Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 1-3

　She had never once expressed such weakness to me, nor had she ever let me see her cry so intensely. When your father passed away, when I went to get married, when I came back to your mother with a baby in my belly, when the baby died in the hospital and was born, when I fell ill and fell asleep, and when Naoji did something wrong, your mother never showed such a weak attitude. She never showed such a weak attitude. In the ten years since your father's death, your mother had been the same carefree, gentle mother that she had been during your father's lifetime. And so we grew up with her in a good mood and spoiled. However, she no longer had any money. She spent it all on us, on me and Naoharu, without sparing a single penny. So now I had to move out of the house I had lived in for so long and start a dreary life in a small mountain cottage in Izu, just the two of us. If your mother had been a mean and stingy person who scolded us and secretly devised ways to increase her own money, no matter how much the world changed, she would never have felt like dying. My heart was filled with the thought that I had realized for the first time in my life what a horrible, miserable, helpless hell it was. I was lying on my back like a stone.
　The next day, she still looked pale and groggy, and seemed to want to stay in the house as long as possible, but Uncle Wada came and told her that most of her belongings had already been sent and that she would leave for Izu today. I've already sent most of my belongings, and I'm leaving for Izu today.
　The train was relatively empty, and all three of us sat down. On the train, my uncle was in a very good mood, singing and groaning, but my mother looked pale, downcast, and very cold. At Mishima, I transferred to the Sunzu Railway and got off at Izu Nagaoka, then took a 15-minute bus ride up a gentle slope toward the mountains to a small village, and on the outskirts of the village was a rather sophisticated Chinese style villa.
"Mother, this place is nicer than I expected," I said breathlessly.
　I said breathlessly.
"Yes, it is.
　Mother, it's nicer than I expected," I said breathlessly.
The air is good. The air is clean.
　My uncle was proud of it.
Really.
　Your mother smiled.
The air here is delicious. The air here is delicious.
　The air here is delicious.
　The three of us laughed together.
　When we walked in the front door, we found that the luggage from Tokyo had already arrived, filling the entrance and the room.
The next best thing is the view from the tatami room.
　My uncle was so excited that he dragged us to the tatami room and made us sit down.
　It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the winter sun was softly shining on the lawn of the garden. There was a small pond at the end of the stone steps from the lawn, many plum trees, a mandarin orchard at the bottom of the garden, a village road, rice paddies on the other side of the road, a pine forest on the far side of the road, and the sea on the other side of the pine forest. Across the pine forest, you can see the ocean. When I was sitting in the tatami room, the sea looked as high as the horizon touching the tip of my breast.
It's such a soft view.
　Mother said gloomily.
Maybe it's the air. The sunlight is so different from Tokyo. It's as if the rays of light are silken.
　I said excitedly.
　There were ten tatami mats, six tatami mats, a Chinese style parlor, three tatami mats at the entrance, three tatami mats at the bathroom, a dining room, a kitchenette, and a western style room with a large bed on the second floor for guests. I thought it would be comfortable for the two of us.
　My uncle went out to negotiate a meal at an inn that was said to be the only one of its kind in the tribe, and eventually received a boxed lunch, which he spread out on the floor and drank his own whiskey. However, her mother only put a few chopsticks in her lunch box.
When it was getting dark, she said in a low voice, "Let me sleep like this for a while.
　She said in a quiet voice.
　I pulled out a comforter from his luggage and put him down to sleep, and then, feeling very anxious, I found a thermometer in his luggage and measured his fever, which was 39 degrees Celsius.
　My uncle was so shocked that he went down to the village to find a doctor.
"Mother!
　I called out to her, but she just dozed off.
　I grasped her small hand and sobbed. No matter how much I cried, I couldn't stop it. No matter how much I cried, I couldn't stop. As I cried, I really wanted to die with her. We don't need anything anymore. I knew that our lives were over when we left the house in Nishikatamachi.
　About two hours later, my uncle brought the village doctor to the house. He looked very old and was wearing a Sendai-heira hakama and white tabi.
　After his examination, he said
After his examination, he said, "I think I may have pneumonia. But even if you do get pneumonia, there is nothing to worry about.
　He gave me an injection and left.
　The next day, her fever had not gone down. Wada's uncle handed me 2,000 yen and told me to send a telegram to Tokyo if she should have to be hospitalized, etc. He left for Tokyo that day.
　I took out the minimum necessary cooking utensils from her luggage, made porridge and offered it to her. She took three spoonfuls and shook her head.
　A little before noon, the teacher from the village below arrived again. This time he was not wearing his hakama, but he was still wearing his white tabi.
When I said, "You should be hospitalized, …….
　I said.
No, that won't be necessary. I will give you a strong injection today, and your fever will go down.
　He replied as reassuringly as ever, "No, that won't be necessary.
　However, the strong injection may have had a strange effect, for shortly after noon that day, her face turned red and she began to sweat profusely.
I think I might be a good doctor.
　Her fever had dropped to seven degrees.
　Her fever had gone down to seven degrees. I was so happy that I ran to the only inn in the village and asked the proprietress to give me ten eggs, which I immediately cooked half-boiled and gave to her. The mother took three half-boiled eggs and half a bowl of porridge.
　When I thanked him for the strong injection I had given her yesterday, he nodded his head as if it was only natural that it would work.
She then turned to me and said, "The Grand Mistress is no longer ill. You are no longer ill, so from now on, you may eat and do whatever you like.
　He said it in such a strange way that it took all my strength to resist the urge to burst out into laughter.
　I walked the doctor to the door and returned to the tatami room to find her sitting on the floor.
She said, "You really are a great doctor. I'm not sick anymore.
　I'm not sick anymore," she said to herself with a very happy look on her face.
"Mother, let's open the shoji. It's snowing.
　Peony snow, as big as flower petals, was beginning to fall softly. I opened the shoji, sat down side by side with my mother, and looked at the snow of Izu through the glass door.
I'm not sick anymore," she said.
　I'm not sick anymore," she said again, as if to herself.
I'm not sick anymore," she said to herself again, "sitting here, I feel as if everything before was just a dream. The truth is that I was on the verge of moving, and I really, really didn't want to come to Izu. I wanted to stay in that house in Nishikatamachi for as long as possible, even if it was only for a day or half a day. When I got on the train, I felt like I was half dead, and when I arrived here, I felt a little happy at first, but when it got dark, I felt so sad about Tokyo that I felt like my heart was burning and I felt faint. It was no ordinary illness. God killed me once and then brought me back to life, making me different from the person I was yesterday.
　From then until today, the two of us have been living alone in the mountain cottage without any problems. The people of the tribe have been kind to us. We moved here in December of last year, and from then until today, January, February, March, and April, other than preparing meals, we were usually knitting on the porch, reading books, or drinking tea in the shina-ma, living a life almost apart from the world. In February, the plum blossoms bloomed and the whole tribe was covered with them. Even in March, there were many calm days with no wind, so the plum blossoms in full bloom did not fade one bit and continued to bloom beautifully until the end of March. Morning, noon, evening, and night, the plum blossoms were so beautiful that it made me sigh. Whenever the glass door of the porch was opened, the smell of the flowers would flow into the room. At the end of March, when the wind must have been blowing in the evening and I was setting out bowls in the dining room at dusk, the petals of the plum blossoms would blow in through the window and get wet in my bowl. In April, while Mother and I were knitting on the porch, the topic of conversation was usually plans for planting a garden. She also said she would like to help. As I write this, it seems as if we died once and came back to life as a different person, just like my mother said, but I wonder if we are not capable of resurrection like Jesus. Although my mother said so, she still took a spoonful of soup, thought of Naoharu, and cried out, "Ah! In fact, the scars from my past have not healed at all.

　Oh, I want to write clearly, without hiding anything. There are even times when I secretly think that the peace and tranquility of this lodge is all just a lie, a sham. Even if this is just a short period of rest that God has given to us as parents and children, I can't help but feel that something sinister and dark is already creeping into this peace. I hope it's just the seasons, I'm getting so tired of living like this these days. I wish it was only because of the season. I wish it was just the season. It only deepened and weakened my mother's grief.
　After I wrote "love," I couldn't write the rest.