5-7

by 太宰治

As you probably know, when I left you and returned to my room alone, my heart was filled not just with excitement, but with a terror so profound it almost turned me pale. I tried not to look towards Echigo, and lay on my back on the bed. However, the strange mix of anxiety, fear, and impatience became unbearable, and I couldn't help but call out in a small voice.

"Professor Kayoi!"

There was no reply. Mustering my courage, I turned my face towards Professor Kayoi, and Echigo had silently begun doing knee bends. I, too, hastily started exercising. Spreading my legs wide, and folding my fingers inward one by one, starting from my pinky, I asked,

"You must have been singing that song without knowing who composed it, right?" I was surprisingly able to ask calmly.

"It's fine for the author to be forgotten," he replied nonchalantly. At this, I was certain that this person was Professor Kayoi.

"I apologize for my rudeness until now. My friend just told me, and I only learned it for the first time. Both my friend and I have loved your poetry since we were little."

"Thank you," he said earnestly, "but now, Echigo is more comfortable."

"Why haven't you been writing poetry recently?"

"Times have changed," he said, and chuckled, "Heh-heh."

My chest tightened, and I couldn't say anything appropriate. For a while, we both continued exercising in silence. Suddenly, Echigo,

“Don't worry about other people! You've been insolent lately!” he burst out angrily. I was surprised. It was the first time Echigo had spoken to me in such a rough tone. Anyway, I had no choice but to apologize quickly.

"I'm sorry. I won't say anything anymore."

"That's right. Don't say anything. You people don't understand. You don't understand anything."

It really turned into an awkward situation. Poets are terrifying. You never know what might be considered rude. That whole day, we didn't exchange a single word. Even when the assistants came and tried to talk to me, I remained sulky and barely responded. Inside, I was itching to surprise Ma-bo by telling him that my neighbor, Echigo, was actually the author of "The Maid of Orleans," but Echigo had told me to "say nothing," so I had no choice but to let it go last night.

However, this morning, I was unexpectedly relieved to easily reconcile with the furious Professor Hanayoi. This morning, Echigo's daughter came to visit him for the first time in a while. Her name was Kiyoko, and she was about the same age as Ma-bo, thin, pale, and a quiet girl with slanted eyes. We were in the middle of breakfast. As she untied the large furoshiki bundle she had brought, she said,

"I made some tsukudani."

"Oh, really? Let's have some right away. Bring it out. Give half to Hibari-san next door."

I was surprised. Echigo had always called me "that teacher," "student," or "Koshiba-kun," but he had never used such a strangely familiar name as "Hibari-san" before.

The daughter brought the tsukudani to me.

"Do you have a container?"

"Uh, no," I stammered, "in the cupboard over there," and started to get out of bed when,

"Is this it?" The daughter squatted down and took an aluminum lunchbox from the cupboard under my bed.

"Yes, that's it. Thank you."

Squatting under the bed, she transferred the tsukudani into the lunchbox, saying,

"Will you eat it now?"

"No, I've already finished my meal."

The daughter put the lunchbox back into the cupboard and stood up.

"Oh, how pretty."

and praised the chrysanthemums you carelessly threw in. At that time, you said something unnecessary, telling Take-san to fix them, which made me feel awkward asking Take-san, and asking Maa-bo would seem deliberate, so the flowers were left as they were.

"A friend casually arranged them yesterday. There's no one to fix them."

The daughter glanced at Echigo's expression.

"Fix them for her," Echigo said, smiling slyly while using a toothpick, seemingly having finished his meal. He was in such an unusually good mood this morning that it was rather unsettling.

The daughter blushed and, though hesitant, approached the bedside, took all the chrysanthemums out of the vase, and began to re-arrange them. I was very happy to have them fixed by such a kind person.

Echigo sat cross-legged on the bed, happily watching the daughter's flower arrangement skills, and

muttered, "Perhaps I'll write poetry again."

I remained silent, not wanting to say anything foolish and get yelled at again.

"Hibari-san, my apologies for yesterday," he said, shrugging his shoulders slyly.

"No, it was I who said something presumptuous."

Truly, an unexpected and easy reconciliation had occurred.

"Perhaps I'll write poetry again," he repeated the same thing once more.

"Please, write it. Truly, for our sake, we are now most in need of poetry that is as light and pure as yours, Sensei. I don't quite understand it myself, but for example, we are now seeking art that is as light, noble, and clear as Mozart's music. Exaggerated expressions and overly serious things are already old and well-understood. Is there no poet who can beautifully sing about even a tiny patch of green grass growing in the corner of a burnt-out ruin? We are not trying to escape reality. We have already understood suffering enough. We are prepared to do anything. We will not run away. We are entrusting our lives. We are light on our feet. Only art like a swiftly flowing clear stream, perfectly matching our feelings, seems genuine now. It's about not needing life or fame. Otherwise, I truly believe we can never overcome this difficulty. Look at the birds flying in the sky. Principles are not the issue. Trying to deceive with such things is futile. One's purity is revealed by their touch alone. The issue is the touch. The rhythm. Anything that isn't noble and clear in its rhythm is all fake."

I earnestly articulated my clumsy reasoning. After speaking, I felt a little embarrassed. I wished I hadn't said anything.

"Has it become such an era?" Hanayoi-sensei wiped the tip of his nose with a towel, lay on his back, and said, "Anyway, we have to get out of here quickly."

"Yes, yes, that's right."

For the first time since coming to this dojo, I secretly felt an impatience then, thinking, "Ah, I want to become strong quickly." It was a pity, but I felt the heavenly tide slowly.

“You are different,” the teacher said, seemingly sensing my feelings acutely. “There’s no need to rush. If you live here calmly, you will surely get better. And you will be able to contribute splendidly to the reconstruction of Japan. But I’m already old,” he began to say, when his daughter apparently finished arranging the flowers,

“It seems to have gotten worse than before,” she said in a cheerful tone, approaching her father’s bed, and then, in an extremely quiet voice, said, “Father! You’re complaining again. Nowadays, that’s not in fashion.” She was quite annoyed.

“Are my reminiscences also not accepted by the world?” Echigo said, and yet he chuckled happily.

I, too, completely forgot my earlier moment of thoughtless impatience and smiled with a feeling of happiness.

My friend, a new era is certainly coming. It is as light as a feathered robe, and as pure as a stream flowing gently over white sand. I was taught by Reverend Fukuda, my middle school teacher, that Basho, in his later years, praised something called "karumi" (lightness) and placed it far above "wabi," "sabi," and "shiori." It is impossible not to feel proud that we have somehow naturally reached this highest state of mind, which even a master like Basho only began to sense and yearn for in his twilight years. This "karumi" is by no means superficial. One cannot understand this state of mind without abandoning desire and life itself. It is a gust of wind felt after overcoming suffering. It is a light bird with translucent wings, born at the end of the world's great chaos. Those who do not understand this will forever be excluded from the flow of history and left behind. Ah, this and that, everything is rapidly becoming old. My friend, there is no logic or anything. The peace of one who has lost everything and abandoned everything is that "karumi."

This morning, I made what felt like an extremely clumsy artistic argument towards Echigo, and then felt terribly embarrassed. However, realizing that the Echigo girl also seemed to be a secret supporter of ours, I gained great confidence and am now attempting to raise the spirits of a new man here and supplement my previous statement.

Incidentally, your reputation at this dojo is also very good. I hope you feel greatly pleased. It seems no exaggeration to say that just your brief visit to this dojo suddenly brightened its atmosphere. First, Hanayoi-sensei looks ten years younger. Take-san and Maa-bo also send their regards. Maa-bo said,

"You have beautiful eyes. You look like a genius. Your eyelashes are long, and every time you blink, I can hear a snapping sound." What Maa-bo says is an exaggeration. It's better not to believe it. Shall I introduce Take-san's critique? Please don't be so stiff, and just listen calmly. Take-san said,

"That's a good match with Hibari."

That's all. However, he said it with a red face. That's all.

October 29th