Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 1-2

　Let me tell you a story about snakes. Four or five afternoons before, some neighborhood children found about ten snake eggs in the bamboo thicket of the garden hedge.
　The children said
"They are pit viper eggs!
　The children insisted. I thought, "With ten pit vipers growing in that bamboo thicket, we can't even go down to the garden by accident.
So I said, "Let's burn them.
　I said, "Let's burn them." The children jumped for joy and followed me.
　I piled up leaves and bushes near the bamboo thicket, set them ablaze, and threw the eggs into the fire one by one. The eggs did not burn well. The children put more leaves and twigs on top of the fire to make it stronger, but the eggs did not seem to burn.
　The daughter of the farmer down the street asked from outside the hedge, "What are you doing?
"What are you doing?
　What are you doing?
We are burning the eggs of the pit vipers. When the pit vipers come out, they scare me.
How big are they?
"About the size of a quail egg, but white.
That's just a snake egg. It's not a pit viper's egg. Raw eggs don't burn easily.
　The girl laughed and left.
　The fire burned for about thirty minutes, but the eggs just wouldn't burn, so I had the children pick them up from the fire and bury them under the plum tree, while I gathered pebbles to make a grave marker.
I gathered up the pebbles and made a gravestone. "Come on, everyone, let's worship.
　When I squatted down to join my hands, the children seemed to meekly squat down behind me and join theirs. As I slowly walked up the stone stairs by myself, my mother was standing in the shade of a wisteria trellis at the top of the stairs.
She said, "You poor little thing.
　I thought you were a pitiful person.
I thought it was a pit viper, but it was just a snake. I thought it was a pit viper, but it was just a snake, and I gave it a proper burial, so it's all right.
　I said, but I thought it was a bad idea for my mother to see it.
　My mother is not a superstitious person, but she has been very afraid of snakes since her father's death ten years ago at their house in Nishikatamachi. Just before your father's death, your mother saw a thin black string on his pillow and casually tried to pick it up. The only people who saw it were his mother and Wada's uncle. They looked at each other, but kept quiet so as not to cause a commotion in the deathbed. We were also there, but we did not know anything about the snake.
　However, I did know that on the evening of the day of his father's death, there was a snake climbing up a tree in the garden by the pond. I am a twenty-nine year old grandmother, so I was already nineteen years old when your father passed away ten years ago. But as I walked toward the pond in the garden to trim the flowers, I stopped at an azalea on the shore of the pond and looked down to see a small snake snaking around the branch end of the azalea. I was a little frightened. I was a little frightened, and when I tried to break off the next branch of wildflowers, I found that the snake was also wrapped around that branch. The neighboring mohsai (Chinese rhinoceros), wakakaede (Japanese maple), enisida (Japanese maple), wisteria (Japanese wisteria), cherry blossom (cherry blossom), every tree, every tree had snakes wrapped around it. But it didn't seem so scary to me. I had the feeling that the snakes were just as sad as I was about my father's passing and were crawling out of their holes to worship his spirit. When I gently told my mother about the snakes in the garden, she calmed down, tilted her head and seemed to think about it, but did not say anything.
　It was true, however, that these two snake incidents had made her a terrible snake hater ever since. Rather than averse to snakes, she had developed a sense of fear and admiration for them.
　When my mother found out that I had burned the snake's eggs, I felt that she must have sensed something very ominous, and I suddenly felt as if I had done something terrible in burning the snake's eggs. I was so worried that I couldn't forget the next day, and the day after that. As I cleaned up after breakfast, I couldn't help but feel as if there was a creepy little snake in my heart that was threatening my mother's life.
　So, that day, I saw the snake in the garden. It was a beautiful sunny day, so after I finished my work in the kitchen, I took a wicker chair to the garden lawn to do my knitting, and when I went down to the garden with the chair, I saw a snake on the bamboo grass. Oh, no. So I took the wicker chair back and went up to the porch, where I sat down on a chair and began to knit. In the afternoon, I went down to the garden to take out a book of Laurencin's paintings from the collection stored in the back of the main hall in the corner of the garden, and saw a snake slowly crawling on the grass. It was the same snake I saw in the morning. It was a slender, elegant snake. I thought, "A female snake. She walked quietly across the lawn to the shade of a wild rose, stopped, raised her head, and flicked her thin, flaming tongue. After a while, she hung her head and sank into a sorrowful swoon. Even then, I could not help thinking that it was a beautiful snake, so I went to the main hall, took out my art book, and on my way back, I looked at the place where the snake had been, but it was gone.
　In the evening, while I was having tea with my mother in the Shina-ma, I was looking toward the garden when I saw the snake of the previous day slowly reappearing on the third stone of the stone steps.
　Mother spotted it and asked
"What is that snake?
　She stood up, ran towards me, took my hand and stood still. When he said that, it occurred to me.
"The egg mother?
　I said to myself.
"Yes, that's right.
　The mother's voice was faint.
　We took each other's hands, held our breaths, and silently watched over the snake. The snake, which had been hovering languidly on the stone, staggered back to its feet and crawled weakly across the stone steps toward the scrub.
I whispered to him, "You've been walking around the garden since this morning.
　I whispered, "I've been walking around the garden since this morning," but her mother sighed and sat down in her chair.
"Isn't that right?　I'm looking for eggs, you know. I'm looking for eggs, poor thing.
　I couldn't help it.
　I couldn't help but giggle.
　The setting sun was shining on her face, and her eyes looked so blue and shining, and her face was so beautiful that I wanted to jump on it, with a hint of anger in it. Then I thought, "Oh, your mother's face looks somewhat like that sad snake I saw earlier. For some reason, I felt that the ugly snake that lived in my chest, like a pit viper, would one day devour and kill this beautiful mother snake, who was so sad and beautiful.
　I placed my hand on her soft, pliant shoulder and writhed for no apparent reason.

　It was the beginning of December, the day after Japan's unconditional surrender, when we left our house in Nishikatamachi, Tokyo, and moved to this slightly Chinese style villa in Izu. After the death of our father, our family's finances had been taken care of by our Uncle Wada, who was our mother's younger brother and now our mother's only living relative. He told her that there was nothing better to do than to sell the house, and that it would be better for the two of them to buy a nice little house in the country and live as they pleased. It seems that she asked for his help.
　At the end of November, my uncle sent me an express letter saying that a villa belonging to Viscount Kawada was for sale along the Sunzu Railway line, that the house was on a hill with a good view, that the fields were about 100 tsubo, that the area was famous for plum blossoms, that it was warm in winter and cool in summer, and that if I lived there, I was sure I would like it.
"Are you coming, Mother?
　I asked.
When I asked, "Are you coming, Mother?" she replied, "Because I've been asking you.
　I asked, "Are you coming, Mother?
　The next day, she went out a little after noon, accompanied by her original driver, Mr. Matsuyama, and around eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Matsuyama drove her home.
I've decided.
　She came into Kazuko's room, put her hands on Kazuko's desk, and sat down as if she was going to collapse.
What did you decide?
All of it.
"Everything.
　I was astonished.
Before I could even see what the house looked like, ……
　Your mother propped herself up on one elbow on the desk, put her hand lightly on her forehead, and gave a little sigh.
She leaned one elbow on the desk, placed a hand lightly on her forehead, and heaved a small sigh, "Uncle Wada says it's a nice place. I feel as if I could close my eyes and move into that house.
　He raised his head and smiled faintly. She raised her head and smiled faintly, her face a little wan and beautiful.
You're right.
　I, too, was overcome by the beauty of her mother's trust in Wada's uncle, and I gave her a gesture of agreement.
Then Kazuko will close her eyes, too.
　We both laughed out loud, but after we laughed, we both felt very lonely.
　Everyday after that, laborers came to the house and began to prepare the house for moving. Wada's uncle also came to the house and made arrangements for us to sell whatever we had to sell. My maidservant and I were busy sorting out the clothes and burning the garbage in the yard, but my mother neither helped nor gave any instructions, instead lingering in her room every day.
What's the matter?　Don't you want to go to Izu anymore?
　"No," she said, even though I asked her a little harder.
No.
　" he replied with a vague look on his face.　After about ten days, I was able to finish the arrangement. In the evening, while you and I were burning paper scraps and straw in the garden, your mother came out of her room and stood on the porch, silently watching our bonfire. A cold, gray westerly wind was blowing, and the smoke was crawling low to the ground.
"Mother!　You look so pale!
　She smiled thinly and said, "It's nothing.
"It's nothing.
　Then she quietly went back into her room.
　That night, since the futons had already been packed, you slept on the sofa in the western-style room upstairs, while your mother and I slept together in her room on a pair of futons borrowed from the neighbor.
　My mother was very old.　In a weak, aged voice, she said, "Kazuko is here.
I'm going to Izu because of Kazuko, because of Kazuko. Because of Kazuko.
　I was stunned.
"What would you do without Kazuko?
　I asked her.
　Her mother suddenly burst into tears.
It would be better for you to die," she said. It would be better for you to die, too, in this house where your father died.
　I want to die in this house where my father died.