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.