It's jealousy. It's not an ideology or anything.
 But the angry voice of a jealous man in a tavern, with a very ideological look on his face, went around the people, and somehow it got entangled with their political and economic thoughts, and gave them a strangely vile atmosphere, even though the words had nothing to do with democracy or Marxism. Mephistopheles might have hesitated, ashamed of his conscience, to substitute such reckless rhetoric for thought.
 All human beings are the same.
 What a despicable phrase. Words that heal others, but also heal themselves, and make them abandon all efforts without any pride. Marxism asserts the superiority of the working man. It does not say that they are the same thing. Democracy insists on the dignity of the individual. It does not say that they are the same thing. But only Gyuutaro says that. "Heh, no matter how pretentious we are, we are all the same.
 Why do you say they are the same? Why can't you say that they are superior? Revenge of the slave spirit.
 However, this word is really obscene and eerie. People are frightened of each other, all ideas are adulterated, efforts are ridiculed, happiness is denied, beauty is tarnished, glory is dragged down, and I believe that the so-called "anxiety of the century" stems from this mysterious word.
 Although I thought it was a nasty word, I was also intimidated by it, frightened and trembling, fumbling with everything, constantly anxious, nervous, and helpless.
 I guess I'm weak. The grass must have some serious flaw in it. He's a slacker, a slacker, a slacker, a slacker, a slacker, a slacker, a slacker, and a slacker. In the event that you have any questions concerning where and the best way to get in touch with your loved ones, please do not hesitate to contact us.
 Sister.
 Please believe me.
 I did not enjoy playing at all. Maybe it's the impotence of pleasure. I just wanted to get away from my own shadow of a nobleman, so I went crazy, I played, I went wild.
 Sister.
 Is there any sin on our part? Is it our sin to have been born into a noble family? Just because we were born into that family, we have to live in fear, apology, and shyness forever, just like Judas' family members.
 I should have died sooner. But for one thing, my mom's love. I couldn't die thinking of that. Human beings have the right to live freely, and at the same time, they have the right to die at any time, but I believe that the right to die must be reserved while "Mother" is still alive. But I believe that the right to die must be reserved while my mother is alive, because that would mean killing her as well.
 No one is grieving over my death anymore, and no, sister, I know how much you will grieve over my loss… No, let's not get into false sentimentality, I'm sure you will cry when you hear of my death, but You will cry when you hear of my death, but if you think of my living suffering and my joy at being completely freed from that disgusting life, your sorrow will gradually dissipate.
 The person who condemns my suicide and says that I should have lived on, without giving me any help, and only criticizes me verbally and with a smug look on his face, must be a great person who would not mind recommending that His Majesty open a fruit shop.
 Sister.
 I think it would be better for me to die. I don't have what you call the ability to live. I don't have the power to fight with others over money. I can't even take advantage of people. Even when I played with Mr. Uehara, I always paid the bill for him. Mr. Uehara was very reluctant to do so, saying it was the petty pride of an aristocrat, but I didn't pay out of pride, I paid out of the money I earned from Mr. Uehara's work. It would be a lie to simply say that I respected Mr. Uehara's work, but the truth is, I don't know for sure. It's just that it's horrible to be treated to someone else's food. In particular, it is painful and distressing to be treated to a meal with the money earned by a person's own arm, and I can't stand it.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 6-4

 

 A branch of a roadside tree. A branch without a single leaf on it, piercing the night sky with its sharp, faint light.
I couldn't help but say to myself, "Tree branches are beautiful, aren't they?
 I couldn't help saying to myself, "Tree branches are so beautiful.
"Yes, the harmony of the flowers and the black branches.
 "Yes, the harmony of the flowers and the black branches," he said with some hesitation.
No, I like this branch with no flowers, no leaves, no buds, nothing. No, I like this kind of branch with no flowers, no leaves, no buds, nothing. It's not like a dead branch.
"Only nature is unweakened.
 Then he sneezed again, and again, and again.
Are you sure you don't have a cold?
No, no, not at all. Actually, it's a quirk of mine that when I reach the saturation point of alcohol, I immediately start sneezing in this manner. It's like a barometer of sobriety.
What about love?
Huh?
Is there anyone else? Someone who has reached the saturation point.
Oh, don't be silly. All women are the same. Don't complicate things.
Have you seen my letter?
I did.
What's your answer?
I don't like aristocrats, you know. I don't like aristocrats because they have a certain snobbish arrogance about them. Your younger brother Sunao is also a very accomplished aristocrat, but sometimes he suddenly shows a cheeky side that I can't get along with. I am the son of a farmer in the countryside, and whenever I pass by a stream like this, I can't help remembering how I used to fish for crucian carp and scoop up turtles in the stream in my hometown when I was a child.
 We were walking along the path of a stream that was flowing faintly in the depths of darkness.
But you aristocrats not only can't understand our sentimentality, you despise it.
What about Turgenev?
He's an aristocrat. That's why I hate him.
But the hunter's diary, …….
Yeah, that one's kind of good.
It's a sentimental account of rural life. ……
I'll compromise. He's a country bumpkin.
I'm a countryman now, too. I'm a country girl now. I'm growing a farm. A country bumpkin.
"Do you still love me?
 The tone was violent.
Do you want my baby?
 I didn't answer. The man's face came close to mine like a falling rock, and he kissed me unhesitatingly. It was a kiss that smelled of sexual desire. I shed tears as I accepted the kiss. They were bitter tears of humiliation, similar to tears of regret. Tears flowed out of my eyes as many times as I could.
 Again, as they walked side by side.
"I messed up. I've fallen in love with you.
 He laughed.
 But I couldn't smile. I furrowed my brows and pursed my mouth.
 I couldn't help it.
 If I had to describe it in words, that's how I would describe it. I realized that I was dragging my clogs and walking in a sloppy manner.
I messed up," the man said again.
 The man said again.
Let's go as far as we can.
You're being rude.
You son of a bitch.
 Mr. Uehara tapped me on the shoulder with his fist and sneezed loudly again.
 At the home of a man called Fukui-san, everyone seemed to have already gone to bed.
"Telegram, telegram. Telegram, telegram, telegram.
 Mr. Uehara knocked on the front door, saying loudly, "Uehara?
"Uehara?
 A man's voice came from inside the house.
"That's right. I've come to stay with the Prince and Princess for the night. It's so cold here that I'm sneezing all the time, and the whole love affair is turning into a comedy.
 The front door was opened from the inside. A small, balding man, well over fifty years old, wearing fancy pajamas, greeted us with a funny, sly smile.
Please.
 Mr. Uehara said a few words and quickly went into the house without taking off his cloak.
It's too cold in my studio. I'll rent the second floor. Come on.
 He took my hand, walked down the corridor, climbed the stairs at the end of the hallway, entered the dark tatami room, and flipped a switch in the corner of the room.
It looks like a restaurant room.
Yes, it's in the taste of the rich. Yes, it's a rich man's taste, but it's a waste of money for such a poor painter. It's a waste of money for such a poor artist. You have to use it. Let's go to bed, let's go to bed.
 He took the liberty of opening the closet, pulling out a futon, and laying it out, just like in his own house.
I'm going home. I'm going home. I'm going home. I'll come back for you in the morning. The latrine is down the stairs on the right.
 He went down the stairs noisily, rolling down the stairs, and the room was silent for a moment.
 I flipped the switch again to turn off the light, took off the velvet coat made from your father's foreign souvenir fabric, untied the obi and went to the floor in my kimono. I was tired, and perhaps because of the alcohol I had drunk, my body felt sluggish and I soon dozed off.
 Before I knew it, he was lying beside me. …… I resisted in desperate silence for about an hour.
 I suddenly felt sorry for him and abandoned him.
You don't feel safe unless you do this, do you?
Well, that's about it.
You're not feeling very well, are you? You've had hemoptysis, haven't you?
How do you know? Actually, I had a pretty bad one the other day, but I didn't tell anyone.
You smell just like your mother did before she passed away.
I'm drinking myself to death. I'm dying to drink. I'm so sad to be alive that I can't help it. I'm sad to be alive, not because I'm lonely or sad, but because I'm sad. When gloomy, lamenting sighs can be heard from the walls on all sides, there can be no happiness for us alone. What kind of feeling does a person have when he realizes that his happiness and honor will never come in his lifetime? Effort. It will only make you prey to the beast of hunger. There are too many miserable people. Are you kiza?
No.
Only love. Just like you said in your letter.
Yes.
 My love was gone.
 Night had fallen.
 The room became light and I took a long look at the sleeping face of the person sleeping beside me. He had the face of a person who was about to die. He looked tired and exhausted.
 The face of a victim. A precious victim.
 My person. My rainbow. My child. A bitter person. A sly person.
 My heart fluttered as if my love had come back to life, and I kissed her, stroking her hair.
 It was a sad, sad fulfillment of love.
 Mr. Uehara closed his eyes and held me in his arms.
I was afraid. I'm a peasant girl.
 I'll never leave him again.
I'm happy now. I'm happy now. I can hear the lamentations from the walls on all sides, but my happiness is saturated. I'm so happy I could sneeze.
 Ms. Uehara giggled.
But it's getting late. It's twilight.
"It's morning.
 His younger brother, Naoji, had committed suicide that morning.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 6-3

 

 I heard the front door rattle open.
I heard a young man's voice saying, "Sir, I've got it.
 I heard a young man's voice saying, "Sir, I've got it.
I insisted on 20,000 yen, but finally I got 10,000 yen.
"A check?
 Mr. Uehara's voice was hushed.
No, it's just a present one. I'm sorry.
"Oh, well, I'll write the receipt.
 
"Where's Nao?
 The lady asked Chie with a serious look on her face. I was stunned.
I don't know. I don't know. I'm not Naoto's guardian.
 I don't know. I'm not Nao-san's guard," said Chie, her face reddening daintily.
I don't know what happened to you and Mr. Uehara. We were always together, always.
 The lady said calmly.
She said she liked dancing more. He must have found a lover in Dansaa.
He must have found a lover in Dansaa.
That's what you make me do.
But Sunao is worse than you. That little bastard is …….
You know what?
 I smiled and interrupted him. I thought it would be disrespectful to the two of them if I didn't say anything.
I'm Naoji's sister.
 The lady seemed surprised and looked at me, but Chie was unconcerned.
I'm Naoji's sister. When I saw you standing in that dark corner of the earthen floor, I thought you were Naoharu. I thought you were going to fix it.
"Is that so?
 The lady changed her tone.
She changed her tone and said, "How dare you come to such a humble place? So? Have you known Mr. Uehara for a long time?
Yes, we met six years ago at …….
 I stammered, turned my head, and felt like crying.
"Thank you for waiting.
 The maid came with udon noodles.
Please eat it. Eat it while it's hot.
 The maid recommended.
"Bon appétit.
 As I dug my face into the steam of the udon and slurped it down, I felt as if I was now experiencing the ultimate in the wretchedness of life.
 
She silently handed the lady a large envelope, "Don't cheat on the rest with just this.
 Without even looking inside the envelope, she tucked it into the drawer of the brazier and said with a laugh, "I'll bring it.
I'll bring it to you. I'll bring it to you. I'll pay for the rest next year.
What did you do?
 Ten thousand yen. I wonder how many light bulbs I could buy with that much. I could live comfortably for a year if I had that much.
 Oh, there's something wrong with these people. However, just like in the case of my love, these people might not be able to live without it. As long as people are born into this world, they have to live through it, so maybe I shouldn't hate these people for trying to live through it. To be alive. To be alive. Oh, what an unbearable and breathtaking task it is.
Anyway," said the gentleman in the next room.
 The gentleman in the next room said.
If you want to live in Tokyo from now on, you have to be able to say, "Konchichiwa," which is a very frivolous greeting. Demanding such virtues as dignity and sincerity from us nowadays is like pulling on the legs of the neck. Dignity? Sincerity? Pfft, pfft. You can't live with that. If you can't say "hello" lightly, there are only three things left to do, one is to go back to farming, one is to commit suicide, and the other is to be a pimp.
One is to return to farming, one is to commit suicide, and the other is to pimp for a woman.
 Another gentleman said.
"Drinking like Jiro Uehara.
 Guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine.

 You don't have a place to stay," said Mr. Uehara in a low voice, as if talking to himself.
"Me?
 I was conscious of a snake with a sickle on its head. Hostility. I stiffened my body with a feeling similar to that.
It's cold. It's cold.
 Mr. Uehara muttered, unconcerned about my anger.
You can't.
 I don't think so," interrupted the lady.
I feel sorry for you.
 Uehara-san clicked her tongue.
"Then you shouldn't have come here.
 I kept silent. I was silent. This person had indeed read my letter. I quickly guessed from the mood of his words that he had read my letter and loved me more than anyone else.
It's no use. I think I'll go to Fukui-san and ask him for help. Chie, can you take me there? No, it's too dangerous for a woman to go alone. That's a problem. Mom, please take this person's clothes and put them around the house. I'll send it back to you.
 It felt like midnight outside. The wind had died down somewhat and the sky was filled with stars. We walked side by side.
We walked side by side, "I could do anything, even take a nap.
 Uehara-san said in a sleepy voice.
"Yes.
 "Yes," was all Uehara-san said in a sleepy voice.
You wanted to be alone with me, didn't you? I bet you did.
 When I smiled, he said.
"That's why I hate you.
 When I laughed, Uehara-san said, "That's why I hate you. I was very aware of how much he loved me.
You drink a lot, don't you? Do you drink every night?
Yes, every day. Every morning.
Is it good? The alcohol?
It's not good.
 For some reason, I was horrified to hear Mr. Uehara's voice.
Do you have a job?
No. No matter what I write, it's ridiculous, and then I just feel so sad that I can't help it. The twilight of life. The twilight of art. The twilight of humanity. And that's just kidding.
"Utrillo.
 I said it almost unconsciously.
"Ah, Utrillo. I hear he's still alive. He's an alcoholic. He's a corpse. His paintings of the last ten years have been so vulgar that they are all useless.
"It's not just Utrillo, is it? All the other maestros are on …….
Yes, debilitating. But the new shoots are still shoots, and they are weakening. Frost. Frost. It's like an untimely frost has fallen all over the world.
 Mr. Uehara hugged my shoulders lightly, and my body was wrapped in his double-around sleeves, but I didn't reject him, instead I walked slowly, snuggling up to him.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 6-2

 

 I quickly found an oden shop called Shiraishi in front of the station. But that person was not there.
He must be in Asagaya. If you go straight to the north exit of Asagaya Station, you will see a hardware store. There's a hardware store, and then turn right. There's a small restaurant called Yanagiya, you know, Sensei, these days I'm having a lot of trouble with the hostess at Yanagiya.
 I went to the station, bought a ticket, got on the Tokyo-bound train, got off at Asagaya, went to the north exit, about a block and a half, turned right at the hardware store, and a block and a half, Yanagiya was quiet.
He just left, but there were a lot of people there, and they were saying they were going to Nishiogi to drink the night away with their plover aunt.
 He was younger than me, calm, elegant, and kind. I wondered if this was the same person as Oste.
"Chidori? Which part of Nishiogi?
 I was so nervous that I almost cried. I wondered if I was losing my mind now.
I don't know much about it, but if you get off at Nishiogi station, go to the south exit, turn left, or whatever, and ask at the police box, I think you'll find out. After all, he's a man who can't be contained in just one place, and he might be stuck somewhere else before he gets to the plover.
I'll go to the plover. Goodbye.
 I went back again. From Asagaya, I took the Ministry line to Tachikawa, got off at Ogikubo, Nishi Ogikubo, or the south exit of the station, wandered around in the mist, found a police box, asked for the direction to the plover, then ran along the street at night as I had been told, found the plover's blue lantern, and opened the lattice door without hesitation.
 There was an earthen floor and then a room of about six tatami mats, thick with cigarette smoke, where about ten people were sitting around a large table, drinking noisily. There were also three young ladies, younger than me, smoking cigarettes and drinking alcohol.
 I stood on the dirt floor, looked around, and found them. Then I felt like I was dreaming. It was different. Six years. I'm a completely different person now.
 Could this be my rainbow, my M.C., my reason for living, that person? Six years. Her hair was still the same, but it had turned a pitiful shade of reddish brown, her face was yellow and puffy, the edges of her eyes were red and sore, her front teeth were falling out, and her mouth was constantly chomping.
 One of the girls looked at me and informed Mr. Uehara with her eyes that I was coming. She sat down and stretched out her long, slender neck to look at me, and without any expression on her face, she signaled with her chin to go away. The troupe, seemingly unconcerned about me, continued to make a lot of noise, and then, little by little, they filled the seats and made a seat for me right next to Mr. Uehara.
 I sat down in silence. Mr. Uehara poured a generous amount of sake into my cup, and then poured some more into his own cup.
"Cheers!
 He then poured some more sake into his own cup and said in a low, hushed voice, "Cheers.
 The two cups made a sad clinking sound as they weakly touched each other.
 Someone said, "Guillotine, guillotine, sur sur sur," and in response, another person said, "Guillotine, guillotine, sur sur sur," and the cups clinked together and drank. Guillotine, guillotine, sur sur sur sur sur, guillotine, guillotine, guillotine, sur sur sur sur sur," came from all over the place, and the cups were clinking together in a lively toast. They seemed to be forcing the alcohol down their throats with such a joking rhythm.
"Well, excuse me.
 Then, just as I thought someone would stagger off, a new customer would sneak in, make a little bow to Mr. Uehara, and join the group.
He said, "Mr. Uehara, over there, Mr. Uehara, over there, the part called 'ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. Ah, ah, ah? Ah, ah, ah?
 The person who leaned forward to ask this was Fujita, a shingeki actor whose face I also recognized from the stage.
"Ah, ah. Ah, ah, plover's sake is not cheap," said Mr. Uehara.
 Mr. Uehara said.
He's always talking about money.
 The young lady said.
Two sparrows for a penny, is that expensive or cheap? Are they cheap?
 The young gentleman asked.
There is a saying that not a penny is left over, and there is a very complicated parable about five talents for some, two talents for others, and one talent for others.
 Another gentleman said.
And he was a drinker. I was wondering why there were so many parables about drinking in the bible, but the bible says that he was accused of being a drinker. The bible says that he was accused of being a drinker, not a drinker, so he must have been quite a drinker. He must have been quite a drinker.
 said the other gentleman.
No, no, no. No, no, no. You're so scared of morality that you're using Jesus as an excuse. Chie, let's drink. Guillotine, guillotine, sur sur sur sur sur sur.
 The alcohol dripped from the corner of his mouth, wetting his chin, and he wiped it off with his palm roughly as if in desperation, then sneezed five or six times in succession.
 I quietly stood up and went to the next room to ask the sickly, pale and skinny lady to use the restroom, and on my way back, I saw the youngest and most beautiful lady, Chie, standing there, looking as if she had been waiting for me.
"Aren't you hungry?
 I asked her with a friendly smile.
Yes, but I've brought bread.
I have nothing.
 We have nothing," said the sickly lady, sitting sluggishly on her side, leaning against a long brazier.
You can eat in this room. You will not be able to eat all night if you have to deal with those drunkards. Sit down here, please. Chieko, come with me.
"Hey, Kinu-chan, we're out of alcohol.
 A gentleman next to me shouted.
"Yes, yes.
 The maidservant, who was about thirty years old and wore a stylish striped kimono, came out of the kitchen with about ten choshos on a tray.
"Hey!
 The lady stopped her and said
"Here are two more.
 She laughed and said
And, Kinu-chan, I'm sorry, but you must go to Suzuya's in the back and hurry up to get two udon noodles.
 Chie and I sat beside the brazier and fanned our hands.
It's getting cold, isn't it? It's getting cold, isn't it? Would you like to have a drink?
 The lady poured sake from her choshi (sake bottle) into her own tea bowl, and then poured sake into two other bowls.
 Then the three of us drank in silence.
You're all very strong," the lady said.
 I don't know why," said the lady in a somber tone.