2-4

by 太宰治

He didn't answer. He sniffled faintly and glanced sideways. Lo and behold, he was crying. I was surprised. That he, who always smiled, would cry like this. Yesterday, as I wrote to you, I said that those who laugh often also cry often, but I never imagined it would come true so easily right before my eyes. On the contrary, it left me feeling bewildered.

“Tsukushi is leaving, isn’t she?” I said teasingly. In fact, I had heard such rumors. For some reason, Tsukushi had to transfer to a hospital in her hometown in Hokkaido.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

He stood up abruptly and, even before the scrubbing was finished, grabbed the metal basin and left the room. As I watched his retreating figure, to be honest, my heart fluttered a little. I couldn't possibly be so conceited as to think he was troubled over me, but for such a cheerful person to cry meaningfully in front of a man and then angrily walk away, it might be something serious. Thinking such thoughts, a little bit of conceit showed itself, and the feeling of contempt from earlier vanished. I felt a fondness for him, and with a desire to shout, I swung my arms wildly on the bed.

However, it was nothing. The reason for his tears soon became clear. Kintoto, who was scrubbing next door's Echigo-jishi, casually told me.

“He got scolded. He was making too much noise and getting carried away, so Take-san told him off last night.”

Take-san is the assistant gang leader. He probably has the right to scold me. Now everything made sense. It was nothing at all. I understood clearly. What, to be troubled by being scolded by the gang leader, to be troubled by such a thing, how embarrassing. I felt as if my pathetic vanity had been seen through by both Kintoto and Echigo-jishi, and they were laughing at me. Even the new man, for this moment, was speechless. Indeed, everything made sense. I intend to give up on him completely. A new man is decisive. There is no such emotion as lingering attachment in a new man. From now on, I intend to completely ignore him. He is a cat. He is a truly insignificant woman. Ahahahahaha, I felt like laughing to myself.

At lunchtime, Take-san brought the meal tray. Usually, he would leave quickly, but today he placed the tray on the small table by the bed, stretched up to look out the window, walked a few steps towards the window, rested both hands on the windowsill, and stood silently with his back to me. He seemed to be looking at the pond in the garden. I sat on the bed and immediately began to eat. A new man does not complain about the side dishes. Today's side dishes were dried sardines and simmered pumpkin. I crunched the dried sardines from the head. I had to chew well, chew well, and turn everything into nourishment.

"Hibari," he whispered in a voiceless, breath-only word, and when I looked up, Take-san had somehow leaned against the window with his hands behind his back, facing me. Then, with that characteristic smile, and in an extremely low voice that also seemed to be only breath, he said, "Maa-bou cried?"

"Yes," I replied in a normal voice. "He said he had a problem." Chew well, chew well, to make good blood.

"Disgusting," Take-san said in a small voice, grimacing.

"It's none of my business." A new man is straightforward. He has no interest in women's troubles.

"I'm worried," he said, grinning. His face was red.

I was a little flustered. I swallowed my rice half-chewed.

“Eat plenty,” he said in a low, quick voice, passing in front of me and exiting the room.

My mouth involuntarily puckered. What, such a big man, so sloppy. For some reason, at that moment, I felt that way and disliked it intensely. Isn’t he the boss? It’s not like him to be bothered by scolding someone. I thought bitterly. I also thought Take-san needed to be more firm. However, when I served myself a third bowl of rice, this time it was my turn to blush. There was an absurd amount of rice in the rice container. Usually, three light bowls would just about finish it, but today, even after serving three bowls, there was still a full bowl’s worth left at the bottom of that small container. I was a little troubled. I don’t like this kind of kindness. I also don’t find the form of kindness delicious. Undelicious rice doesn’t become blood or flesh. It becomes nothing. It’s a waste. If I were to mimic Echigo-jishi, I’d say, “Take-san’s mother must be an awfully old-fashioned person.”

I ate only three light bowls as usual, leaving the remaining favored bowl in the rice container. A little later, when Take-san came to clear the tray with a composed face as if nothing had happened, I said in a light tone,

“I left some rice.”

Take-san didn't look at me at all, just slightly opened the lid of the rice container and,

“You nasty child!” he said in a voice so low I could barely hear it, then picked up the tray and left the room with the same composed face as if nothing had happened.

Ms. Take's word "nasty" had become a catchphrase for her. It didn't seem to have any particular meaning, but when a woman called me "nasty," I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. In fact, I disliked it. The old me would have punched Ms. Take. Why did I have to be called "nasty"? Aren't you the nasty one? I once heard a story about a maid secretly pressing rice into the bowl of her favorite apprentice, and it was such ignorant and nasty affection. It was too pathetic to make fun of. I have the pride of a new man. Even if the amount of rice is insufficient, if you chew it well and eat it with a bright heart, you can get enough nutrition. I thought Ms. Take was a more solid person, but women areやっぱり no good. Precisely because she usually behaves so intelligently and coolly, when she performs such foolish acts, it stands out even more and becomes pathetic. It's a shame. Ms. Take needs to be more solid. If it were Ma-bo, no matter what mistake she made, she might even become cuter and more endearing, but a blunder by a respectable woman is troublesome.

As I was thinking about such things and writing during my lunch break, suddenly, the loudspeaker in the hallway blared. An order was conveyed: "All students in the new building are to immediately assemble on the new building balcony."

I put away my stationery and went to the balcony on the second floor. It turned out that a young female student named Naru-sawa Ito-ko from the old building had passed away late last night, and everyone was to see her off in silent departure. Twenty-three male students from the new building and six female students from the new building annex stood on the balcony in four rows, with tense expressions, waiting for the coffin to depart.

After a while, Mr. Narusawa's coffin, wrapped in white cloth, shone beautifully in the autumn sun, and, protected by close relatives, left the old building and slowly descended the narrow slope through the pine forest towards the asphalt prefectural road. I saw what looked like Mr. Narusawa's mother crying, holding a handkerchief to her eyes as she walked. A group of instructors and assistants in white coats also followed, bowing their heads partway.

Seeing that, I thought. Humans are completed by death. As long as they are alive, everyone is incomplete. Insects and small birds are perfect as long as they are alive and moving, but the moment they die, they become mere corpses. There is no completion or incompleteness, they simply return to nothingness. Humans, in comparison, are completely the opposite. It seems that the paradox holds true that humans become most human after death. Mr. Narusawa fought illness and died, and now, wrapped in beautiful, pure white cloth, descending the slope, appearing and disappearing among the pine trees, her young soul is asserting itself most solemnly, most clearly, and most eloquently. We can never forget Mr. Narusawa. I honestly put my hands together in prayer towards the shining white cloth.

However, you must not misunderstand. Even if I consider death to be a good thing, I am by no means treating human life cheaply or carelessly, nor am I one of those sentimental, listless "admirers of death." We live so close to death, separated by a mere sheet of paper, that we are simply no longer surprised by it. Please, do not forget this point. Looking at my previous letters, you must have felt it was inappropriate that, during this period of Japan's grief, reflection, and melancholy, the atmosphere around me seemed too optimistic and bright. That is understandable. However, I am not a fool either. I don't just spend my days laughing from morning till night. That's obvious. Every night, at the 8:30 report time, I hear various news. There are nights when I can't sleep, even if I silently pull the blanket over my head. But I don't want to tell you such obvious things now. We are tuberculosis patients. We are all people who might suddenly cough up blood tonight, just like Narusawa-san. Our laughter comes from that small stone that lay in a corner of Pandora's Box. For those who live side by side with death, the smile of a single flower is more deeply felt than questions of life and death. We are now, so to speak, enticed by the faint scent of flowers, placed on some large, unknown ship, and entrusting ourselves to the currents of the heavenly sea, moving forward. I do not know what island this ship of divine will will reach. However, we must believe in this voyage. It feels as if whether one dies or lives is no longer the key that determines human happiness or misfortune. The dead are complete, and the living stand on the deck of a departing ship, pressing their hands together in prayer.The ship smoothly pulls away from the pier.

"Death is a good thing."

Isn't that similar to the composure of a seasoned navigator? The new man has no sentimentality regarding life and death.

September 8th