Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 6-1

　Let the battle begin.
　I could not stay in sorrow forever. There was something I had to fight for. A new ethic. No, it would be hypocritical to say so. Love. That was it. Just as Rosa would not have survived without her new economics, I must now live without my one love. When Jesus was about to send his twelve disciples out into the world to expose the hypocrisy of the religious, moralists, scholars, and authorities of the world, and to tell people the truth about the true love of God without the slightest hesitation, the words he taught them were the same words that I have been hearing all along. The words that he taught his disciples when he was about to send his twelve disciples to various parts of the world also seemed to have nothing to do with my case.
Do not carry gold, silver or coins in your belt. Do not carry a bag for your journey, two pieces of underwear, shoes, or a staff. Look at me, sending you is like sending a sheep into a wolf. Therefore, be as wise as a snake and as straightforward as a pigeon. Be mindful of those who would have you in the assembly hall and whip you in the halls. And ye shall be dragged before kings and rulers for my cause. If they take you, do not be troubled as to what you should say. The one who says this is not you, but the spirit of your father, who is within you, and will say it. And why should all men hate you for my name's sake? However, those who endure until the end shall be saved. If you are reproached in this town, flee to another town. I tell you, before you have exhausted the towns and cities of Israel, the children of men must come.
　Fear not those who kill the body but not the soul; fear those who can destroy the body and soul in Gehenna. Do not think that I have come to cast peace upon the earth, but I have come not to cast peace, but a sword. I have come to separate a man from his father, a daughter from her mother, and a daughter-in-law from her mother-in-law. A man's vengeance is his own house. He who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. He who loves his son or daughter more than himself is not worthy of me. And whoever does not take up his cross and follow Me, he is not worthy of Me. Those who gain life should lose it, and those who lose life for my sake should gain it.
　Let the battle begin.
　I wonder if Jesus would scold me if I were to swear to follow his teachings to the letter because of my love for him. I don't know why "love" is bad and "love" is good. I feel like they are the same thing. I want to say that I am the one who can destroy my body and soul in Gehenna for the sake of love, for the sake of love, for the sake of sorrow.
　With the help of my uncles, my mother's private funeral was held in Izu, and the main funeral was held in Tokyo. After that, Naoji and I lived an awkward life in a mountain cottage in Izu, not speaking to each other even when we saw each other, for no apparent reason. One day, he brought a young man with him who looked like a dancer, and Naoharu, as expected, felt a little bad.
One day, he brought a young man who looked like a dancer.　I'd like to visit my friend for the first time in a while. I'll stay with you for two or three nights, so please stay at home. You can ask her to do the cooking.
　I quickly took advantage of Naoharu's weakness, and with the wisdom of a snake, I was able to pack my bag with cosmetics, bread, etc., and go to Tokyo to meet her quite naturally.
　I had heard from Naoji that if you got off at the north exit of Ogikubo Station on the Ministry Line in the suburbs of Tokyo, you could reach her new post-war residence in about 20 minutes.
　It was a day when the cold wind was blowing strongly. By the time I got off at Ogikubo Station, it was already dark, and I wandered around the dark suburban alleyways for about an hour, catching up with people on the street, telling them the address of the person I was talking to and asking them to point me in that direction. The nameplate on the front door of one of the two tenement houses on my right suddenly flashed white in the night and I thought it said "Uehara" on it, so I ran to the front door of the house with one foot still in my tabi and looked at the nameplate more closely. But it was dark inside the house.
　He stood there for a moment, wondering what he should do, and then, as if he wanted to throw himself down, he leaned against the lattice door of the front door and said, "I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry.
　He stroked the lattice with the fingertips of both hands and said, "Uehara-san.
"Uehara-san.
　I whispered to him, "Uehara-san.
　There was a reply. But it was a woman's voice.
　The front door opened from the inside, and a woman with a fine, old-fashioned smell, who looked three or four years older than me, glanced at me in the darkness of the doorway, smiled, and said, "Who are you?
"Who are you?
　There was no malice or caution in the tone of her words.
No, sir.
　But I failed to tell him my name. To this person, my love seemed strangely insecure. I was frightened, almost sneering.
"Where is the doctor?　Are you here?
"No.
　"Yes," he replied, looking at me with a pitying expression.
"But they usually go to …….
Far away?
No.
　But I usually go to ." "Far away?" "No," he said, putting one hand to his mouth in a funny way.
Ogikubo. If you go to the oden shop called Shiraishi in front of the station, you can usually find your way there.
　I thought I was going to fly away.
"Oh, I see.
"Oh, I see." "Oh, you have something for me.
　She gave me a light hosode, a leather strap that can be easily mended when the hosode is broken, and fixed my geta, while she lit a candle and brought it to the door. In the meantime, she lit a candle and brought it to the door.
Unfortunately, both of our light bulbs are out, and light bulbs these days are very expensive and easy to break.
　We will be penniless and fast asleep for the next three nights," he said with a carefree smile. Behind her stood a slender female child of twelve or three years of age, with large eyes, who rarely seemed to be attracted to people.
　An enemy. I don't think so, but this wife and child must think of me as an enemy and hate me at some point. When I thought about it, I felt as if my love had temporarily waned. I replaced the strap of my geta, stood up and clapped my hands together to brush off the dirt from my hands. But then, suddenly, I thought of my own sullen, indescribable, and tasteless appearance, and I became disgusted.
Thank you very much.
　 She's a nice lady, and she's beautiful, too, but I don't feel the least bit sorry for myself, even though I'm standing on the judgment seat of God, because I was born for love and revolution, and God can't punish me for that. I'm sure I'll stay in the wild for two or three nights until I see him again.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 5-4

There is a female snake with red stripes on a stone in her shoes on the porch, isn't there? Look at it.
　With a chill in my heart, I stood up and walked out to the porch, and looked through the glass door to see a snake stretched out on the shoe-stone, basking in the autumn sun. I was dizzy and giddy.
　I know you. You've grown a little older and older since then, but you're still that she-snake who had her eggs roasted for me. I'm well aware of your vengeance, so go away. Please go away.
　I stared at the snake, hoping in my heart that it would go away, but it refused to budge. For some reason, I didn't want the nurse to see the snake. I stomped my foot hard and said
"No, Mother. You can't rely on your dreams.
　The snake finally moved its body and slithered down from the stone.
　It's no use. Seeing the snake, resignation welled up in my heart for the first time. At the time of your father's death, there was also a small black snake by his bedside, and I saw a snake entangled in a tree in the garden at that time.
　She seemed to have lost the energy to get up on the floor and was always slumped over, leaving her body completely in the hands of the attendant nurse, and she hardly seemed to be able to finish her meals. After seeing the snake, I felt a sense of peace, or perhaps I should say happiness, that overcame the depths of my grief, and I decided to stay by her side as long as I could.
　The next day, I began to sit by her bedside and do some knitting. I was much faster than others at knitting and needlework, but I was not very good at it. So my mother would always take me by the hand and teach me what I was not good at. That day, I had no desire to knit, but I took out a box of woolen yarn and began to knit without a care in the world so that I would not be unnaturally attached to her.
　My mother stared at my hands and said, "Your socks.
She stared at my hands and said, "You're going to knit your socks, aren't you?　If so, you'll have to make eight more, or they'll be too tight to wear.
　He said.
　When I was a child, I couldn't knit very well no matter how many times she taught me, but I was just as confused as I was then.
　She didn't seem to be in any pain at all when she was sleeping like this. She hadn't eaten at all since early this morning, and I would only occasionally fill her mouth with tea on gauze.
I saw your picture in the newspaper, can you show it to me again?
　I held the section of the newspaper up to her face.
You've aged.
No, it's a bad photo. No, it's a bad photo. She looked so young and happy in the last one. You must be rather pleased with your age.
Why?
Because His Majesty has just been released.
　Her mother smiled sadly. Then, after a while.
"I can't cry anymore, even if I wanted to.
　She said, "I don't cry anymore even if I want to.
　I suddenly thought that her mother must be happy now. Happiness is like gold dust glittering faintly at the bottom of a river of sorrow, isn't it? If that is what happiness feels like, then His Majesty, your mother, and I are indeed happy now. It was a quiet autumn morning. The sun was soft in the autumn garden. I stopped knitting and looked out at the sea, which was shining high above my chest.
"Mother. I've been so naive.
　I wanted to say something more, but I was too embarrassed to say it to the nurse who was preparing an IV in the corner of the room.
What do you mean until now?
　Her mother, with a thinly veiled smile, stopped listening.
"So you know the world now?
　I felt my face turn red for some reason.
"I don't know about the world.
　I don't know what the world is," she said in a low voice, turning her face away from me, as if talking to herself.
I don't understand. I don't understand, and I don't think anyone else does.　No matter how much time passes, everyone is still a child. They don't understand anything.
　But I have to live. I may be a child, but I can't just be a child anymore. I have to compete with the world from now on. Oh, my mother was the last person who could end her life without fighting with others, without hatred or envy, and in a beautiful and sad way, as she did. Dying people are beautiful. To live. Surviving. I feel that it is very ugly, smells of blood, and is an awful thing. I tried to picture a pregnant snake digging a hole on the tatami. But there was something I couldn't give up. I will survive and fight against the world to accomplish what I want. When it became clear that my mother was going to die, my romanticism and sentimentality gradually disappeared, and I felt as if I was turning into a vicious creature that could not be traced.
　Just after noon that day, as I was standing beside her, soothing her mouth, a car pulled up in front of the gate. It was Wada's uncle, who had come with his aunt from Tokyo by car. When my uncle arrived at the hospital room and sat silently at my mother's bedside, my mother covered the lower half of her face with a handkerchief, looked at my uncle's face, and cried. But she only looked like she was crying, no tears came out. She looked like a doll.
"Where's Naoharu?
　Where is Naoji?
　I went upstairs and told Naoji, who was lying on the sofa in the western room reading a new magazine, that his mother wanted to see him.
"Your mother wants to see you," I said.
　I said to him.
He said, "My mother wants to see you again. How can you people put up with so much and hang in there? You have thick nerves. You're so heartless. Our hearts are burning, but our bodies are weak, and we don't have the strength to stay with you.
　I don't have the strength to stay with you," she said as she put on her jacket and came downstairs with me.
　As we sat together at her bedside, she suddenly took her hand out from under her futon, pointed silently at Naoji, then at me, and then turned her face toward my uncle and put both of her palms together.
　My uncle nodded his head and said
"Oh, I understand. I understand.
　I understand.
　As if relieved, your mother lightly closed her eyes and gently put her hands into the futon.
　I cried, and Naoji turned his head and sobbed.
　Just then, Mr. Miyake's old doctor came from Nagaoka and gave him an injection. Your mother must have felt that she had nothing left to worry about now that she had met your uncle.
She said, "Doctor, please hurry up and make me feel better.
　She said.
　The old doctor and my uncle looked at each other and kept silent, tears glistening in their eyes.
　I got up and went to the dining room, made the fox udon noodles that my uncle liked, and took them to the kitchen with my teacher, Naoji, and my aunt, and then presented my uncle's gift of sandwiches from the Marunouchi Hotel to my mother and put them on her pillow.
"You must be busy.
　She whispered, "You must be busy.
　Everyone chatted for a while in the room, and then my aunt and uncle had to go back to Tokyo tonight, so they handed me a package of money to visit her, and Mr. Miyake decided to go back with the nurse, so I told the attendant nurse how to treat him. He was still conscious, and his heart was not too bad, so even with just injections, he should be okay for another four or five days, so everyone drove back to Tokyo that day.
　After dropping everyone off, I went to the tatami room and found my mother smiling at me in a friendly way.
"You must have been busy.
　She said again in a whispery voice. His face seemed to glow with vitality. I thought that she must have been happy to see her uncle.
No.
　I smiled, feeling a little buoyant myself.
　This was the last time I talked to my mother.
　About three hours later, my mother passed away. In the quiet twilight of autumn, a nurse took her pulse and Naoji and I, her only two immediate family members, watched over her as her beautiful mother, the last noble lady in Japan, passed away.
　Her face was almost exactly the same as when she died. In the case of her father, the color of his face changed quickly, but the color of her mother's face did not change at all, and only her breathing ceased. It was hard to tell when the breathing stopped. The swelling in her face had gone down from the day before, her cheeks were as smooth as wax, and her thin lips seemed to be twitching faintly with a smile. I thought she resembled Marya of the Pieta.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 5-3

　We sat in silence for a while, looking down at the winter river.
"Be safe. If this is goodbye forever, be safe forever. Byron.
　And then he recited the Byron poem in the original and hugged me lightly.
　I was embarrassed.
"I'm sorry.
　I was so embarrassed that I whispered, "I'm sorry," and walked toward Ochanomizu Station, turning around to see my friend standing on the bridge, motionless and staring at me.
　I never saw my friend again. I went to the same foreign teacher's house, but went to a different school.
　Twelve years have passed since then, but I still haven't moved on from my class diary. What in the world was I doing during that time? I had never longed for a revolution, and I had never even known love. Until now, the adults of the world had taught us that revolution and love were the two most foolish and disgusting things, and we had believed that before and during the war, but after the defeat, we had lost faith in the adults of the world, and felt that the true way to live was to do everything contrary to what they said. Revolution and love are actually the best and tastiest things in the world, and they are so good that we have come to believe that they must have been lying to us and telling us that they are green grapes. I want to be sure. I am convinced that we were born for love and revolution.
　The sliding door opened and my mother came out, laughing.
She said, "You are still awake. Aren't you sleepy?
　She looked at the clock on the desk.
　When I looked at the clock on my desk, it was twelve o'clock.
I looked at the clock on my desk and saw that it was twelve o'clock, "Yes, I'm not sleepy at all. I've been reading a book on socialism and I'm so excited.
"Yes. Do you have any alcohol?　I've been reading a book about socialism and I'm getting excited.
　He said this in a teasing tone, but there was a certain charm to his demeanor that was on par with that of a big man.

　Eventually, October came, but instead of clear autumn skies, the days continued to be damp and muggy, like the rainy season. Every evening, her fever rose and fell between thirty-eight and nine degrees Celsius.
　Then, one morning, I saw something terrible. Mother's hands were swollen. She used to say that breakfast was the most delicious meal of the day, but now she sat on the floor and ate only a small bowl of porridge, and she refused to eat any side dishes with a strong smell. That day, I offered her a bowl of matsutake mushroom soup, but she didn't even like the smell of matsutake mushrooms, so she took the bowl to her mouth and gently placed it back on the table. I looked at her hands and was surprised to see that her right hand was swollen and round.
"Mother!　Is your hand all right?
　Even her face looked a little pale and swollen.
It's nothing. This much is nothing.
When did it start to swell?
　Her mother looked at me with a glare on her face and remained silent. I felt like crying out loud. These hands are not my mother's hands. They were the hands of another woman. My mother's hands are much smaller and much scarier. Hands that I know well. Gentle hands. Lovely hands. I wondered if those hands had disappeared forever. My left hand was not yet so swollen, but it was still hurtful and I couldn't look at it, so I turned away and stared at the flower basket in the alcove.
　I couldn't stand to look at him, so I turned away and stared at the basket of flowers in the alcove. I felt like crying, so I got up and went to the dining room, where Naoji was eating a half-boiled egg by himself. Whenever he was at home in Izu, he would usually go to Osaki-san's to drink shochu at night, and in the morning he would be grumpy, not eating rice but only eating four or five half-boiled eggs, and then going upstairs to sleep and wake up again.
She would eat four or five half-boiled eggs and then go back upstairs to sleep and wake up again. "Your mother's hands are swollen.
　He spoke to Naoharu and turned his head. I couldn't continue, so I kept my head down and cried on his shoulder.
　Naoji remained silent.
　I looked up at him and said
I looked up and said, "I can't do this anymore. Didn't you notice?　If it swells up like that, it's no use.
　I said, grabbing the edge of the table.
　Naoharu's face became gloomy as well.
It's close, you know. I want to fix it again.
I want to fix it again. I want to fix it again. I want to fix it somehow.
　"I want to fix it again. I want to fix it somehow," he said, squeezing his left hand with his right, and all of a sudden, Naoharu started to cry and whimper.
Suddenly, Naoji began to cry bitterly and said, "Nothing good has ever happened to you. There's nothing good about us.
　He rubbed his eyes with his fists in a messy manner.
　That day, Naoji went to Tokyo to report to his uncle in Wada about his mother's condition and to receive instructions on what to do. I cried when I went to get milk in the morning mist, when I stroked my hair in the mirror, and when I applied lipstick. I couldn't help but cry as much as I could, as the pictures of the happy days I had spent with my mother came to me. In the evening, after it became dark, I went out on the veranda of the room and sobbed for a long time. The stars were shining in the autumn sky, and a stranger's cat was huddled under my feet, motionless.
　The next day, the swelling in my hands was even worse than yesterday. He did not eat any food. The next day, the swelling in her hands was worse than yesterday.
I was going to say with a laugh, "Mother, why don't you put on that mask of Naoji's again?
　I was going to laugh and say, "Mother, why don't you put on that mask again?
I'm sure you're tired of working so hard every day. I'm sure you must be exhausted with all the work you have to do every day.
　But I could see that he was more concerned about Kazuko's health than his own, which made me even more sad.
　A little past noon, Naoji brought the old doctor and two nurses from Miyake-sama.
　The old doctor, who always made jokes, seemed to be angry at that time, and came into the hospital room and began his examination immediately. Then, without saying a word to anyone.
"You're getting weaker.
　He gave me an injection of camphor.
"Where is the doctor staying?
　Where is the doctor staying?
"Nagaoka again. Don't worry, I've made a reservation. This sick person should not worry about others, but be more selfish and eat as much as he wants. You will feel better after you get some nutrition. I will come back tomorrow. I'll leave one of my nurses with you, so you can try it.
　The old doctor said in a loud voice to the sick mother, then looked at Naoji and stood up.
　Naoharu alone walked the doctor and his attendant nurse away, and when he came back, he looked like he was trying to hold back tears.
　We quietly left the hospital room and went to the dining room.
"No?　Isn't that right?
It's boring.
　"It's boring," Naoji said, his mouth quirking up in a smile.
It seems that my weakness has come on ridiculously fast. He said he doesn't know if he's going to make it this time or tomorrow.
　As he was saying this, tears welled up in Naoji's eyes.
I hope you don't mind if I don't send a telegram to Houbo.
　I said, feeling much calmer.
I talked to my uncle about it, but he said that now was not the time to gather such people. Even if they came, it would be rude to do so in such a small house, and there are no good inns nearby. My uncle is supposed to be here soon, but he's always been too stingy to ask for anything. Even last night, he was already lecturing me about my mother's illness. There has never been a single person in all of history, east or west, who has been awakened by a lecture from a stingy person. Even if you are a sister and a brother, there is a huge difference between your mother and that guy.
But I'm afraid you're going to have to rely on your uncle, …….
I don't want to do that. I'd rather be a beggar. You should be begging. You should be begging your uncle for help.
For me, it's …….
　I cried.
I've got somewhere to go.
A marriage proposal?　Do you have a plan?
No.
Self-supporting?　A working woman. No, no, no.
I'm not self-supporting. I'm going to be a revolutionary.
"What?
　Naoharu looked at me with a strange expression on his face.
　At that moment, the attendant nurse that Dr. Miyake had brought with him came to call me.
She said, "Your wife seems to have some business with you.
　I hurried to the hospital room, sat down beside the futon, and said, "What?
What is it?
　She sat down by the futon and asked, "What?
　She sat down by the futon and asked, "What is it?" But her mother was silent, as if she wanted to say something.
"Water?" he asked.
　I asked.
　She shook her head faintly. It seemed that it was not water.
　After a while, she said in a low voice, "I had a dream.
"I had a dream.
　I had a dream.
"Yes?　What kind of dream?
"A dream about snakes.
　I was shocked.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 5-2

　I stood up and went to the room. I moved the couch in the room to the edge of the tatami room and sat down so that I could see her face. I sat down so that I could see her mother's face. Her face did not look sick at all. Her eyes were beautiful and clear, and her complexion was vibrant. Every morning, she would wake up regularly, go to the bathroom, do her hair on the three tatami mats in the bathroom, dress herself neatly, then go back to her bed, eat while sitting on the floor, sleep on the floor and wake up, read newspapers and books all morning, and only have a fever in the afternoon. She spent all morning reading newspapers and books, and her fever came on only in the afternoon.
She spent the whole morning reading newspapers and books, and her fever only came on in the afternoon. "Oh, my mother is fine. She must be fine.
　In my mind, I strongly dismissed Mr. Miyake's diagnosis.
　I began to doze off as I thought about October and the time when the chrysanthemums would be in bloom. I found myself at the edge of a lake in a familiar forest, a place that in reality I had never seen before, yet in my dreams I sometimes saw it and thought, "Oh, here I am again. I was walking together with a young man in kimono without hearing his footsteps. The whole landscape seemed to be covered with a green mist. Then I saw a crisp white bridge sinking at the bottom of the lake.
Oh, the bridge is sinking. We can't go anywhere today. Let's stay here at the hotel. I'm sure there's an empty room here.
　There was a stone hotel by the lake. The stone of the hotel was wet with a green mist. As I read the word SWI, I suddenly remembered my mother. I wondered what her mother would do. I wondered if she was coming to this hotel, too.　I became suspicious. So I walked with the young man through the stone gate and into the front garden. In the misty garden, large red flowers similar to hydrangeas were blooming like fire. When I was a child, I used to feel sad when I saw red hydrangea flowers scattered on the pattern of a futon mattress, but now I realized that red hydrangea flowers really existed.
Are you cold?
Yes, a little. Yes, a little. My ears are wet from the fog and they are cold behind my ears.
　He laughed and said.
I wonder what your mother will do?
　He laughed and asked, "How is your mother?
　The young man smiled with great sadness and compassion.
"She's under the grave.
　He is under the grave.
Oh!
　I exclaimed quietly. That's right. My mother was no longer with us. Hadn't she already been buried long ago? When I realized that my mother had already passed away, I felt an inexplicable shiver of sadness and woke up.
　It was already twilight on the veranda. It was raining. The green rustiness was still there, just like in my dream.
Mother," I called.
　I called out.
　In a quiet voice.
"What are you doing?
　I jumped for joy.
　I jumped up with joy and went to the room.
"Now, I was asleep.
"Oh, yes. I was wondering what you were doing. I was wondering what you were doing. You took a long nap.
　I was wondering what you were doing.
　I was so happy and grateful that my mother was still alive and breathing gracefully that I was moved to tears.
"What's on the menu for dinner?　Do you have a preference?
　I said in a slightly flirtatious tone.
No, thank you. I don't need anything. It's nine degrees and five minutes today.
　I was suddenly crushed to a pulp. I looked around the dimly lit room, at a loss, and suddenly felt like dying.
I wondered what was wrong with me. Nine degrees and five minutes?
It's nothing. It's just that I don't like it when I have a fever. My head hurts a little, I get a chill, and then the fever comes on.
　Outside, it was already dark, the rain seemed to have stopped, but the wind was blowing. It was getting dark outside.
"Don't turn on the light, it's too bright.
　It's too bright.
"Don't you want to sleep in the dark?
　I asked her while standing.
I stood up and asked him, "You must be tired of sleeping in the dark. It's the same. It's just that I don't like the glare. From now on, please don't turn on the light in the tatami room.
　He said.
　I turned off the light in the tatami room without saying a word, went to the next room, lit the lamp on the stand in the next room, and felt so shabby that I rushed to the dining room to eat canned salmon on cold rice.
　The wind blew harder at night, and around nine o'clock it started to rain, making it a real storm. The bamboo screen that I had rolled up a couple of days ago was banging noisily, and I was reading Rosa Luxemburg's "An Introduction to Economics" in the next room of the tatami room with a strange excitement. At that time, I also borrowed Lenin's Selected Works and Kautsky's "Social Revolution" without permission, and placed them on my desk in the next room. She looked at the three books, picked them up one by one, looked at them, gave a small sigh, gently placed them on the desk again, and glanced at me with a sad face. But the look in her eyes, while full of deep sorrow, was not one of rejection or disgust. Your mother reads Hugo, Deuma, Musset, and Dooyewe, but I know that even such sweet stories have the smell of revolution in them. People like your mother, who have a natural education, which is a strange word, may be able to face the revolution as a matter of course, without any difficulty. I know that reading Rosa Luxemburg's book makes me seem like an impish person, but I am still deeply interested in her in my own way. This book is supposed to be about economics, but if you read it as economics, it is very boring. It's all very simple and obvious. Or maybe I just don't understand economics at all. In any case, it was not at all interesting to me. It is an academic discipline that is completely useless without the premise that people are stingy and will always be stingy, and for those who are not stingy, the issue of distribution or anything else is of no interest. Nevertheless, I read this book and was strangely excited by something else. It is the courage of the author to destroy the old ideas without any hesitation. I can even picture a married woman running coolly and quickly to the person she is in love with, no matter how much it goes against morality. The idea of destruction. Destruction is pathetic, sad, and beautiful in its own way. The dream of destroying, rebuilding, and completing. Once it is destroyed, the day of completion may never come, but still, because of love, it must be destroyed. We have to start a revolution. Rosa is sadly and earnestly in love with Marxism.
　It was the winter of twelve years ago.
You are the girl from the Sarashina diary, aren't you? You're the girl from the Sarashina diary, and there's nothing more you can say.
　That was the friend who walked away from me. At that time, I returned Lenin's book to her without reading it.
"Have you read it?
"I'm sorry. I didn't read it.
　We were on a bridge overlooking the Nicolai Hall.
Why not?　Why not?
　My friend was a beautiful woman, a bit taller than me, who spoke the language very well, looked good in a red beret and had a face like Gioconda.
I didn't like the color of the cover.
She was a funny person. You're not, are you?　You're actually afraid of me, aren't you?
No, I'm not scared of you. I just love the color of the cover.
Yeah.
　And then he said I was a class diary, and then he decided that there was nothing he could say to make me feel better.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 5-1

　This summer, I wrote three letters to a man, but he did not respond to them. No matter how I looked at it, I felt that there was no other way for me to live, so I wrote my heart out in three letters, and posted them as if I were jumping down from the edge of a cape into a raging sea, but no matter how long I waited, there was no reply. When I asked my younger brother, Naoji, about the man's condition, he told me that there was nothing unusual about him, that he drank every night and wrote many immoral works, and that he was hated by the adults of the world. When I listened to Naoji, it seemed that the atmosphere around the person I was in love with did not contain my scent at all, and I was more embarrassed than ashamed. Rather than feeling embarrassed, I began to feel as if this world was a strange creature different from the one I had imagined, as if I were left alone, standing in a twilight autumn field where there was nothing I could do, no matter how hard I called or shouted. I felt pathetic and pathetic. I wondered if this was what heartbreak was all about. As I stood there in the middle of nowhere, the sun was setting, and I wondered if there was anything else I could do but die in the dew.
　My sails were already up and out of the harbor, so I could not just stand there.
　She had a terrible cough one night, and when I checked her fever, it was 39 degrees.
It must have been because it was so cold today. It must have been the cold today.
　I don't think it's just a cough," she said in a whisper as she coughed.
　The next morning, her fever had gone down to 37 degrees and her cough was not so bad anymore, but I still went to the doctor in the village and asked him to examine her, telling him that her mother had suddenly become very weak recently, that she had a fever again since last night, and that her cough seemed different from the cough of a common cold.
　He took three pears from a cupboard in the corner of the parlor and gave them to me. Then, a little past noon, she came to see me in a white kasuri and summer haori. After a long and careful examination, he turned to me and said, "Don't worry.
He turned to me and said, "Don't worry. There is nothing to worry about, just take your medicine and you will be fine.
　I was strangely amused.
　I was strangely amused and tried not to laugh.
Would you like an injection?
　I stifled a laugh and asked, "Would you like an injection?
He replied seriously, "I don't think that's necessary. I'm sure there is no need for that. It's just a cold, and if you keep quiet, it will pass soon.
　I'm sure it will pass soon.
　However, her fever did not go down even after a week had passed. Her cough had subsided, but her fever was about 7.7 degrees in the morning and reached 9 degrees in the evening. The doctor had been absent since the next day because of an upset stomach or something, and when I went to get her medicine, I told the nurse that her mother's condition was not good, and she told the doctor, who replied that it was just a common cold and there was nothing to worry about.
　Naoharu was still on a business trip to Tokyo and wouldn't be back for another ten days or so. I was so anxious that I wrote a postcard to my uncle in Wada to inform him of the change in my mother's condition.
　On the tenth day after the fever broke, a doctor from the village came to examine her, saying that her stomach was finally feeling better.
　The doctor examined the mother's chest with a cautious expression.
"I understand, I understand.
　Then he turned to face me again and said, "I don't understand the cause of your fever.
We found out the cause of your fever. We found out the cause of your fever: infiltration of the left lung. But there's nothing to worry about. Your fever will continue for a while, but as long as you stay calm, there's nothing to worry about.
　He said.
　Is that so?　Although I wondered if he was right, I was a little relieved by the village doctor's diagnosis, as I felt like a drowning man clinging to a straw.
　I was a little relieved when the doctor left.
After the doctor left, he said, "That's good, Mother. A little bit of infiltration is normal for most people. As long as you keep your mind strong, you'll be cured in no time. This summer's unseasonable weather was my fault. I hate summer. Kazuko hates summer flowers, too.
　Her mother closed her eyes and laughed.
She said, "They say that people who love summer flowers die in the summer, so I thought I would die in the summer of this year, but now that Naoji has come home, I've lived until autumn.
　It was hard for me to think that Naoji, even as he was, was still a pillar of my mother's will to live.
It was hard for me to think that even Naoji was still a pillar of my mother's will to live. "But summer has already passed, so your mother's dangerous period has passed. The hagi (bush clovers) in your garden are blooming, Mother. And then there are the Onaeshi, We Mokou, Kikyo, Karukaya, and Japanese pampas grass. The garden has turned into an autumn garden. I'm sure your fever will go down in October.
　I was praying for that. I hoped that the hot and humid season of September would soon pass. Then the chrysanthemums will bloom, and we will have a continuation of sunny little spring days, and then your mother's fever will go down, and she will be strong, and I will be able to see her, and my plans may bloom as beautifully as a large chrysanthemum flower. Oh, I hope October will come soon and your mother's fever will go away.
　A week or so after I sent the postcard to Wada's uncle, the old doctor Miyake, who used to be our doctor-in-waiting, came from Tokyo with his nurse to see us, thanks to the arrangement of Wada's uncle.
　The old doctor had been a friend of our late father, so Mother was very happy to see him. In addition, the old doctor had always been ill-mannered and had a sloppy way of speaking, which seemed to be to her liking, so that day the two of them distracted themselves from the medical examination and engaged in friendly chitchat. I took the liberty of making some pudding and brought it to the tatami room.
He sat down on a wicker chair in the hallway of the tatami room and said, "You know, I used to go to a food stall and eat udon. There's nothing good or bad about it.
　I also go into the stalls and eat udon standing up. Her mother listened to the story, looking at the ceiling with a casual expression. I was relieved that nothing had happened.
How was it?　The doctor in this village said there was an infiltration on the left side of the chest.
　I suddenly felt energetic and asked Mr. Miyake, but the old doctor was unconcerned.
The old doctor said lightly, "No, I'm fine.
　He said lightly, "Well, that's good.
"Well, that's good, Mother.
　I smiled sincerely and called out to her.
"It's going to be okay.
　At that moment, Mr. Miyake stood up from his wicker chair and walked toward the dining room. He looked as if he had something to do with me, so I quietly followed him.
　He went behind a wall hanging in the room and stood still.
"I hear a cracking sound," he said.
　"It's not infiltration," he said.
Are you sure it's not infiltration?
No.
Bronchial catarrh?
　I asked with tears in my eyes.
No.
　Tuberculosis!　I didn't want to think of it as that. If it was pneumonia, infiltration or bronchial catarrh, I would surely fix it with my own strength. But if it was tuberculosis, well, I might be doomed. I felt as if my feet were crumbling beneath me.
"Is the sound very bad?　Can you hear the crunch?
　I began to sob with fear.
"Left, right, everything.
But your mother is still very well, you know. She's still going strong. She's even eating delicious, delicious food. ……
It can't be helped.
You're lying. That's not true, is it?　If you eat a lot of butter, eggs, and milk, you'll be fine, right?　If you eat enough butter, eggs and milk, you'll get better, right? You'll even get rid of the fever if you build up your body's resistance.
Yeah, you have to eat a lot of everything.
Right?　Isn't that right?　I eat at least five tomatoes a day.
Yeah, tomatoes are good.
So you're all right?　Are you going to be okay?
But this new disease could be fatal. You'd better be prepared for that.
　For the first time in my life, I felt as if I had learned that there were many things in this world that could not be done by human power, that there was a wall of despair.
"Two years?　Three years?
　I asked in a shaky whisper.
I don't know. I don't know. Anyway, there's nothing I can do about it.
　So Mr. Miyake left with the nurse, saying that he had booked a room at Nagaoka Onsen in Izu that day. I saw him off outside the gate, then turned back and sat down at his mother's bedside and smiled at her as if nothing had happened.
What did the doctor say?
　What did the doctor say?
What did the doctor say?" "As long as the fever goes down," she said.
What about the chest?
He said it was nothing serious. They say it's nothing serious, just like when you were sick. When the weather gets cooler, he'll be stronger and stronger.
　I decided to believe my own lie. I decided to believe my own lie and forget about the horrible word "fatal. I couldn't imagine my mother's death as a fact, as if my body would disappear with her. From now on, I would forget everything and prepare many, many meals for her. Fish. Soups. Canned food. Liver. Gravy. Tomatoes. Eggs. Cow's milk. Clear soup. I wish I had tofu. Miso soup with tofu (misoshiru). White rice. Mochi (rice cakes). I'll sell all my possessions and treat my mother to whatever looks good.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 4-3

　I like delinquents. I like delinquents, and I like delinquents with badges. That's why I want to become a delinquent with a badge. I feel like there is no other way for me to live. You are probably the best delinquent in Japan. My brother told me that many people have been attacking you recently, calling you abominable and disgusting, and that they hate you very much. I'm sure you have a lot of amis in your life, but I'm sure you will gradually come to love me alone. I don't know why, but I can't help but feel that way. Then you will be able to live with me and work happily every day. Ever since I was a little girl, people have often said to me, "When I'm with you, I forget my hardships. I've never been rejected by anyone before in my life. Everyone has told me that I am a good girl. That's why I believe that you would never dislike me either.
　It would be good if we could meet. I don't need an answer or anything else right now. I want to see you. I suppose it would be easier if I were to visit you at your home in Tokyo, but I can't do that because your mother seems to be half sick and I am her nurse and maid. I beg you. Please come here. I want to see you at once. Then, you will know everything when you see me. Look at the faint wrinkles on the sides of my mouth. Look at the wrinkles of a century of sorrow. My face will tell you more clearly what is in my heart than any of my words.
　In the first letter I gave you, I wrote about the rainbow that hangs over my heart, but that rainbow is not something as elegant and beautiful as the light of a firefly or the light of a star. If it had been such a faint and distant thought, I would not have suffered so much, and I would have been able to gradually forget you. The rainbow in my heart is a bridge of fire. My heart is burning. It's not as painful as the feeling of a drug addict when he runs out of his drug and asks for it. I know I'm not wrong, I know I'm not naughty, but sometimes I'm horrified when I suddenly realize that I'm about to do something very, very stupid. There are many times when I feel sorry for myself, thinking that I might be going crazy. But I also plan things calmly. I really hope you will come here once. It doesn't matter when you come. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm always waiting for you. Please trust me.
　If you don't want to see me again, please say so. The flame in my heart was ignited by you, so you must extinguish it. I can't put it out by myself. Anyway, if you see me, if you see me, I will be saved. In the days of the Manyoshu and the Tale of Genji, what I'm saying would have been nothing. What I want. To become your mistress and the mother of your children.
　If anyone scoffs at such a letter, he is scoffing at a woman's effort to live. It is someone who ridicules the life of a woman. I can't stand the stagnant air of the harbor, and I want to raise my sails even if there is a storm outside the harbor. The sails that can rest are, without exception, dirty. I'm sure that all the people who ridicule me are sails that can rest. I can't do anything about it.
　I am a troubled woman. However, I am the one who suffers the most from this problem. It is nonsense for a bystander, who is not suffering at all from this problem, to criticize this problem while letting the sails rest ugly and slack. I don't want people to call me an ideologue. I am a non-thinker. I have never acted on the basis of ideology or philosophy, not even once.
　I know that all the good and respected people in the world are liars and phonies. I don't trust the world. I don't trust the world, and the only people who are on my side are bad guys with bills. A delinquent with bills. I'm willing to die on that cross. Even if everyone accuses me, I can still say it back. You are more dangerous delinquents with no tags on you.
　Do you understand?
　There is no reason for this. I was a little too cynical. I think I was just imitating my brother. I'm just waiting for you to come. I want to see you again. That's all.
　Waiting. Oh, there are many emotions in human life, such as joy, anger, sadness, hatred, and so on, but they only make up one percent of human life, and the other 99 percent is just living in waiting. The other ninety-nine percent of our lives are spent waiting, waiting for the footsteps of happiness to arrive in the hallway. Oh, human life is so miserable. The reality is that we all wish we had never been born. And so, every day, from morning to night, we are waiting for something in vain. It's too miserable. I am glad that I was born, and I want to be happy for life, for human beings, and for the world.
　Can't you push away the morality that holds you back?
　M.C. (My, not Chekhov's initials. I don't want to be a writer. My, Child.

Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 4-2

　Thirty. Until twenty-nine, a woman still has the scent of a maiden. When I looked outside, I saw the sea glittering in the midday sun like a shard of glass. When I read that novel, I lightly affirmed that it was true, and kept it clear. I miss the days when I thought with impunity that a woman's life would be over by the age of thirty. As each bracelet, neckpiece, dress, and sash disappeared from around my body, the scent of maidenhood in my body gradually faded away. Bad, middle-aged woman. Oh, no. But the life of a middle-aged woman also has a woman's life, doesn't it? Recently, I have come to understand that. I remember an English teacher who said to me at the age of nineteen when she returned to England, "You are in love.
She said, "You must not fall in love. If you fall in love, you will be unhappy. If you are going to fall in love, do it when you are older. Wait until you are thirty.
　However, even though I was told that, I was at a loss. But even though he said that, I was still puzzled, because I couldn't imagine what I would do when I was thirty.
I heard a rumor that you are going to sell this villa.
　Master suddenly said with a mean expression on his face.
　I laughed.
I'm sorry. It reminded me of the Cherry Orchard. You will buy it for me, won't you?
　The Master, who seemed to have sensed the situation very sensitively, twisted his mouth as if in anger and kept silent.
　It is true that there was talk of this house as a residence for a certain sovereign for 500,000 new yen, but that was put to rest, and the Master must have heard rumors about it. But he seemed to be in a bad mood, saying that he couldn't stand the thought of us thinking of him as the ropahin of the Cherry Orchard.
　What I want from you now is not ropahin. I can tell you that for sure. Just accept the intrusion of a middle-aged woman.
　It was about six years ago when I first met you. At that time, I didn't know anything about you. I just thought that you were my brother's master, and a somewhat bad master at that. So we drank a glass of sake together, and then you played a little prank on me. But I was fine with it. I just felt like I was a lot lighter. I didn't like you, didn't dislike you, didn't have anything against you. Eventually, to please my brother, I borrowed your books from him and read them, some interesting, some not so interesting, and I was not an avid reader, but for six years, at some point, you became like a fog that permeated my mind. What we did that night on the basement stairs suddenly came vividly back to me, and I felt as if it was something so serious that it would determine my fate. I felt as if I were in love. You are so different from other men. I am not in love with a writer, like Nina in The Seagull. I'm not in love with a novelist. If you think I'm a literary girl, I'll be confused. I want to have your baby.
　If we had met a long time ago, when you were still alone and I had not yet gone to the mountains, and if we had gotten married, I might not have suffered as much as I do now, but I have given up hope of ever marrying you. I don't want to push your wife away because that would be like brutal violence. I don't mind being a mekake (I hate to say this word, but even if I say "mistress," it must be a mekake in common parlance, so I will say it clearly). But I hear that the life of a normal concubine is a difficult one. According to some people, concubines are usually discarded when they are no longer needed. After sixty or so, all men go back to their wives, no matter what. That's why you shouldn't just become a concubine, I once heard an old man and his nanny in Nishikatamachi discussing it. I've heard the old man and the nanny of Nishikatamachi discussing how not to be a concubine, but that's just the way it is with concubines in general. I think the most important thing for you is your work. And if you like me, it would be good for your work if the two of us got along well. If you like me, it will be good for your business if we get along well. I know it sounds like a crazy, contrived theory, but I don't think there's anything wrong with my idea.
　The only question is your reply. Whether you like me or not, or whether you don't mind me or not, your reply is very frightening, but I have to hear it. In my last letter, I wrote that I was an intrusive lover, and in this letter, I wrote that I was an intrusive middle-aged woman. After all, without your words, it would have been useless.
　It suddenly occurred to me that although you write a lot about your love adventures in your novels and are rumored by the public to be a terrible villain, you are really a man of common sense. I don't know what common sense is. As long as you can do what you want, it's a good life. I want to have your baby. I don't want to have someone else's baby, no matter what. That's why I'm asking you for help. If you understand, please reply to me. Please let me know exactly how you feel.
　The rain has stopped and the wind has started to blow. It is now three o'clock in the afternoon. I'm going to go get my six-pack of first-class sake. I will put two bottles of rum in a bag, put this letter in my breast pocket, and go to the village below in about ten minutes. I will not let my brother drink this alcohol. Kazuko will drink it. Every night, I drink a glass of it. Sake is really meant to be drunk in a glass, isn't it?
　Why don't you come with me?
Mr. M.C.

　It's raining again today. It's drizzling like you can't see. I've been waiting for your reply day after day without going out, but I haven't heard from you until today. What in the world are you thinking about? Was it wrong for me to write about the Grand Master in my letter the other day? Did you think that I was trying to stir up a competitive spirit by writing such a marriage proposal? But that marriage proposal was never made again. I laughed about it with my mother earlier. The other day, she told me that the tip of her tongue was hurting, so Naoharu recommended that she try the aesthetic therapy, and thanks to that therapy, the pain in her tongue went away, and she is feeling a bit better these days.
　Just now, I was standing on the porch, watching the drizzle swirling and blowing, and thinking about your feelings.
I was thinking about your feelings when your mother came toward the dining room and said, "Come in, I've boiled some milk.
　It's cold.
It's cold, so I made it very hot.
　As we sat in the dining room, enjoying the steaming hot milk, we talked about the master of the other day.
We talked about the other day's master as we sat in the dining room drinking steaming hot milk.
　Your mother was unconcerned.
"We don't match.
　I'm so selfish.
I'm so selfish, and I don't even like artists, and besides, I hear she has a lot of money, so it would be nice to marry her. But I can't.
　Your mother laughed.
Kazuko is a bad girl. Kazuko is such a bad girl. Even though she is such a bad girl, the other day she was talking with that man, looking like she was enjoying something. I don't understand your feelings.
I don't know how you feel. I wish we could have talked more. I'm not very sophisticated, am I?
No, you're all over the place. You're all over Kazuko.
　Your mother is doing very well today.
　Then she looked at my hair, which I had put up for the first time yesterday.
She then looked at my hair, which she had put up for the first time yesterday, and said, "An updo is good for people with little hair. Your updo is so magnificent that I want to put a small gold crown on it. You failed.
Kazuko was disappointed. I'm disappointed in Kazuko. When did your mother tell you that you have a beautiful white neckline and that you should try not to hide it?
That's all you remember, isn't it?
I will never forget a compliment, even a small one. It's more fun to remember.
Didn't he give you a compliment the other day?
Yes, he did. Yes, that's why I'm so attached to him. When I'm with him, I feel inspired, and I love it. I don't mind artists, but I can't stand people who are so pretentious, like they are personalities.
"What kind of person is your master?
　What is your master like?
"I don't know, but he's Naoji's master anyway.
What kind of person is he?
　I don't know.
"That's a funny word. If he's got a tag, he's safe. It's so cute, like a kitten with a bell around its neck. It's the delinquents without tags that scare me.
I don't think so.
　I was so happy that I felt as if my body was being sucked up into the sky in a cloud of smoke. Do you understand?　Do you know why I was so happy? If you don't, I'll punch you in the face at …….
　Why don't you really come and visit us for a while?　It would be somewhat unnatural and strange if I were to ask Naoji to bring you with him, so you can pretend that you stopped by here on a whim out of your own drunkenness and let him guide you, but if at all possible, please come alone, while he is away on a business trip to Tokyo. But if at all possible, please come alone, when Naoji is away on a business trip to Tokyo. If Naoji is there, he will take you and you will probably go to Osaki-san's place for a drink of shochu and never see him again. In my family, it seems that our ancestors have always been fond of artists. A painter named Korin once stayed at our house in Kyoto for a long time and painted beautiful pictures on our sliding doors. So I am sure that your mother will be very happy to see you. You will probably be sleeping in the western-style room on the second floor. Please don't forget to turn off the lights. I walked up the dark stairs, holding a small candle in my hand.　It's too early.