by Dazai, Osamu
“We don’t need floors down here. I was trying to explain the fish by way of an analogy you’d be able to grasp. It seemed to me that in terms of a house on land, this would be more or less equivalent to a corridor. I wasn’t just spouting nonsense. You think it hurts the fish? Here at the true bottom of the sea you weigh about as much as a sheet of paper. Haven’t you noticed how light and buoyant you feel?”
Now that it’s brought to Urashima’s attention, he does feel rather light on his feet. But he’s also acutely conscious of having been the target of a heavy stream of abuse from the tortoise, and resentment has begun to get the better of him.
“I no longer know what to believe, and it’s getting harder and harder to care. This is exactly what I find so distasteful about adventure. You have no way of knowing whether you’re being deceived. All you can do is trust in your guide, and if he tells you that this is that, then that’s that. There’s altogether too much potential for deception in this adventure business. And besides,” he adds, lashing out somewhat indiscriminately now, “what’s all this about a harp? I don’t hear any bloody harp!”
The tortoise maintains his composure.
“You’re used to surface life, where everything’s on a single plane. You’re still thinking north-south-east-west, but here, of course, we have two extra directions—up and down. You’ve been searching for Princess Oto all this time with your eyes straight ahead. An understandable error, I suppose, but why don’t you look up above you? Or down below? You see, everything in the Dragon Palace is adrift. The palace gate, the fish bridge, even the pearl mountains are all shifting and moving somewhat. You don’t notice because you’re moving along with them—up, down, left, right. You probably think we’ve progressed quite some distance since we started walking, but the fact is that we’re still in approximately the same place. We may even have slid backwards a bit. The way the tide is right now, it’s pulling us back at a pretty good clip. We’ve risen too—about a hundred fathoms, I’d say.
“But let’s keep going, shall we? You’ll notice that the fish have started thinning out a bit. Be careful you don’t step in a hole. Not that it would be all that dangerous—you’re not going to go hurtling toward the ocean floor because, as I said, you weigh very little now. And this is a bridge to nowhere, anyway. It ends just ahead, but there’s nothing on the other side. Look down below you, though. Hey, you jellyfish! Move aside there! The young master’s here to see Her Highness! These fellows form a sort of canopy over the castle proper, you see. A floating canopy of jellyfish—I should think a refined poetic sort like you would appreciate that.”
The jellyfish silently part and move to either side, and now the faint plinking of a harp can be heard issuing from somewhere below. The sound is similar to that of the Japanese koto, yet not as piercing. It’s a softer, more ethereal sound, with tones that seem to linger and reverberate endlessly. But what is the song? “Chrysanthemum Dew”? “The Gossamer Gown”? “Sunset”? “Ghosts”? “River of Dreams”? No, it isn’t quite like any of these. The melody possesses a fragile beauty and insubstantiality that not even the genteel and poetic Urashima can define, and it resonates with a profound and noble solitude the like of which he’s never heard on land.
“What a marvelous tune. What is it called?”
The tortoise listens for a moment.
“Seitei,” he says.
“Seitei?”
“Sei—‘Divine.’ Tei—‘Resignation.’”
“‘Divine Resignation’...”
As Urashima repeats the title under his breath, he receives for the first time an intimation that life in the Dragon Palace, here at the bottom of the sea, is embued with nobility of a much higher sort than any he’s ever imagined. No wonder the tortoise spoke of breaking out in a cold sweat to hear him babble about destiny and culture and the time-honored tradition of gentlemanly refinement. His refinement, he sees now, is mere imitation, mere pretense—monkey see, monkey do. He really is like some sort of mountain ape.
“From now on I’ll believe every word you say. ‘Divine Resignation.’ Yes. Yes, of course...”
Urashima lingers there as if spellbound, bending his ear to that wondrous music.
“We’re going to jump down from here now. Nothing dangerous about it. Just spread your arms like this and step off. You’ll float down nice and easy. From here we should end up right at the foot of the stairway to the main hall. Come on, now, look alive. Ready? Follow me.”
The tortoise sinks slowly out of sight. Urashima blinks as if awaking from a dream, spreads his arms, and steps off the jellyfish canopy. He’s pulled gently downward, and a cool and refreshing breeze plays against his cheeks. The water turns various hues of green, rather like the dappled shade of leafy trees, the sound of the harp grows nearer and clearer, and the next thing he knows he’s standing next to the tortoise at the foot of a stairway. “Stairway” is what the tortoise called it, but it’s more like a gentle, unbroken slope, carpeted with countless tiny orbs that glisten with a dull, silvery sheen.
“Are these pearls too?” Urashima whispers.
The tortoise gives him a pitying look.
“You see something small and round, it must be a pearl, right? I told you the pearls get thrown away. Scoop up a handful of these and take a closer look.”
Urashima bends down to gather several of the little balls in his hands. They’re as cold as ice.
“Oh! It’s hail!”
“Don’t be stupid. Put a few of them in your mouth.”
He obediently stuffs his cheeks with five or six of the cold little globes. “They’re delicious!”
“Aren’t they?” says the tortoise. “These are the cherries of the sea. If you eat these you’ll live for three hundred years and never get any older.”
“Is that right? Does it matter how many you eat?” Our refined Urashima, suddenly forgetting his manners, bends down to scoop up another handful. “I hate the idea of getting old and ugly, you know. I’m not so afraid of dying, but the ravages of age just don’t match my aesthetic. I think I’ll have a few more of these.”
“She’s smiling! Look up there. Her Highness has come to greet you. She looks especially lovely today.”
At the top of the slope of sea cherries stands a petite young woman draped in a sheer blue gown. She’s gazing down at them with a hint of a smile on her lips. Her skin, beneath the translucent gown, is as white as foam.
“Is that Princess Oto?” Urashima whispers, his face turning bright red.
“Who else would it be? Stop fidgeting, you idiot. Acknowledge her.”
Urashima grows even more flustered at the suggestion.
“But what should I say? No sense in announcing my name—what does she care about someone like me? And besides, after barging in uninvited like this... I mean, what’s the point? Let’s go back.”
Apparently even Urashima of the lofty destiny, when face to face with a noble and legendary princess, can turn timid and cowardly. He’s ready to run.
“Her Highness has known about you for a long time. Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘The palace’s ears reach ten thousand leagues’? Pluck up your courage and give her a polite little bow. Besides, even if she didn’t know anything about you, you wouldn’t have to rack your brains like that. She’s not someone who cares about personal trivialities or harbors suspicions. All you have to say is, ‘I’ve come for a visit.’”
“Oh, sure. As if I could be so rude. Goodness, she’s laughing now! I guess I’d better at least bow to her.”
Urashima bows so deeply his toes are within reach of his hands.
“That’s too polite. What’s the matter with you? You’re the man I owe my life to, for heaven’s sake. Show a little dignity. Scraping the floor like that... You call yourself refined? Look—Her Highness is beckoning. Let’s go. Stand straight, chest out. I want you to strut like you’re the handsomest man in Japan, a man of the noblest, most refined tastes. You have no problem lording it over me with that af
fected attitude of yours, but face to face with a beautiful woman you turn into a quivering toad?”
“Don’t be coarse. One simply cannot be too respectful of such a noble and exalted person.”
Urashima is so nervous his voice is hoarse and his legs are shaking. He staggers up the slope behind the tortoise, only to find himself in a room that must measure ten thousand mats in size. Or perhaps the word “garden” would be more appropriate. This space too is carpeted with the little hail-like cherries shining in the leaf-green rays of light that waft through the hazy atmosphere. Here and there, in no particular arrangement, are large black rocks, the only visible objects. There is of course no roof, nor a single pillar as far as the eye can see, giving the place the air of an ancient ruin. It’s some time before Urashima notices the tiny purple flowers peeping out amid the sea cherries, but these only seem to add to the solitude of the scene. He finds it amazing that anyone could bear to live in such a lonely, secluded place, and he sighs a sigh of something like wonder. Then he remembers himself and steals a glance at the princess.
Without a word, she turns her back to him and begins to walk slowly away. It’s then that he notices for the first time the countless tiny golden fish, smaller than the smallest minnows, swimming along behind her: a scarcely visible, glittering golden train that conforms precisely to her every move, like an aura. She is indeed, he feels, an august being, and not of the everyday world.
Princess Oto is barefoot, her thin garment fluttering in slow motion with each step, and as Urashima watches he realizes that her small white feet are not quite touching the carpet of sea cherries. Maybe the soles of those feet have never touched anything. No doubt they’re as soft and smooth as the feet of a newborn baby—a thought that only makes her unembellished body seem to him all the more exquisite, the literal embodiment of purity and nobility. He begins to feel grateful for this adventure of his, glad he allowed himself to be talked into coming to the Dragon Palace, as he dreamily follows along behind her.
“Well? Not bad, eh?” the tortoise whispers, nudging him in the ribs with a fin.
“No... What?” Reverie interrupted, Urashima quickly changes the subject. “These flowers, these purple flowers. They’re very pretty.”
“What, these things?” the tortoise says, wincing with disappointment. “They’re just the flowers of the sea cherries. They look a little like violets, don’t they? Sip at these petals and you’ll get nice and high. They serve as our wine here. And those things that look like big rocks? They’re actually algae bushes that have been growing for tens of thousands of years. They’re softer and chewier than bean jam and more delicious than anything you can find on land. Each bush is a different flavor too. Down here we eat that algae, get high on the flower petals, sip the juice of the sea cherries when we’re thirsty, listen to Princess Oto’s harp, and watch the little fish dance about like living snow flurries. I told you when I invited you down here that it’s a place of music, dance, delectable food, and wonderful wine. Is it different from what you expected?”
Urashima makes no reply but a poignant, rueful smile.
“I’ll bet you expected lots of noise and commotion, trays full of sea bream and tuna sashimi, dancing girls in red kimono, stacks of damask and brocade, gold and silver and coral and—”
“Come now,” says Urashima, looking somewhat insulted. “I’m not so vulgar as all that. Still, though, I’ve always thought of myself as a solitary sort, but after coming here and seeing a person who leads a truly lonely life I feel ashamed of the affected way I’ve led my own till now.”
“You mean Her Highness?” The tortoise jerks his chin toward Princess Oto. “Nothing lonely about her life. She couldn’t care less. It’s because people have aspirations and ambitions that solitude wears on them. If you don’t give a damn what the rest of the world is up to, you can be alone for a hundred years—a thousand years—with no difficulty whatsoever. At least, you can if you don’t let criticism bother you. But tell me something: Where do you think you’re going?”
“Hm? I’m just... I mean...” The question has caught Urashima off guard. “But you said she—”
“You think she means to give you a guided tour? Listen, she’s already forgotten all about you. No doubt she’s on her way back to her chambers. Snap out of it, man. This is the Dragon Palace. We’re already here. There’s nothing more to see. You do whatever you like here. That’s not good enough for you?”
“Stop mocking me. What am I supposed to do?” Urashima is on the verge of tears again. “I mean, she came out to greet me, didn’t she? It’s not as if I think I’m anyone special, I just thought that following her was the proper thing to do! And I’m certainly not saying that anything’s not good enough for me. You act as if I have some disgusting ulterior motive or something. You’re really a nasty fellow, aren’t you? I’ve never been teased like this before. You’re quite despicable.”
“And you take everything too seriously. The princess lives in her own world. You’re a guest from a faraway land, and you’re also the one who saved my life, so it’s only natural she’d come out to greet you. Besides, you’re suave, you’re debonair, you’re handsome... Wait. That part’s a joke, in case you didn’t know—we don’t need you getting a big head again. Whenever we have unusual guests, the princess makes a point of greeting them. And after greeting them, she leaves them alone—retires to her chambers and forgets about them, so they’ll feel free to do just as they please and to stay as long as they like. The truth is, not even those of us who live here ever really know what she’s thinking. As I said, she’s in her own world.”
“Well, when you put it that way... I think I’m beginning to understand. Yes. Perhaps there is something in what you say. Perhaps this method of extending hospitality is in fact of the truest, noblest sort. Greet the guests and then forget about them. You leave sumptuous delicacies casually scattered about, and even the music and dance are spontaneous and unpretentious—not performed to impress anyone. Princess Oto thinks not of the listeners when she plays the harp, nor do the fish concern themselves with who might be watching as they flit about in absolute freedom. No one’s anxious to be praised by the guests. And the guests, for their part, don’t have to be careful about expressing their admiration. They can, if they choose, merely stretch out and pay no attention to the entertainment whatsoever. It’s no breach of etiquette to simply get high and let the music carry you away.
“Yes, this is the way it should be. This is how guests ought to be received! I see that now. It’s a far cry from the supposedly genteel hospitality of those small-minded schemers who press tasteless food upon their visitors, spout insincere compliments, roar with laughter at witless witticisms, feign astonishment at the most commonplace anecdotes, and exchange endless, meaningless social pleasantries. I’d love to show them how a truly magnanimous host entertains a guest. Just once I’d like them to see the treatment one gets here at the Dragon Palace! All they think of is their social standing. They tremble with fear at the thought of it slipping, and they regard their guests with wary eyes, running around in frantic circles with no more sincerity in their hearts than you could find in the last speck of dirt beneath their fingernails. ‘I shall treat you to a cup of sake.’ ‘I shall drink to your health.’ It might as well be a business contract. Disgusting!”
“That’s the spirit!” the tortoise cries gleefully. “But don’t get too worked up. We don’t want you having a heart attack on us. Here, sit down on this algae bush and sip a few sea cherry petals. The bouquet may be a bit strong for you at first, so you might want to mix them with five or six cherries. Put them all in your mouth together and they’ll melt into a cool and refreshing drink. The taste depends on the mixture. Try different combinations until you find one that suits you.”
Urashima is in the mood for a rather strong drink at the moment, so he plucks three petals and places them on his tongue with a pair of cherries. In a matter of seconds they dissolve into a wine so delicious that the tast
e alone induces a euphoric feeling that trickles pleasantly down his throat and ends as a warm glow radiating out from his belly in all directions.
“This is wonderful. The old saw expresses it exactly: ‘Wine is a broom that sweeps away sorrow.’”
“Sorrow?” the tortoise presses him. “You have something to be sorrowful about?”
“Me? No. I mean, that’s not what I meant.” Urashima laughs to hide his embarrassment then sighs a little sigh and steals another glance at Princess Oto, who can still be seen walking slowly off in the distance. Shimmering in the wavy pale green light, she might be a rare, translucent, marvelously scented sea plant drifting away, far beyond reach. “I wonder where she’s going,” he mutters in spite of himself.
“I told you,” the tortoise says, not quite rolling his eyes. “To her chambers, probably.”
“You keep talking about chambers. Where in the world are they? I don’t see a room anywhere.”
Whichever way he looks there’s nothing but the vast, all-encompassing greenish glow. Not so much as a hint of walls.
“Look where the princess is walking. Don’t you see something beyond her, far off in the distance?”
Urashima furrows his brow and squints.
“You’re right. There does seem to be something.”
Perhaps a league or so away, where the sea seems as hazy and elusive as ghost tales, is a little white shape, like an underwater flower.
“Awfully small, isn’t it?”
“The princess doesn’t need much room to sleep by herself.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Urashima mixes another mouthful of sea-cherry wine. “Is she always so quiet?”
“Yes. Speech blossomed from anxiety, after all. Words were fermented from the uncertainty of existence, like poisonous red mushrooms that sprout from rotting earth. It’s true we have words of joy and pleasure, but aren’t those the most unnatural and contrived of all? Apparently human beings experience anxiety even in the midst of joy. But in a place without anxiety there’s no need for such ignoble contrivances. I’ve never heard Her Highness utter a single word. But, mind you, she’s not like a lot of quiet people who secretly have a bitter or cynical view of things. Far from it—she hasn’t a thought in her head. She just smiles that little smile, plucks at her harp, wanders about the halls, sips at the cherry petals, and generally takes things as they come. She’s very easygoing.”
