4-2

by 太宰治

One day, I suddenly realized something. There was a certain feminine sensibility lingering in that haiku. Thinking about it that way, the strange haiku, "Wild chrysanthemums blooming in disarray, a maiden's heart," also seemed suspicious. I began to suspect that it might have been created by Ma-bou or one of his assistants. All ten of those haikus felt dubious. It was truly terrible. I was utterly astonished. Whether it was the haiku about the fleeting world or this haiku about cosmos flowers, I wouldn't go so far as to say it concerned the honor of the cherry blossoms, but as a matter of Kappore's character, I worried about what this would mean. However, listening to the conversation between Kappore and Ma-bou reassured me and put my mind at ease.

"What was that cosmos haiku again? I've forgotten," Ma-bou said leisurely.

"Is that so? Then, was it my haiku?" came the simple reply.

"Wasn't it Kakuran's haiku? You exchanged haikus with Kakuran once, didn't you? Wow!"

"In that case, it might be Kakuran's haiku," he said in a calm tone. His indifferent attitude was so profound it was difficult to describe. "It's too good for Kakuran's haiku. He must have stolen it." At this point, it was truly a case of natural innocence. "I'm going to submit that haiku next time."

"Comfort broadcast? Submit my haiku too. Remember, I taught it to you once? The haiku, 'Maiden's heart blooming in disarray.'"

Indeed, it was true. However, Kappore was completely unfazed, and said,

"Yes. That one's already included."

"Okay. Do a good job."

I smiled.

This was, for me, a "new invention of modern times." For these people, the author's name was irrelevant. They felt as if it was something they had all created together. And if they could all enjoy the day together, that was enough. Wasn't the relationship between art and the public originally like that? While the so-called "connoisseurs" of the field debated furiously, insisting on Beethoven and dismissing Liszt as second-rate, the public, leaving those discussions behind, enjoyed the music they liked, didn't they? For them, the author was not at all appreciated. Whether it was composed by Issa, or a kappore, or Ma-bo, if the verse wasn't interesting, they were indifferent. They didn't force themselves to "study" art for social etiquette or to improve their taste. They only remembered the works that touched their hearts, in their own way. That was all. I felt as if I had been newly taught about the relationship between art and the public.

Today's letter became strangely argumentative, but I decided to send this letter without tearing it up, hoping that the small episode of kappore might be of some "new invention" to your poetic training.

I am flowing water. I flow, caressing every shore.

I love everyone. Isn't that pretentious?

September 26th

Writing such clumsy and dull letters to you always makes me feel awkward at times, and there have been several occasions when I resolved not to write such foolish letters anymore. However, today, I came across a truly magnificent letter from someone, and I marveled at how there is always someone better, and I felt a little relieved that since there are people in the world who write such absurd letters, my letters to you are still relatively less sinful. Indeed, my friend, there are all sorts of things in the world. That person writing such a terrible letter makes me wonder if they are a god or a devil. Anyway, it's truly awful.

So, today I will write a little about that great letter.

This morning, there was a big autumn cleaning at the dojo. The cleaning was mostly finished before noon, but the afternoon routine was also off, and two barbers came to give haircuts to the students. Around five o'clock, I finished my haircut and was washing my shaved head at the washbasin when someone quietly approached me.

"Hibari, are you doing it?"

It was Maa-bou.

"I'm doing it, I'm doing it." I replied vaguely, rubbing soap on my head. Lately, I've found this routine greeting and response bothersome and terribly annoying.

"Keep it up."

"Hey, isn't my hand towel around here?" I didn't answer the "Keep it up" call, and with my eyes closed, I extended both hands towards Maa-bou.

Something like a letter pad was gently placed on my right hand. I squinted one eye and saw it was a letter.

"What is this?" I asked, frowning.

"Hibari's meanness," Maa-bo said, glaring at me with a laugh. "Why don't you say, 'Alright, I'm ready'? People who don't respond with 'Alright, I'm ready' when told 'Good luck' are getting worse."

I felt unpleasant. I became even more sulky.

"I don't have time for that. I'm washing my head, aren't I? What is this letter?"

"It's from Tsukushi. There's a poem written at the end, isn't there? Figure out its meaning."

Being careful not to let soap get into my eyes, I grudgingly opened both eyes and read the poem at the end of the letter pad.

We haven't met, and the days have grown long. How are you doing these days, my dear sister? I wonder.

I thought Tsukushi was being stylish.

"Don't you understand something like this? This must be a poem taken from the Manyoshu. It's not a poem made by Tsukushi," I said with a touch of sarcasm.

"What does it mean?" she asked in a low voice, pressing uncomfortably close to me.

"You're noisy. I'm washing my hair. I'll tell you later, so just put the letter down there and could you bring me my towel? I seem to have left it in my room. If it's not on the bed, it's in the drawer by the head of the bed."

"Mean!" Ma-bo snatched the letter paper from my hand and scurried off towards the room.

Take-san's catchphrase was "nasty," and Ma-bo's was "mean." In the past, every time I heard those words, I felt a chill somewhere, but now I had completely gotten used to them and didn't mind them at all.

Now, while Ma-bo was away, I had to think about how to interpret the phrase "How well do you go?" from the song we just heard. That part was a bit difficult, so I used the hand towel as an excuse to avoid answering immediately. I was organizing my thoughts while considering the interpretation of "How well do you go?" Then, Ma-bo brought the hand towel, handed it to me with a serious expression without saying anything, and immediately left the spot.

At that moment, I suddenly realized. I immediately knew I was in the wrong. Lately, whether I had become jaded or numb, I had somehow gotten too used to life in this dojo, losing the initial tension I felt when I first arrived. Even when Ma-bo spoke to me, I no longer felt the same excitement as before; I had become insensitive. I had come to think that it was natural for an assistant to take care of the students, and even that special favors didn't matter. In such a state, I had inadvertently told him to bring the towel in such an unfriendly way, so it was no wonder Ma-bo was angry.

The other day, Take-san told me, "Hibari, you're not doing so well lately," and it's true that I've been a bit "not so well" recently. During this morning's big cleaning, all the students went out to the new building's front garden to avoid the dust inside, which allowed me to step on soil for the first time in a long while. I would sometimes sneak down to the tennis court in the back, but this was the first time I had ever received official permission to go outside since coming here.

I stroked the trunk of a pine tree. The pine trunk was warm as if it were alive. I squatted down, surprised by the strong scent of the grass at my feet, and scooped up the soil with both hands, impressed by its moist weight. The obvious truth that nature is alive permeated my being. However, that surprise faded after about ten minutes. I realized I felt nothing, that I had become numb. I was astonished by human adaptability and changeability, and by my own unreliability.

I strongly wished to maintain that initial fresh awe in everything, but I realized, after being scolded by Maa-bo, that I might be starting to feel indifferent towards this dojo life. Maa-bo also has pride. It might be a small pride, like a violet flower, but such pitiful pride must be cherished. Right now, it seems I am ignoring Maa-bo's friendship.

Perhaps showing me the secret letter from Tsukushi was a gesture revealing Maa-bo's precious feelings, that he might now harbor more affection for me than even Tsukushi. No, even without being so conceited, I certainly betrayed Maa-bo's trust. Just because I don't like Maa-bo as much as before, that's my selfishness. I've even grown accustomed to people's goodwill. I've even forgotten that I received a cigarette case. This is not good. It's truly bad.

If someone calls out, "Do your best!" I must be moved by that goodwill and shout back, "Alright, I got it!"