Afterword

by Osamu Dazai

I do not directly know the madman who wrote this memoir. However, I had a slight acquaintance with the madam of the stand bar in Kyobashi who appears in this memoir. She was small, with a poor complexion, narrow, slanted eyes, and a high nose. She gave a stiff impression, more like a handsome young man than a beautiful woman.

I believe this memoir depicts the scenery of Tokyo in Showa 5, 6, and 7 (1930, 1931, and 1932), but I stopped by that stand bar in Kyobashi with a friend around Showa 10 (1935), when the military began to openly run rampant. That is why I was unable to meet the man who wrote this memoir.

This February, I visited a friend who had evacuated to Funabashi City, Chiba Prefecture. This friend was a classmate from university and is currently a lecturer at a certain women's college. Actually, I had asked this friend to arrange a marriage proposal for a relative of mine, so I decided to combine that errand with the intention of buying some fresh seafood to feed my family, and set off for Funabashi City with a backpack.

Funabashi City was a rather large town facing a muddy sea. My friend, a new resident, lived in a house that was difficult to find even when I told the address to locals. My shoulders ached from the cold and the weight of my backpack, and I was drawn by the sound of a violin from a record, so I pushed open the door of a certain coffee shop.

I recognized the madam I saw there, and when I asked, it turned out she was the madam of the small bar in Kyobashi from ten years ago. She also seemed to remember me immediately, and we were both surprised and laughed together. Then, we talked, as if boasting about our experiences of being burned out by air raids.

"But you haven't changed, have you?"

"No, I'm an old woman now. My body is falling apart. You, on the other hand, are so young."

"Not at all, I already have three children. I came here today to shop for them."

While exchanging such long-unseen greetings and inquiring about mutual acquaintances, the madam suddenly changed her tone and asked, "Did you know Miss Ha?" When I replied that I didn't, she went to the back and brought out three notebooks and three photographs, handing them to me.

"These might become material for a novel, you know."

I'm not good at writing with material forced upon me by others, so I thought about returning them on the spot, but I was drawn by the strangeness of the photos and decided to keep the notebooks for now. I planned to stop by here again on my way back, and when I asked if she knew the house of a female university professor at such-and-such a town and number, she, being a fellow new resident, did. She said the professor sometimes came to this coffee shop as well.

That night, after having a few drinks with a friend and deciding to stay over, I became engrossed in those notebooks, not sleeping a wink until morning.

The memoir contained stories from the past, but I was sure that even modern readers would find them interesting. I thought it would be more meaningful to ask a magazine publisher to publish them as they were, rather than adding my own touches.

The only seafood souvenirs for the children were dried fish. I shouldered my backpack, left my friend's house, and stopped by that coffee shop again.

"Thank you for yesterday. By the way..."

I began,

"Could I borrow these notebooks for a while?"

"Yes, please do."

"Is this person still alive?"

"Well, I really don't know. About ten years ago, a package with those notebooks and photos was sent to the shop in Kyobashi. The sender must have been Miss Ha, but there was no address or name written. During the air raid, it somehow got mixed in with other things and miraculously survived. I only read it all for the first time recently..."

"Did you cry?"

"No, rather than crying... it's no good, once a person becomes like that, it's truly no good."

"Ten years from then, he might already be dead. He probably sent this as a thank you to you. There are some exaggerations, but it seems you also suffered considerable damage. If all of this were true, and if I were this person's friend, I might want to take him to a mental hospital."

"His father is to blame."

I said that casually.

"The Ha-chan we knew was very obedient and considerate. If only he didn't drink, no, even if he did... he was a good child, like a god."