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.