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by Osamu Dazai

Today, as promised, I'd like to tell you about the health dojo where I am currently staying. After about an hour's bus ride from E City, you get off at a place called Koumebashi, and from there you transfer to another bus. However, the dojo is not far from Koumebashi. It's faster to walk than to wait for the connecting bus. It's only about ten cho away, so most people who come to the dojo walk from there. From Koumebashi, if you walk south along the asphalt prefectural road for about ten cho, with the mountains on your right, you'll find a small stone gate at the foot of the mountain, from which a line of pine trees extends up the hillside. At the end of that line of pine trees, you can see the roofs of two buildings. That is the "Health Dojo," a truly peculiar tuberculosis sanatorium where I am currently being cared for. It is divided into two buildings: the new building and the old building. The old building is not particularly remarkable, but the new building is a very stylish and bright structure. It is arranged so that people who have undergone considerable training in the old building are successively moved to the new building. However, since I am in good spirits, I was specially placed in the new building from the start. My room is the "Sakura Room," immediately to the right after entering the dojo's front entrance. Each patient room is given a slightly embarrassingly beautiful name, such as "Shinryoku Room," "Hakucho Room," or "Himawari Room."

The "Sakura Room" is a somewhat rectangular Western-style room of about ten tatami mats. Four sturdy wooden beds are lined up facing south, and my bed is at the very back of the room. Below the large glass window by my pillow, there is a cool and clear pond about ten tsubo in size, called "Otomegai-ike" (I don't particularly like this name), where I can clearly see crucian carp and goldfish swimming. Therefore, I have no complaints about the location of my bed. In fact, it might be the best spot. The bed is wooden and very large, and the absence of flimsy springs is reassuring. It has many drawers and shelves on both sides, so even if I put all my personal belongings away, there are still extra drawers left over.

Let me introduce my roommates. Next to me is Mr. Matsuemon Otsuki. As his name suggests, he is a dignified middle-aged man. I hear he is a newspaper reporter from Tokyo. He lost his wife early and now lives with only his grown-up daughter. His daughter also evacuated from Tokyo to a mountain house near this health retreat, and occasionally visits her lonely father. The father is usually silent, but even a taciturn person can sometimes take surprisingly decisive action. His character seems generally noble. He has an air of being a hermit, but I'm not entirely sure yet. His jet-black mustache is splendid, but he seems to be severely nearsighted, and his small red eyes behind his glasses are bleary. Beads of sweat constantly float on the tip of his round nose, and he frequently rubs the tip of his nose vigorously with a towel, making it so red that it looks like blood might drip at any moment. However, when he closes his eyes and thinks about something, he has an air of dignity. He might be a surprisingly important person. His nickname is "Echigo Lion." I don't know the origin, but it feels fitting. Mr. Matsuemon doesn't seem to dislike this nickname much. There's even a theory that he gave himself this nickname, but I'm not sure.

Next to him is Kinoshita Seishichi. He's a plasterer, twenty-eight years old and still single. He's considered the most handsome man at the health dojo. His skin is fair, his nose is high, and his eyes are cool and refreshing; he's truly a good-looking man. However, I think he should stop walking on his tiptoes, lightly swaying his hips. Why does he walk like that? Does he think it's musical? It's inexplicable. He seems to know various popular songs, but he's particularly good at Dodoitsu. I've already been made to listen to five or six of them. Matsuemon-san listens silently with his eyes closed, but I feel restless. They're all ridiculous songs with no meaning, like accumulating enough money to equal Mount Fuji and spending fifty sen a day, and I'm completely at a loss. Furthermore, there are Dodoitsu with spoken lines, and these are even worse. They include lines like theatrical dialogue within the song. Things like, "Oh, brother," or whatever, are simply unbearable to listen to. However, he doesn't seem to sing more than two consecutively at a time. He seems to want to sing as many as he can consecutively, but Matsuemon-san doesn't allow more than that. After he finishes two songs, Echigo Jishi opens his eyes and says, "That's enough." He sometimes adds, "It's bad for your health," but it's unclear whether this refers to the singer's health or the listener's health. But even this Seishichi-san is by no means a bad person. He likes haiku, and at night before going to bed, he showed Matsuemon-san various recent works and asked for his impressions, but Echigo didn't answer anything, and Seishichi-san became terribly dejected and quickly went to sleep. He was pitiful at that time. Seishichi-san seems to respect Echigo Jishi quite a bit. The name of this stylish manis "Kappore."

Next to him is Kazuo Nishiwaki. He was apparently a postmaster or something similar. He's thirty-five years old. I like him the most. His quiet, petite wife sometimes visits him, and the two of them whisper about something. That poignant scene is very nice. Kappore and Echigo seem to be trying to respectfully avoid looking at them. I think that's also a good consideration. Mr. Nishiwaki's nickname is "Tsukushi." Perhaps it's because he's tall and slender. He's not handsome, but he's refined. There's something student-like about him. His shy smile is charming. I sometimes wish he were my neighbor. However, since he sometimes makes strange groaning noises late at night, I also think it's good that he's not my neighbor after all. This concludes the introduction of my senior roommates, but next, I'd like to briefly inform you about the special recuperative life at this dojo. First, I'll write down the daily schedule.

Six o'clock: Wake up

Seven o'clock: Breakfast

From eight to eight-thirty, bending and stretching exercises are performed. From eight-thirty to nine-thirty is friction time. From nine-thirty to ten o'clock, bending and stretching exercises continue again. At ten o'clock, the director comes for a round (on Sundays, only instructors make rounds). From ten-thirty to eleven-thirty is friction time again. Lunch is at twelve o'clock. From one to two o'clock in the afternoon, there is a lecture (on Sundays, it's a comfort broadcast), from two to two-thirty is bending and stretching exercises, from two-thirty to three-thirty is friction, and from three-thirty to four o'clock, bending and stretching exercises are performed again. From four to four-thirty is nature time, and from four-thirty to five-thirty is friction. Dinner is at six o'clock. From seven to seven-thirty is bending and stretching exercises, from seven-thirty to eight-thirty is friction, at eight-thirty there is a report, and at nine o'clock, it's bedtime.

As I mentioned the other day, many hospitals were burned down during the war, and not a few were closed due to a lack of supplies and manpower. As a result, tuberculosis patients who required long-term hospitalization, especially those of us who were not very wealthy, lost their place to go. Fortunately, this area was rarely attacked by enemy planes, and several influential local philanthropists visited, obtained support from the authorities, expanded the prefectural sanatorium that was originally on this mountainside, and invited Dr. Tajima. As a result, a unique tuberculosis sanatorium that did not rely on supplies was established. If you look at this daily schedule, you will see that it is very different from the life in an ordinary sanatorium. It is designed to make us abandon the concepts of hospital and patient.

The director is called "Jōchō" (head of the facility), doctors below the vice-director are called "Shidōin" (instructors), nurses are called "Joshu" (assistants), and we, the inpatients, are called "Jukusei" (students). This is also said to be Director Tajima's idea. Since Dr. Tajima came to this sanatorium, the internal system has been completely revamped, and unique therapies have been administered to patients, achieving very good results. He is completely bald, so he looks about fifty years old, but he is actually still in his thirties and unmarried. He is thin and tall, with a slightly stooped posture, and does not smile much. Bald people usually have refined faces, and Dr. Tajima also has an egg-shaped, well-proportioned face. And he seems to have the cat-like crankiness peculiar to bald people, giving a slightly frightening impression. Every day at ten in the morning, the Jōchō patrols the facility with the instructors and assistants. At that time, the entire dojo falls silent. The students also behave solemnly in front of the Jōchō, out of awe. However, behind his back, they secretly call him "Kiyomori."

Now, let me explain the daily routine of our dojo in a little more detail. Flexion and extension training, simply put, is exercise for the limbs and abdominal muscles. It would be tedious to write in detail, so I'll just state the main points: first, lie on your back on the bed and begin exercising your fingers, wrists, and arms in order. Next, you contract and expand your abdomen. This part is quite difficult and requires practice, but it is particularly important in flexion and extension training. After that, you exercise your legs, stretching and relaxing your leg muscles in various ways to complete the overall training. Once finished, you must repeat from the hand exercises again, continuing for thirty minutes, as long as time permits. This is done twice in the morning and three times in the afternoon, every day, according to the aforementioned timetable, so it is not easy. According to conventional medical wisdom, it was considered dangerous for tuberculosis patients to do such exercises, but this is also one of the new therapies born out of wartime material shortages. At our dojo, it is certainly said that those who diligently perform this exercise recover faster.

Next, I will write a little about friction. This is also unique to our dojo, and here it is the role of our cheerful assistants.