4-6

by 太宰治

A little past four that afternoon, as time flowed naturally, I sat on my bed, idly gazing out the window. Suddenly, Maa-bou, having changed into a white coat, emerged into the garden with laundry. I instinctively stood up, leaned my upper body out the window, and called out to him.

"Maa-bou."

Maa-bou turned around and smiled when he saw me.

"Aren't you going to give me a souvenir?" I whispered.

Maa-bou didn't answer immediately; instead, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He seemed to be careful not to be seen by anyone. The dojo was currently in a quiet period of rest. Maa-bou showed a slightly stiff smile, cupped his hand beside his mouth, opened his mouth wide to form an "ah," then pursed his lips and pulled his chin back, then half-opened his mouth and nodded. Then, he opened his mouth about two-thirds of the way and nodded again. Without making a sound, he was conveying something with just the shape of his mouth. I understood immediately.

He was saying, "A-to-de-ne" (Later, okay?).

I understood right away, but I deliberately asked back, using only the shape of my mouth in the same way, "A-to-de?" (Later?), and Maa-bou repeated "A-to-de-ne," enunciating each syllable, conveying it with a cute, childlike gesture. Then, he gave a small sideways shake of the hand he had cupped beside his mouth, shrugged his shoulders as if to say "secret, secret," and chuckled as he trotted towards the annex.

"Later, huh. Easier said than done." I muttered this to myself and flopped onto the bed. There's no need to explain my joy. I'll leave everything to your wise conjecture.

And so, during our friction last night, Ma-bo gave me that "later" souvenir. Since yesterday morning, Ma-bo had occasionally been wandering the hallway with a meaningful air, as if hiding something under her apron. I had suspected she might be concealing a souvenir for me under that apron, but I was too embarrassed to brazenly approach her, reach out my hand, and risk being counterattacked with "What's wrong?", so I pretended not to notice. However, it turned out to be a gift for me after all.

Last night's 7:30 friction was Ma-bo's turn after about a week. Ma-bo came in, holding a metal basin in her left hand, her right hand hidden under her apron, grinning. She squatted by my bed and said,

"You're mean. You didn't come to get it. I waited in the hallway many times since this morning."

Saying that, she opened the bedside drawer, quickly slipped the item from under her apron inside, and closed the drawer tightly.

"Don't tell anyone. You mustn't tell anyone."

As I lay in bed, I nodded slightly two or three times. While starting the friction,

"It's been a while since Hibari's friction. My turn doesn't come around often, so I was at a loss as to how to give you the souvenir."

I put my hand to my neck and made a tying motion, silently asking, "A tie?"

"No," she said, denying it with a laugh, sticking out her lower lip, and then whispered, "You're silly."

Indeed, I was silly. I don't even own a suit, so why would I think of something strange like a necktie? I found it amusing myself. Or perhaps I unconsciously associated it with that small pocket mirror.

This time, I pretended to write something with my right hand and asked if it was a fountain pen. I really am a selfish man. Lately, my fountain pen hasn't been working well, so I must have had a subconscious desire for a new one, and it just slipped out at a time like this. I was inwardly astonished at my own brazenness.

"No," Maa-bo shook her head again, denying it. It was as if she had no idea at all.

"It might be a little plain, but don't give it to anyone else, okay? It was the only one left in the store. The decorations aren't fancy at all, but carry it with you after you leave here. Hibari is a gentleman, so he'll surely need it."

Now I was completely lost. It couldn't possibly be a cane.

"Anyway, thank you," I said, turning over in bed.

"What are you saying? You're so spaced out, this boy. Hurry up and get well, and then disappear."

"Thanks for your concern. Maybe I'll just die here."

"Oh, no, you can't. Someone will cry."

"Maa-bo?"

"Don't be silly. Why would I cry? There's no way I'd cry."

"I thought so."

"Even if I don't cry, there are plenty of people who would cry for Hibari." After a moment of thought, she added, "Three, no, four people."

"Crying is meaningless."

"It is, it has meaning!" she insisted strongly, then leaned her mouth close to my ear and counted them off by folding down a finger on her left hand for each name: "Take-san, right? Kintoto, right? Onion, right? Kakuran, right?" Then she said, "Yay!" and laughed.

"Kakuran would cry too?" I laughed as well.

The friction that night was enjoyable. I no longer felt nervous around Ma-bo as before; now, I had a cool composure, as if looking down on everyone from a high place, and could joke freely. This might be because I had completely shed the suffocating desire to be liked by women over the past half-month. I was playing happily, without the slightest attachment in my heart, which even I found strange. Being liked and liking someone are like leaves swaying in the May breeze. There is no self-attachment. The new man had made another leap forward.

That night, after the friction ended and it was time for the report, I heard through the loudspeaker that the American occupation forces were finally coming to this region. I searched through my bedside drawer, took out Ma-bo's gift, and unwrapped it.

Inside the small package, about three inches square, was a cigarette case. The meaning of her earlier enigmatic words, "Carry this with you after you leave here; Hibari is a gentleman, so you'll surely need it," now became clear.

As I took it out of the box and turned it over a bit, I suddenly felt very sad. Even though I should have been happy, a part of my heart felt heavy. It didn't seem to be just because of the news of the world.

It was a flat, silver-colored case made of stainless steel, a chrome-like metal used for cake knives. The lid had a pattern of intertwined thin black lines, resembling rose vines, and its edges were painted with something like azuki-bean-colored enamel. I wished it didn't have this enamel; because of the unnecessary decoration, it was, as Ma-bo said, "a bit plain" and "not at all high-quality." But since Ma-bo went to the trouble of buying it for me, I should keep it carefully.

Still, I just can't feel happy about it. It's not good to say such things about a gift, but I truly am not pleased. It's my first time receiving something from another woman, and it strangely makes my chest ache. It leaves a bad taste. I hid the case at the very bottom of the drawer. I want to forget it quickly.

Regarding the case, I'm also a bit perplexed, but given these circumstances, I wanted you to understand Ma-bou's good qualities even a little, which is why I've written this report. What do you think? Have you reconsidered Ma-bou even a little? Or do you still prefer Take-san? I'd like to hear your thoughts.

Today, the "Hard Bread" from the neighboring "Swan Room" moved to Tsukushi's bed. His name is Sugawa Goro, twenty-six years old. He's apparently a law student and quite popular. He has dark skin, thick eyebrows, bulging eyes, wears Lloyd glasses, and has an aquiline nose, which doesn't leave a very good impression, but he seems to be greatly fussed over by the assistants. It seems that the more a man is disliked by other men, the more women like him. With the appearance of Hard Bread, the atmosphere in the "Cherry Blossom Room" has also become strangely cold. Kappore already seems to harbor hostility towards Hard Bread. Even during the friction before dinner today, the assistants were asking Hard Bread various questions in English.

"Hey, tell me. How do you say 'I'm sorry' in English?"

"I, beg, your, pardon," Hard Bread replies, terribly affected.

"That's hard to remember. Isn't there an easier way?"

"Very, sorry," he says, truly affected.

"Then, what do you say for 'Please take care of yourself'?"

"Please, take care, of, yourself." He pronounces "take care" as "tek-kyaa." It was utterly, completely, pretentious.

The assistants, however, listened with great admiration. Hard Bread's English seemed to annoy Kappore even more than it annoyed me, and he desperately tried to keep Hard Bread in check by singing his proud dodoitsu in a small voice.

However, I am well. Today, when I weighed myself, I had gained nearly four hundred monme. I am definitely in good shape.

September 16th.