Villon's Wife

by Osamu Dazai

  Sometimes he trembles all over, and even after he falls asleep he talks deliriously and moans. The next morning he is absent-minded, like a man with the soul taken out of him. Then he disappears and doesn’t return for three or four nights. A couple of my husband’s publisher friends have been looking after the boy and myself for some time, and they bring money once in a while, enough to keep us from starving.

  I dozed off, then before I knew it opened my eyes to see the morning light pouring in through the cracks in the shutters. I got up, dressed, strapped the boy to my back and went outside. I felt as if I couldn’t stand being in the silent house another minute.

  I set out aimlessly and found myself walking in the direction of the station. I bought a bun at an outdoor stand and fed it to the boy. On a sudden impulse I bought a ticket for Kichijoji and got on the streetcar. While I stood hanging from a strap I happened to notice a poster with my husband’s name on it. It was an advertisement for a magazine in which he had published a story called “François Villon.” While I stared at the title “François Villon” and at my husband’s name, painful tears sprang from my eyes, why I can’t say, and the poster clouded over so I couldn’t see it.

  I got off at Kichijoji and for the first time in I don’t know how many years I walked in the park. The cypresses around the pond had all been cut down, and the place looked like the site of a construction. It was strangely bare and cold, not at all as it used to be.

  I took the boy off my back and the two of us sat on a broken bench next to the pond. I fed the boy a sweet potato I had brought from home. “It’s a pretty pond, isn’t it? There used to be many carp and goldfish, but now there aren’t any left. It’s too bad, isn’t it?”

  I don’t know what he thought. He just laughed oddly with his mouth full of sweet potato. Even if he is my own child, he did give me the feeling almost of an idiot.

  I couldn’t settle anything by sitting there on the bench, so I put the boy on my back and returned slowly to the station. I bought a ticket for Nakano. Without thought or plan, I boarded the streetcar as though I were being sucked into a horrible whirlpool. I got off at Nakano and followed the directions to the restaurant.

  The front door would not open. I went around to the back and entered by the kitchen door. The owner was away, and his wife was cleaning the shop by herself. As soon as I saw her I began to pour out lies of which I did not imagine myself capable.

  “It looks as if I’ll be able to pay you back every bit of the money tomorrow, if not tonight. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Oh, how wonderful. Thank you so much.” She looked almost happy, but still there remained on her face a shadow of uneasiness, as if she were not yet satisfied.

  “It’s true. Someone will bring the money here without fail. Until he comes I’m to stay here as your hostage. Is that guarantee enough for you? Until the money comes I’ll be glad to help around the shop.”

  I took the boy off my back and let him play by himself. He is accustomed to playing alone and doesn’t get in the way at all. Perhaps because he’s stupid, he’s not afraid of strangers, and he smiled happily at the madam. While I was away getting the rationed goods for her, she gave him some empty American cans to play with, and when I got back he was in a corner of the room, banging the cans and rolling them on the floor.

  About noon the boss returned from his marketing. As soon as I caught sight of him I burst out with the same lies I had told the madam. He looked amazed. “Is that a fact? All the same, Mrs. Otani, you can’t be sure of money until you’ve got it in your hands.” He spoke in a surprisingly calm, almost explanatory tone.

  “But it’s really true. Please have confidence in me and wait just this one day before you make it public. In the meantime I’ll help in the restaurant.”

  “If the money is returned, that’s all I ask,” the boss said, almost to himself. “There are five or six days left to the end of the year, aren’t there?”

  “Yes, and so, you see, I mean—oh, some customers have come. Welcome!” I smiled at the three customers—they looked like workmen—who had entered the shop, and whispered to the madam, “Please lend me an apron.”

  One of the customers called out, “Say, you’ve hired a beauty. She’s terrific.”

  “Don’t lead her astray,” the boss said, in a tone which wasn’t altogether joking, “she cost a lot of money.”

  “A million-dollar thoroughbred?” another customer coarsely joked.

  “They say that even in thoroughbreds the female costs only half-price,” I answered in the same coarse way, while putting the sake on to warm.

  “Don’t be modest! From now on in Japan there’s equality of the sexes, even for horses and dogs,” the youngest customer roared. “Sweetheart, I’ve fallen in love. It’s love at first sight. But is that your kid over there?”

  “No,” said the madam, carrying the boy from the back room in her arms. “We got this child from our relatives. At last we have an heir.”

  “What’ll you leave him beside your money?” a customer teased.

  The boss, with a dark expression, muttered, “A love affair and debts.” Then, changing his tone, “What’ll you have? How about a mixed grill?”

  It was Christmas Eve. That must have been why there was such a steady stream of customers. I had scarcely eaten a thing since morning, but I was so upset that I refused even when the madam urged me to have a bite. I just went on flitting around the restaurant as lightly as a ballerina. Maybe it is only conceit, but the shop seemed exceptionally lively that night, and there were quite a few customers who wanted to know my name or tried to shake my hand.

  But I didn’t have the slightest idea how it would all end. I went on smiling and answering the customers’ dirty jokes with even dirtier jokes in the same vein, slipping from customer to customer, pouring the drinks. Before long I got to thinking that I would just as soon my body melted and flowed away like ice cream.

  It seems as if miracles sometimes do happen even in this world. A little after nine a man entered, wearing a Christmas tricornered paper hat and a black mask which covered the upper part of his face. He was followed by an attractive woman of slender build who looked thirty-four or thirty-five. The man sat on a chair in the corner with his back to me, but as soon as he came in I knew who it was. It was my thief of a husband.

  He sat there without seeming to pay any attention to me. I also pretended not to recognize him, and went on joking with the other customers. The lady seated opposite my husband called me to their table. My husband stared at me from beneath his mask, as if he were surprised in spite of himself. I lightly patted his shoulder and asked, “Aren’t you going to wish me a merry Christmas? What do you say? You look as if you’ve already put away a quart or two.”

  The lady ignored this. She said, “I have something to discuss with the proprietor. Would you mind calling him here for a moment?”

  I went to the kitchen, where the boss was frying fish. “Otani has come back. Please go and see him, but don’t tell the woman he’s with anything about me. I don’t want to embarrass him.”

  “If that’s the way you want it, it’s all right with me,” he consented easily, and went out front. After a quick look around the restaurant, the boss walked straight to the table where my husband sat. The beautiful lady exchanged two or three words with him, and the three of them left the shop.

  It was all over. Everything had been settled. Somehow I had believed all along that it would be, and I felt exhilarated. I seized the wrist of a young customer in a dark-blue suit, a boy not more than twenty, and I cried, “Drink up! Drink up! It’s Christmas!”

  In just thirty minutes—no, it was even sooner than that, so soon it startled me, the boss returned alone. “Mrs. Otani, I want to thank you. I’ve got the money back.”

  “I’m so glad. All of it?”

  He answered with a funny smile, “All he took yesterday.”

  “And how much does his debt come to altogether? Roughly—the
absolute minimum.”

  “Twenty thousand yen.”

  “Does that cover it?”

  “It’s a minimum.”

  “I’ll make it good. Will you employ me starting tomorrow? I’ll pay it back by working.”

  “What! You’re joking!” And we laughed together.

  Tonight I left the restaurant after ten and returned to the house with the boy. As I expected, my husband was not at home, but that didn’t bother me. Tomorrow when I go to the restaurant I may see him again, for all I know. Why has such a good plan never occurred to me before? All the suffering I have gone through has been because of my own stupidity. I was always quite a success at entertaining the customers at my father’s stall, and I’ll certainly get to be pretty skillful at the restaurant. As a matter of fact, I received about five hundred yen in tips tonight.

  From the following day on my life changed completely. I became lighthearted and gay. The first thing I did was to go to a beauty parlor and have a permanent. I bought cosmetics and mended my dresses. I felt as though the worries that had weighed so heavily on me had been completely wiped away.

  In the morning I get up and eat breakfast with the boy. Then I put him on my back and leave for work. New Year’s is the big season at the restaurant, and I’ve been so busy my eyes swim. My husband comes in for a drink once every few days. He lets me pay the bill and then disappears again. Quite often he looks in on the shop late at night and asks if it isn’t time for me to be going home. Then we return pleasantly together.

  “Why didn’t I do this from the start? It’s brought me such happiness.”

  “Women don’t know anything about happiness or unhappiness.”

  “Perhaps not. What about men?”

  “Men only have unhappiness. They are always fighting fear.”

  “I don’t understand. I only know I wish this life could go on forever. The boss and the madam are such nice people.”

  “Don’t be silly. They’re grasping country bumpkins. They make me drink because they think they’ll make money out of it in the end.”

  “That’s their business. You can’t blame them for it. But that’s not the whole story is it? You had an affair with the madam, didn’t you?”

  “A long time ago. Does the old guy realize it?”

  “I’m sure he does. I heard him say with a sigh that you had brought him a seduction and debts.”

  “I must seem a horrible character to you, but the fact is that I want to die so badly I can’t stand it. Ever since I was born I have been thinking of nothing but dying. It would be better for everyone concerned if I were dead, that’s certain. And yet I can’t seem to die. There’s something strange and frightening, like God, which won’t let me die.”

  “That’s because you have your work.”

  “My work doesn’t mean a thing. I don’t write either masterpieces or failures. If people say something is good, it becomes good. If they say it’s bad, it becomes bad. But what frightens me is that somewhere in the world there is a God. There is, isn’t there?”

  “I haven’t any idea.”

  Now that I have worked twenty days at the restaurant I realize that every last one of the customers is a criminal. I have come to think that my husband is very much on the mild side compared to them. And I see now that not only the customers but everyone you meet walking in the streets is hiding some crime. A beautifully dressed lady came to the door selling sake at three hundred yen the quart. That was cheap, considering what prices are nowadays, and the madam snapped it up. It turned out to be watered. I thought that in a world where even such an aristocratic-looking lady is forced to resort to such tricks, it is impossible for anyone alive to have a clear conscience.

  God, if you exist, show yourself to me! Toward the end of the New Year season I was raped by a customer. It was raining that night, and it didn’t seem likely that my husband would appear. I got ready to go, even though one customer was still left. I picked up the boy, who was sleeping in a corner of the back room, and put him on my back. “I’d like to borrow your umbrella again,” I said to the madam.

  “I’ve got an umbrella. I’ll take you home,” said the last customer, getting up as if he meant it. He was a short, thin man about twenty-five, who looked like a factory worker. It was the first time he had come to the restaurant since I started working there.

  “It’s very kind of you, but I am used to walking by myself.”

  “You live a long way off, I know. I come from the same neighborhood. I’ll take you back. Bill, please.” He had only had three glasses and didn’t seem particularly drunk.

  We boarded the streetcar together and got off at my stop. Then we walked in the falling rain side by side under the same umbrella through the pitch-black streets. The young man, who up to this point hadn’t said a word, began to talk in a lively way. “I know all about you. You see, I’m a fan of Mr. Otani’s and I write poetry myself. I was hoping to show him some of my work before long, but he intimidates me so.”

  We had reached my house. “Thank you very much,” I said. “I’ll see you again at the restaurant.”

  “Good-bye,” the young man said, going off into the rain.

  I was wakened in the middle of the night by the noise of the front gate being opened. I thought that it was my husband returning, drunk as usual, so I lay there without saying anything.

  A man’s voice called, “Mrs. Otani, excuse me for bothering you.”

  I got up, put on the light, and went to the front entrance. The young man was there, staggering so badly he could scarcely stand.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Otani. On the way back I stopped for another drink and, to tell the truth, I live at the other end of town, and when I got to the station the last streetcar had already left. Mrs. Otani, would you please let me spend the night here? I don’t need any blankets or anything else. I’ll be glad to sleep here in the front hall until the first streetcar leaves tomorrow morning. If it wasn’t raining I’d sleep outdoors somewhere in the neighborhood, but it’s hopeless with this rain. Please let me stay.”

  “My husband isn’t at home, but if the front hall will do, please stay.” I got the two torn cushions and gave them to him.

  “Thanks very much. Oh, I’ve had too much to drink,” he said with a groan. He lay down just as he was in the front hall, and by the time I got back to bed I could already hear his snores.

  The next morning at dawn without ceremony he took me.

  That day I went to the restaurant with my boy as usual, acting as if nothing had happened. My husband was sitting at a table reading a newspaper, a glass of liquor beside him. I thought how pretty the morning sunshine looked, sparkling on the glass.

  “Isn’t anybody here?” I asked. He looked up from his paper. “The boss hasn’t come back yet from marketing. The madam was in the kitchen just a minute ago. Isn’t she there now?”

  “You didn’t come last night, did you?”

  “I did come. It’s got so that I can’t get to sleep without a look at my favorite waitress’s face. I dropped in after ten but they said you had just left.”

  “And then?”

  “I spent the night here. It was raining so hard.”

  “I may be sleeping here from now on.”

  “That’s a good idea, I suppose.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. There’s no sense in renting the house forever.”

  My husband didn’t say anything but turned back to his paper. “Well, what do you know. They’re writing bad things about me again. They call me a fake aristocrat with Epicurean leanings. That’s not true. It would be more correct to refer to me as an Epicurean in terror of God. Look! It says here that I’m a monster. That’s not true, is it? It’s a little late, but I’ll tell you now why I took the five thousand yen. It was so that I might give you and the boy the first happy New Year in a long time. That proves I’m not a monster, doesn’t it?”

  His words didn’t make me especially glad. I said, “There’s nothing wrong with being a mon
ster, is there? As long as we can stay alive.”

  TRANSLATED ET DONALD KEENB