4-6

by 太宰治

"Stop it. It's meaningless." I thought it would be troublesome if someone saw me in such a place. "It's completely meaningless, isn't it?" The words I repeated didn't seem to have much meaning either.

"Hibari, you really are a carefree person," Maa-bo said, wiping tears from her cheek with her fingertip and smiling slightly. "To think you didn't know about the manager and Take-san until now."

"I don't know such vulgar things." Suddenly, I felt terribly unpleasant. I wanted to hit everyone.

"What's vulgar? Is marriage a vulgar thing?"

"No, that's not it, but," I stammered, "I've always felt something—"

"Oh, no, that's not it. The manager is a serious person. He went to Take-san's father without saying anything to Take-san. Take-san's father has apparently evacuated here. So, Take-san's father talked to Take-san the other day, and Take-san cried for two or three nights. She didn't want to get married."

"In that case, it's fine." I felt relieved.

"Why is it fine? Is it fine because she cried? Oh, Hibari, you're silly," she said with a laugh, tilting her head to the side, her eyes strangely lively. She extended her right arm forward and firmly grasped my hand on the table. "Take-san cried because she missed Hibari, it's true," she said, squeezing even harder. I, not understanding why, squeezed back. It was a meaningless handshake. I quickly felt foolish, withdrew my hand, and

"Shall I pour you some tea?" I said, trying to hide my embarrassment.

"No," Maa-bo said, lowering her eyes, sounding timid yet firm, refusing in a strange way.

"Then, shall we go out?"

"Yes."

She nodded slightly and looked up. That face was good. Decidedly good. Completely expressionless, with fine, tired-looking wrinkles on both sides of her nose, her underbite slightly open, her large eyes clear, deep, and cold, and her slightly pale face possessed an astonishing dignity. This dignity is peculiar to those who have beautifully given up and discarded everything. Ma-bou, too, after enduring immense suffering, had finally become a woman capable of manifesting a new beauty, so transparently free of desire. She, too, is one of us. Entrusting herself to a newly built, large ship, she will proceed innocently and lightly along the celestial tide. A faint breeze of "hope" caresses her cheek. At that moment, I was astonished by the beauty of Ma-bou's face and recalled the phrase "eternal virgin," and even that phrase, which I usually thought pretentious, felt not at all pretentious then, but rather genuinely fresh.

You might laugh at me, a rustic fellow, for using a fancy phrase like "eternal virgin," but truly, at that moment, I was saved by Ma-bou's noble face.

Take-san's marriage also seemed like a distant past, and my body felt suddenly light. It wasn't a conscious act of giving up or anything of the sort; rather, the scenery before my eyes rapidly receded, shrinking as if I were looking through a telescope in reverse. There was no longer any attachment in my heart. Only a refreshing sense of satisfaction remained, as if I, too, had been completed.

American airplanes circled in the clear blue sky of late autumn. We stood in front of that Miyoshino-style house, looking up at them,

"They look like they're flying without much interest, don't they?"

"Yes," Ma-bou smiled.

"But there's a new kind of beauty in the shape of an airplane. Is it because there isn't a single superfluous decoration?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Ma-bo said in a low voice, watching the airplane in the sky with the innocent gaze of a child.

"A form without unnecessary adornments is a good thing, isn't it?"

It was a quiet sentiment, not only about the airplane, but also about Ma-bo's honest, dazed posture.

We walked in silence, and I carefully observed the face of every woman we met on the road. To varying degrees, it seemed to me that all the women's faces now uniformly displayed a selfless, transparent beauty like Ma-bo's. Women had become more womanly. However, this did not mean they had returned to being women from before the Great War. It was a new "womanliness" that had passed through the suffering of war. How should I put it? Would you understand if I said it was a beauty like the chirping of a bush warbler? In other words, "lightness."

I returned to the dojo a little before noon, but having walked over half a ri round trip, I was naturally tired. It was too much trouble to change into my pajamas, so I lay down on the bed without even taking off my haori and dozed off.

"Hibari, dinner."

I opened my eyes slightly and saw Take-san standing there, smiling, holding a tray.

Ah, the manager's wife!

I immediately sprang up,

and said, "Oh, I'm sorry," instinctively bowing my head slightly.

"You're still half-asleep. You sleepyhead," she murmured to herself, placing the tray by my bedside. "Who sleeps with their clothes on? It would be terrible if you caught a cold now. You should change into your pajamas quickly." She frowned and said grumpily, taking pajamas out of the bed drawer. "You're such a troublesome young master. Come here, I'll help you change."

I got out of bed and untied my heko-obi. It was Take-san, as usual. It seemed unbelievable that she had married the manager. Ah, I must have dozed off and dreamt. For a moment, I was happy, thinking that my mother's visit was a dream, and Ma-bo crying in that Miyoshino-like house was also a dream, but it was not so.

"That's a nice Kurume-kasuri," Take-san said, taking off my kimono. "It would suit Hibari very well. Maa-bou, you're so lucky. You said you had tea with the old lady on the way back, right?"

It wasn't a dream after all.

"Congratulations, Take-san," I said.

Take-san didn't reply. Silently, she put a nightgown on me from behind, then reached her hand through the sleeve opening of the nightgown and pinched the base of my arm quite hard. I gritted my teeth and endured the pain.

I changed into my sleepwear as if nothing had happened and began eating. Beside me, Take-san carefully folded my ikat kimono. Neither of us spoke a word.

After a while, Take-san whispered in an extremely small voice, "I'm sorry."

I felt as if all of Take-san's feelings were contained in that one word.

"You're a mean one," I murmured softly, imitating Take-san's accent as I ate.

Even in those words, it felt as if all my thoughts were contained.

Take-san began to chuckle and said, "Thank you."

We had reconciled. I felt a desire to sincerely wish Take-san happiness.

"How long will you be here?" I asked, and Take-san replied, "Until the end of this month."

"Shall we have a farewell party?" I suggested, and Take-san shivered dramatically, saying, "Oh, how awful!"

She quickly put the folded kimono into a drawer and left the room with a composed expression. Why are all the people around me so straightforward and kind?

I am writing this letter now, while listening to the lecture at one in the afternoon. Do you know who is broadcasting today's lecture? Rejoice. It is Professor Ohtsuki Kayoi. Professor Ohtsuki's recent popularity is incredible. We can no longer call her by the rude nickname "Echigo Lion." After you discovered that, I also endured for two or three days without telling anyone, but finally, when I secretly told Maa-bou, the rumor spread like wildfire, and she came to be unconditionally respected as the author of "The Maid of Orléans." Even the director, during his rounds, apologized to Professor Kayoi, saying he was sorry for his previous ignorance.

Requests for corrections of poems, waka, and haiku are pouring in not only from the new building but also from the students in the old building. However, Professor Kayoi does not suddenly become arrogant; she remains the taciturn Echigo Lion, and she entrusts most of the corrections of the students' poetry to Kappore. Kappore has been very proud lately, acting as if he is Professor Kayoi's top disciple, and he arbitrarily corrects the painstaking works of others.

Today, at the request of the office, Professor Kayoi is giving her first lecture, speaking on the topic of "Devotion." Listening to her voice through the loudspeaker, I feel a solemn sense of being taught by a very noble person. It is truly a calm, dignified voice. Professor Kayoi might be a much greater person than I thought. The content of her talk is also, as expected, wonderful. It is not old-fashioned at all.

Devotion is never about senselessly killing oneself with desperate sentimentality. There is a big difference. Devotion is about making oneself live most splendidly and eternally. Humans are immortal only through this pure devotion. However, devotion requires no preparation. Today, right now, in one's current state, everything should be offered. One who holds a hoe should devote themselves in their field clothes, hoe in hand. One should not falsify their appearance. Devotion allows no delay. Every single moment of a human's life must be devotion. To devise how to devote oneself splendidly is the most meaningless thing, he preaches powerfully and earnestly.

As I listened, I blushed many times. I seem to have advertised myself a bit too much as a new man until now. I had been too focused on preparing for devotion. I think there was a part of me that was particular about my "makeup." I will cleanly withdraw the "new man" signboard here. My surroundings are already as bright as I am. Haven't the places where we appeared always naturally become bright and splendid? From now on, I will say nothing more, neither too fast nor too slow, but walk straight ahead at a perfectly normal pace. Where does this path lead? One should ask the growing tendril of a plant. The tendril would answer:

"I know nothing. However, the direction in which I grow seems to be where the sun shines."

Goodbye.

December 9th