2-4

by 太宰治

Maa-bou brought a long, slender white vase.

"Thank you," you said, taking it and casually arranging the flowers. "I'll have Take-san re-arrange these later."

Those words might have been a bit ill-chosen. Even when you immediately took a small dictionary from your pocket and handed it to Maa-bou, he didn't look very pleased. He bowed politely in silence and quickly left the room. It was probably a sign that Maa-bou was a little offended. He wasn't the type to give such a distant bow. But for you, everyone else besides Take-san didn't matter, so it couldn't be helped.

"It's nice weather, so let's go talk on the second-floor balcony. It's lunchtime now, so don't worry about it."

"I know all about it from your letter. I aimed for this lunch break. Besides, today is Sunday, so there's also the comfort broadcast."

As we laughed and left the room, climbing the stairs, we suddenly became stiff and began to discuss matters of state and the world at large. Why was that? Our lives were already entrusted to a revered person, and we should have been ready to fly lightly wherever we were commanded, yet we still became excited and expressed our humble devotion to the reconstruction of a new Japan. Perhaps boys, no matter how close they are, when they meet after a long time, feel compelled to speak of such lofty matters to each other, driven by an eagerness to have their progress acknowledged by the other party.

Even after we went out onto the balcony, you were angry that Japan's elementary education was inadequate, saying,

"A person's entire life is determined by the education they receive when they are young. I think we should assign more great and distinguished individuals."

"That's right. People who only think about rewards are no good."

"Exactly, exactly. Deception for utilitarian purposes can't possibly work. I've had enough of adult maneuvering."

"Absolutely. Surface bluffing is old-fashioned. It's completely transparent, isn't it?"

You seem to be as bad at arguing as I am. We seemed to be repeating the same things over and over again.

As we continued, our clumsy argument gradually became more disjointed, and words like "just," "in short," "anyway," and "after all" kept popping out, making it drag. Just then, Take-san suddenly appeared on the lawn in front of the entrance downstairs. I instinctively called out,

"Take-san!" You simultaneously tightened your trouser belt, but what did that mean? Take-san put his right hand to his forehead, looked up at the balcony, and laughed, saying, "What is it?" Take-san's appearance at that moment wasn't bad.

"Someone who says they really like Take-san is here now."

"Stop it, stop it," you said. Indeed, at such times, only a silly phrase like "stop it, stop it" comes out. I have experience with that too.

"How vulgar!" said Take-san. Then, tilting her head more than forty-five degrees to the side, she said to you with a smile, "Welcome." Your face turned bright red, and you gave a quick bow. Afterward, you muttered in a low, complaining voice,

"What, she's a stunning beauty, isn't she? She's making a fool of me. You wrote in your letter that she was just a big, dignified, splendid person, so I praised her with peace of mind, but what, she's a knockout, isn't she?"

"Was she different from what you expected?"

"Different, different, completely different. You said she was dignified and splendid, so I thought she'd be like a horse, but what, she's slender, that's how you'd have to describe her. And her skin isn't that dark, is it? I don't like such beautiful women. It's dangerous," you said rapidly, and just as Take-san was about to give a slight bow and head towards the old building, you hastily,

"Hey, you, stop Take-san for a moment. I have a souvenir for her." He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out that small dictionary.

"Take-san!" I called out loudly to stop her, and then,

"Excuse me, but I'm throwing this. Hibari asked me to. It's not from me," you said, and the way you swiftly threw the cute dictionary with the red cover was indeed brilliant. I secretly admired you. Take-san skillfully caught your clean gift to her chest and said, "Thank you," to you. No matter what you said, Take-san knew it was a gift from you. As you watched Take-san's retreating figure walking towards the old building, you sighed and said,

"It's dangerous, that's dangerous," you muttered very seriously, which I found amusing.

"Dangerous? She's someone who'd be fine even if she were alone with someone in a pitch-dark room. I've already tested her."

"You're just scatterbrained, aren't you?" you said in a tone that seemed to pity me, "Don't you know the difference between a beautiful woman and an unattractive one?"

I bristled. You're the one who doesn't understand anything. If Take-san seemed so beautiful to you, it was because the beauty of Take-san's heart was reflected in your honest heart. If you observe calmly, Take-san isn't beautiful at all. Maa-bou is far prettier. It's just that the light of Take-san's character makes her appear beautiful. Regarding women's appearances, I believe I have a much stricter aesthetic sense than you, but at that moment, discussing a woman's face seemed vulgar, so I kept silent. It seems that whenever it comes to Take-san, we tend to get heated and things become a bit awkward. That's not good. Really, you, believe me. Take-san isn't beautiful. There's nothing dangerous. Isn't it funny to say it's dangerous? Take-san is just as earnest as you are.

We stood silently on the balcony for a while. Then, suddenly, you said, "Our neighbor, Echigo-jishi, is a famous poet named Otsuki Kayoi."

The moment I heard those words, I completely forgot about Take-san.

"No way," I said dreamily.

"It seems to be true. I just caught a glimpse of him earlier and remembered. My brothers are all fans of his, so I've seen his face in pictures often since I was little. Actually, I liked his poetry too. You must know his name, right?"

"Of course, I know him."

Although I wasn't good at poetry, I knew Otsuki Kayoi's poems "Himeyuri" and "Kamome" so well that I could still recite them. I couldn't believe that I had been sleeping in the same bed as the author of those poems for the past few months. I couldn't understand the content of the poems, but as you know, I was confident in my respect for a genius poet.

"That person, huh." I was lost in thought for a while.

"No, I'm not entirely sure," you said, a little flustered. "I only caught a glimpse earlier."

Nevertheless, we decided to observe more closely, and since the Sunday comfort broadcast was approaching, we returned to the "Sakura Room" downstairs. Echigo was asleep. Echigo had never looked so magnificent as at that moment. He was like a sleeping lion. We exchanged glances, nodded secretly, and sighed deeply at the same time. Too tense to speak, we stood with our backs to the window, silently listening to the record broadcast.

As the program progressed and the highlight of the day, the assistants' two-part chorus "The Maid of Orleans," began, you poked my side hard with your right elbow and whispered, "This song was composed by Kayoi-sensei." At your excited voice, I also remembered. When I was a child, this song was introduced in boys' magazines as Kayoi-sensei's masterpiece and was very popular.

We secretly watched Echigo's expression. Echigo was lying on his back on the bed, his eyes lightly closed, but when the chorus of "The Maid of Orleans" began, he opened his eyes and listened intently, as if lifting his head slightly. Soon after, he closed his eyes again, exhausted, and smiled sadly. You made a strange gesture, forming a fist with your right hand and striking the air, then asked me for a handshake. We shook hands firmly, without smiling. Now that I think about it, I don't understand what that handshake was for, but at the time, we couldn't stay still, and our feelings wouldn't settle unless we shook hands. Both you and I were quite excited.

When "The Maid of Orleans" ended, you said in a strangely hoarse voice, "Well then, I'll take my leave." I nodded and saw you to the hallway. Then, both of us simultaneously exclaimed, "It's certain!"