Dazai Osamu -Oblique Sun 8

　A dream.
　Everyone is going away from me.
　For the next month, after cleaning up the mess of Naoharu's death, I lived alone in the winter villa.
　Then I wrote him a letter, probably my last, with a feeling like water.

　It seems that you, too, have abandoned me. No, it seems that you are gradually forgetting me.
　But I am happy. It seems that I have a baby, just as I wanted. I feel as if I have lost everything, but the little life in my belly is the source of my lonely smile.
　I can't help but think of it as an embarrassing mistake. I have come to understand why there is war, peace, trade, unions, and politics in this world. You don't know, do you? That's why you'll always be unhappy. I'll tell you why. It's so that women can give birth to good children.
　From the beginning, I had no desire to rely on your character or responsibility. The only thing that mattered to me was the fulfillment of my single-minded adventure in love. And now that I have completed my dream, my heart is as quiet as a swamp in the forest.
　I believe that I have won.
　Even if Mary gave birth to a child that was not her husband's, if she had a shining pride, it would be the Virgin Child.
　I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have defied the old morality and had a good child.
　I'm sure you'll continue your guillotine-guillotine, drinking with gentlemen and ladies, and living the decadent life. But I'm not going to tell you to stop doing that. But I'm not going to tell you to stop doing that, because I'm sure that is also your last form of struggle.
　I don't want to say that you should quit drinking, heal from your illness, live a long life, and do a good job. I don't want to talk about such frivolous things anymore.
　Victim. Victims of the moral transition. That's what you and I are, I'm sure.
　Where in the world is the revolution taking place? At least around us, the old morality is still there, unchanged, blocking our way. The waves on the surface of the sea may be making some kind of noise, but the seawater at the bottom is laying in a raccoon's bed, not even retreating, let alone revolutionizing.
　However, I believe that in the first round of the war so far, we were able to push aside the old morality. So now I am going to fight the second and third battles with my unborn child.
　Giving birth to and raising the children of my beloved people is the completion of my moral revolution.
　Even if you forget me, and even if you lose your life to alcohol, I will be strong enough to live for the completion of my revolution.
　I've heard a lot about the triviality of your personality from some people recently, but it is you who have given me such strength. But it is you who gave me such strength. It is you who put the rainbow of revolution on my chest. It is you who gave me a goal to live for.
　I am proud of you, and I intend to make my children proud of you as well.
　The bastard and his mother.
　I am proud of you and I will make my children proud of you.
　Please, you, too, continue to fight your battles.
　The revolution has not been done yet, not even a little. It seems that more and more regrettable and precious sacrifices are needed.
　In today's world, the most beautiful thing is the victim.
　There was one more small sacrifice.
　Mr. Uehara.
　I don't want to ask you for anything more, but I would like to ask you to forgive me for one thing for the sake of that little victim.
　I would like to ask for your forgiveness for my little victim, and that is to let your wife hold my baby in her arms, just for once. Then you will say to me, "This is what Naoji wanted.
"This is the child that Naoji gave birth to a woman in secret.
　I can't tell anyone why I do that. No, I don't really know why I want to do that either. But I have to, I have to, I have to. I have to do it for the sake of that little victim, Naoji.
　Is it uncomfortable for you? Even if you are uncomfortable, please accept my apologies. I believe this is the only subtle harassment of a woman who has been abandoned and almost forgotten, and I hope you will listen to me.
M.C. Mai, comedian.
February 7, 1947.