by Osamu Dazai
About forty minutes after leaving Odose, the train arrived in Fukaura. This port town looked like the fishing villages near the shore in Chiba. With unassuming and gentle expressions on their faces, in less flattering terms, not too bright and cunning expressions, they welcome visitors with silence. After all, they exhibit total indifference to travelers. I would never say this atmosphere in Fukaura is a shortcoming. Without those expressions, I think living in this world is sometimes too much for people. Their expressions may be those of mature adults. Their confidence is submerged deep inside.
There is none of the childish, futile resistance seen in the northern part of Tsugaru. North Tsugaru seems half-cooked and not fully cooked like this place. Ah, that's it. I understand when I compare the two. The truth is people living in the interior of Tsugaru do not have confidence in their history. It's all gone. Thus, they recklessly stand up to a constant stream of insults from others like "This is going to be vulgar" and must assume an insolent attitude. That evolves into the rebellious, stubborn, and unyielding nature of the Tsugaru native and may shape his sorrowful, lonely fate. People of Tsugaru, raise your heads! Were you the people unafraid to affirm the pent-up force emerging just before the Renaissance in this land? When the glory of Japanese civilization shrinks and comes to an end, will the largely unfinished land of Tsugaru somehow become the hope of Japan? Those were my thoughts one night but I soon awkwardly stretched my shoulders. Confidence instigated by others is pointless. I don't know, but shouldn't one act, believe, and persevere for a time?
Today, the population of Fukaura is about five thousand and is the port on the southern edge of the west coast of old Tsugaru. During the Edo period, Fukaura was placed under the magistrate of the four bays with Aomori, Ajigasawa, and Jusan, and was one of the most important ports of the Tsugaru clan. The tranquil, small bay with deep waters formed between the hills is a scenic spot on the coast equal to the strange rock formations of Azuma Beach, Benten-jima Island, and Yukiai-zaki.
The town was quiet. Large, nice-looking diving suits hung upside down in the gardens to dry. I felt a deep calm with some element of despair. I walked straight down the road to the Deva gate of the Engaku-ji Temple just outside of town. The Physician of Souls shrine is designated a national treasure. I entered and thought about going home from Fukaura.
This perfect town left the traveler feeling lonely again. I went down to the beach, sat on a rock, and puzzled over what to do now. The sun was still high in the sky. Out of the blue, thoughts of my child in our thatched hut in Tokyo came to mind. I would have preferred not having those thoughts but my child's face targeted a void in my heart and leaped into my breast. I stood and headed to the post office. I bought a postcard and wrote a short update to the home I left in Tokyo. The child had whooping cough. And her mother would soon give birth to a second child. Unable to bear my feelings, I randomly entered an inn, was led to a dirty room, and while removing my gaiters, I asked for sake. Faster than I expected, a tray and sake arrived. The promptness brought me a bit of relief. Although the room was dirty, the tray was piled with sea bream and abalone prepared in various ways. The sea bream and abalone appeared to be specialty products of this port. I drank two bottles of sake, but it was still too early to sleep.
Since coming to Tsugaru, others have treated me to meals. I had the trifling thought, Today is the one time I've drunk a lot of sake through my own efforts. I caught the young twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl who brought me the tray and asked if there was any more sake. She said, "No." Then I asked if there was another place to drink, she promptly said, "Yes." I was relieved and asked for directions to this drinking establishment. I went. It was a surprisingly tidy, little restaurant. I was escorted to a ten-tatami room overlooking the sea on the second floor. I sat cross-legged at the Tsugaru-nuri lacquered tray and said, "Sake. Sake." Only sake immediately appeared. I was grateful. The food took time, and the guest waited alone. A fortyish granny with missing front teeth quickly appeared carrying only a sake bottle. I thought I would ask her to tell me a Fukaura legend.
"What are the famous spots in Fukaura?"
"Did you visit Kannon-san?"
"Kannon-san? Oh, if by Kannon-san you mean the Engaku-ji Temple then yes."
I believed I could listen to some ancient story from this granny. However, a fat young woman appeared in this parlor and curiously made a joke. Given no choice, I thought, as a man, I should be direct.
I asked, "Would you please go downstairs?"
I'm giving advice to the reader. A man goes to a restaurant and must be forthright when speaking. I've had bitter experiences. When this young woman swelled up and stood, the old woman also stood and they left together. One being expelled from the room and the other sitting quietly wouldn't be unjust even from the perspective of love and justice between friends. I drank the sake alone in the huge room and gazed at the fire of the lighthouse in Port Fukaura. My melancholy only deepened and I returned to the inn.
The following morning, while I wondered if I would eat breakfast feeling lonesome, the proprietor came carrying a tray and a small dish.
"Are you Tsushima-san?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. I had written my pen name Dazai in the register.
"All right. I thought you looked familiar. I was a classmate in middle school of your brother Eiji. I didn't know the name Dazai you wrote in the register, but you looked very familiar."
"Oh, it's an alias."
"Yes, yes, I know. I heard about a younger brother who changed his name and wrote novels. I'm sorry about last night. Please have some sake. This is a small dish of salted abalone intestines, a good side dish for sake."
I finished my meal and enjoyed one salted intestine, which was good. In fact, it was delicious. I came to the edge of Tsugaru, and of course, I am grateful for the reach of the powers of my older brothers. In the end, I realized I can't do one thing through my own efforts which made the intestines more of a delicacy. In short, what I found at this port was the sphere of influence of my older brothers. I boarded the train with my mind in a fog.
On the way home from Fukaura, I stopped at the old port town of Ajigasawa. Near this town was the center of the west coast of Tsugaru. During the Edo period, the port prospered as the dispatch point of much of Tsugaru's rice and the depot of Japanese-style boats to and from Osaka. Marine products were abundant. The fish caught off this shore first landed near the castle and then crowded the dining tables of homes in each region of the vast Tsugaru Plain. But with the current population of four thousand, five hundred, fewer than in Kizukuri and Fukaura, the town is beginning to lose its former power to thrive.
Sometime long ago, I believe many mackerel were caught in Ajigasawa. However, when we were young, we rarely heard stories of the mackerel here, but it was famous for sandfish. Because sandfish are supplied to Tokyo these days, the reader may know about them. They're about six or seven inches long when scaled. They may be mistaken for sweetfish but seem too big. Among the specialty production on the west coast, Akita is the center of production.
Tokyoites said it was bad to season them with oil, but oil added a lightly seasoned flavor to us. In Tsugaru, we eat fresh sandfish from one side after cooking it in light soy sauce. It's not amazing for one person to eat up twenty or thirty with ease. I've often heard about sandfish clubs where the biggest eater gets a prize. The sandfish sent to Tokyo are stale and considered disgusting probably because the people have no idea how to cook them.
Sandfish is mentioned in glossaries for haiku poets. I remember once reading the verse of a poet from the Edo era in which sandfish meant the light flavor of sandfish or may be a delicacy to the worldly man of Edo. In either case, eating sandfish is nothing more than the enjoyment of the hearth in a Tsugaru winter. Sandfish are the reason I've known the name of Ajigasawa since childhood. This was my first time seeing this town. A mountain is carried on the back of this town, which is slender and elongated. The streets of this town were smelly and had strangely stale, sweet
and sour smells reminiscent of the verses of Boncho. The river waters were also murky. I was a bit tired. This town had long komohi like Kizukuri but was a little decrepit. The cold isn't as bad as in Kizukuri. The weather was excellent that day. Even if I walked down the komohi to avoid the sun, I had a queer sensation of choking. There seemed to be many restaurants. Long ago, there were so-called high-quality sake shops, but they have long since disappeared from developed areas. A total of four or five soba noodle shops remains. Nowadays, they call out to passersby with the unusual "Come in. Take a break."
At exactly noon, I entered a soba shop to rest. For forty sen, I enjoyed two servings of yakisoba. The broth was not bad. At any rate, this town was long. One street follows the coast, so no matter how far you go, the rows of houses don't change but continue on. I felt like I walked about two and a half miles when I finally reached the edge of town and turned around. This town had no center. The power of the town center in most towns hardens in one place that becomes the force of the town. Travelers simply passing through may feel they've reached the pinnacle at the center of town. Ajigasawa does not have one. It felt like the pivot of a fan had broken and it came apart. Going back and forth in my heart like a typical Degas-style political discussion wondering whether the rivalry for power among the towns causes problems, the pivot to this forlorn town is somewhere.
As I write this, I force a faint smile. If dear friends of mine had been in Fukaura and Ajigasawa to happily greet me, welcome my visit, and show me around, I would foolishly throw away my intuition and write with emotion-laden brush strokes about the stylishness of Tsugaru in Fukaura and Ajigasawa. In fact, the notes of a traveler are treacherous. If the people of Fukaura and Ajigasawa read this book, I hope they form a muted smile and give me a pass. Essentially, I have no intention of sullying their hometowns in my notes.
I left Ajigasawa on the Gono Line back to Goshogawara and arrived at two o'clock in the afternoon. I went straight from the station to Nakahata's home. I planned to write a lot about Nakahata in a series of works entitled Kikyorai (I Quit My Job and Moved Back Home) and Kokyou (Hometown). I didn't come here repeatedly, but he is my benefactor who settled the many untidy matters of my twenties without showing the least bit of disgust. Nakahata, who hasn't been himself for a long time, has a miserable, deep addiction. Last year, he fell ill and lost a great deal of weight.
"It's the times. You came here from Tokyo looking like that," he said sadly. He studied my figure that resembled a beggar and said, "And your socks are torn." He stood and took out a fine pair of socks from his chest and gave them to me.
"From here, I may want to go to a chic town."
"Yes, that would be nice. Go enjoy yourself. Keiko will show you the way," said Nakahata. Despite being terribly thin, his wit was as quick as ever. My aunt's family in Goshogawara lives in a fashionable town. When I was young, this town was called Hikara (Trendy Town) but now appears to go by another name, Omachi (Big Town). As I said in the introduction, I have many memories of my youth in Goshogawara. Four or five years ago, I published the following essay in a Goshogawara newspaper.
My aunt lives in Goshogawara and I've been visiting there since I was little. I went to the opening of the Asahi-za theater. I think I was in third or fourth grade. Sauemon definitely performed. His portrayal of Ume no Yoshibei made me cry. That was the first time I saw a revolving stage and was so surprised I jumped to my feet. Soon after that Asahi-za burned down in a fire. I clearly saw that fire from Kanagi. They say the fire broke out in the projection room. Ten grammar school students there to watch a movie were burned to death. The projectionist was charged with the crime of negligent homicide. In my child's heart, I could not forget the charge against the projectionist or his fate. I heard the rumor the theater burned down because the name Asahi-za contained the kanji character for fire in its name. This incident happened twenty years ago.
When I was seven or eight, I was walking through the bustling Goshogawara and fell in a ditch. It was pretty deep and the water reached my neck. It may have been three feet high. It was night. A man above me held out his hand and I grabbed it. I was pulled up and stripped naked in public. That was a problem. We were right in front of a secondhand clothes dealer. I was quickly dressed in old clothes from that store. It was a girl's yukata summer kimono. The obi was a heko obi sash. I was mortified. My aunt with her face drained of color came running. I grew up being spoiled by this aunt. I've never been good-looking. I was teased and became a little distrustful. This aunt was the only one who said I was a fine boy. When others made fun of my looks, she actually got mad. These are all memories from long ago.
Kei-chan, Nakahata's only daughter, and I left his house.
"I'd like to see the Iwaki River. Is it far?"
She said it was near.
"Well, let's go."
Guided by Kei-chan, I think we walked through the town for five minutes and came to a big river. I remember my aunt taking me a number of times to the riverbank but remember it being further away. With a child's legs, even this way probably feels very long. Also, I was afraid to go out and stayed inside, so when I went outside, I got tense and dizzy. It seemed so far away. There's the bridge. I definitely remember the long bridge I see now.
"I think that's called Inui Bridge."
"Yes, it is."
"What is the kanji character for inui? Is it the kanji for the direction northwest?"
"Yes, that's it," she said smiling.
"You don't look confident, are you? That's all right. Let's cross."
I leisurely crossed the bridge resting one hand on the handrail. The view was great. This river looked most like the canal of the Arakawa River in the suburbs of Tokyo. Haze rose from the grasses at the edge of the riverbanks and dazzled the eyes. The Iwaki River flowed a brilliant white while lapping the grasses at the edges of both shores.
"In the summer, everyone cools off here. There's nowhere else to go."
I thought the people of Goshogawara loved to have fun and that was probably lively.
"The new building over there is the Shokondo Shrine for the war dead," said Kei-chan and pointed upstream along the river. She quietly smiled and said, "Shokondo is the pride of my father."
The building looked magnificent. Nakahata was a leader of the war veterans. To rebuild this Shokondo, he no doubt ran around displaying his customary chivalry. We crossed the bridge and stood at its foot talking for a short time.
"The apple trees have been cut a little to thin them. I've heard that after the cutting, potatoes or something else is planted."
"Doesn't it differ depending on the soil? That's what they say around here."
There are apple fields in the shadows of the banks of the big river. Their white flowers were in full bloom. The sight of the flowers of the apple trees reminded me of the scent of face powder.
"I received many apples from Kei-chan, too. Next, you'll receive a groom."
"Yes," she calmly said and thoughtfully nodded.
"When? Will it be soon?"
"The day after tomorrow."
"Really?" I was surprised, but she was unmoved like it was someone else's affair, "We should go back. You're probably very busy."
"No, not at all," she said too calmly. I silently admired the only daughter getting married in order to continue the family line. There's something different about her, although she's a young nineteen- or twenty-year-old woman.
"Tomorrow, I'm off to Kodomari," I replied and crossed the long bridge again and added, "I think I'll go see Take."
"Take. The Take who appeared in the novel?"
"Yes. Her."
"You must be very happy."
"Well, seeing her will be nice."
This time, I came to Tsugaru intent on seeing a certain person. I think of that person as my mother. I cannot forget that person's face although it's been close to thirty years. My whole life may have been decided by this person. Below is a passage from Memories.
I clearly remember turning
six or seven. A nursemaid called Take read books to me. We read many books together. Take was obsessed with my education. I was sickly and read many books when confined to bed. If I ran out of books to read, she borrowed children's books from the Sunday school in the village and let me read them. I remember silently reading them. No matter how many I read, I never tired. Take also taught me morals. She often took me to the temple to show and explain Oekakeji about hell and paradise. Anyone who sets fires has to carry a blazing basket on his back. The body of a man with a mistress is wrapped by a green snake with two heads and is suffocated. When you reach places like a lake of blood, a mountain of pins, and Avichi, a deep hole with no known bottom enveloped by white smoke, pale, thin people barely open their mouths and scream. If you tell a lie, you go to hell and your tongue is cut out for a demon. When I heard these things, I got so scared I cried.
Behind the temple was a small, elevated graveyard. Many stupa shrines were erected like a forest along the hedges of flowers like roses. A black iron ring like a wheel as big as the full moon was attached to each stupa. The ring clattered as it turned. Take told me if the ring comes to a standstill and does not move again, the person who turned it goes to paradise. If it stops and begins to turn in the opposite direction, the person goes to hell. When Take turned, a pleasant sound was raised as it turned for a short time and it always quietly stopped. However, by chance, when I turned it, the ring went in reverse. I remember going to the temple alone one autumn and turning one of those metal rings. And one day it clattered and turned in reverse as everyone said. While suppressing a fit of rage about to erupt, I persisted in turning it dozens of times. Nightfall came and I left the graveyard in despair.…
Eventually, I entered grammar school in my hometown. My memories of that time shift. Before I knew it, Take disappeared and went to be a wife in some fishing village. Was she worried I would follow her? Without a word to me, she suddenly disappeared. During the Obon Festival the next year, Take came to my house, but I gave her the cold shoulder. She asked about my grades, but I didn't answer. I would have told anyone else. Take said, "Overconfidence leads to failure," and did not praise me too much.
