“Then you’re the only one who’s sitting around, right?” “Yes, I guess that’s right.”
“And what do you do when you’re home?”
“Well, most of the time, I guess I sleep. Other times, I go out for walks.”
“Isn’t it a little embarrassing to sit around when everyone else is out earning money?”
“No, not really.”
“How old is your older brother?”
“Hm . . . he must be going on twenty-six.”
“Then he’ll probably be looking for a wife, isn’t that right? Do you plan to stay on like this even after he gets married?”
“I’ll have to wait and see. When the time comes, I’m sure something will happen.”
Observing the state of Kadono’s existence, Daisuke wondered to what end the youth ventured to breathe and subsist. But Kadono idled away unconcerned.
it was only those who lacked the means who attacked the practice.
DAISUKE SAT BLANK, his head propped on both hands, the thin Western book he had just finished still open on his desk. His head was brimming with the last scene. . . . Far in the distance, behind trees that stood cold, two small square lamps swayed noiselessly. There the gallows had been erected. The condemned men stood in the dark. One of them complained that he had lost a shoe, that he was cold. Another asked, what? The first repeated that he had lost a shoe and was cold. Someone asked where M was. Another voice answered, here. Something large, whitish, and flat showed from between the trees. A damp wind came from its direction. It’s the ocean, said G. Presently, the lamps lit up the letter containing the sentence and the white hand—an ungloved hand—that held it. You don’t have to read it out loud, do you, someone said. His voice trembled. Soon the lamps went out. Now I’m all alone, said K. He heaved a sigh. S was dead. W was dead. M was dead. He was all alone. . . .
The sun came up from over the ocean. They piled the bodies onto a cart. And began to pull. The stretched necks, the popped eyes, the tongues dampened by a froth of blood like a horrible flower—they piled them on and went back to the road. . . .
“Foreigners are quite smooth, aren’t they? Too smooth. With so much flattery, even the weather’s got to behave.”
“They have that many good words for the weather, do they? It’s a little too hot for me.”
That Seigo could go into geisha houses, accept luncheon invitations, drop in at the Club, see people off at Shimbashi, meet them at Yokohama, run out to Ōiso to humor the elders—that he could put in his appearance at large gatherings from morning to evening without seeming either triumphant or dejected—this must be because he was thoroughly accustomed to this kind of life, thought Daisuke; it was probably like the jellyfish’s floating in the sea and not finding it salty.
At this point, Daisuke found Hiraoka a trifle provoking and cut him short: “It’s fine to work, but as long as you’re going to work, it ought to be for more than subsistence, else it won’t be to your credit. All toil that is sacred transcends the realm of bread.”
Hiraoka studied Daisuke’s face with strangely unpleasant eyes. Then he asked, “Why?”
“Why? Because toil for the sake of subsistence is not toil for its own sake.”
“I can’t understand that—it sounds like a proposition from a logic textbook. Can’t you put it in terms that a practical man can understand?”
“I mean that it’s hard to work sincerely at a job that you’re doing just to eat.”
“I think just the opposite. It’s because you’re working to eat that you feel like working furiously.”
“Maybe you can work furiously, but it’s hard to work sincerely. If you’re working in order to eat, which do you think is the main object—work or food?”
“Food, of course.”
“See? If food’s the object and work the means, then it stands to reason that you’ll adjust your work to make it easier to eat. In that case, it won’t matter what you do or how you do it as long as you can get bread—that’s what it’s bound to come down to. As long as the content and direction, or the procedure of a given endeavor are circumscribed by external conditions, then that endeavor is degenerate endeavor.”
“That sounds pretty theoretical again. But why should that matter?” “Then let me explain it to you with a very refined example. This may sound a little musty, but I remember reading it in a book. Oda Nobunaga once hired a famous cook. The first time he ate something prepared by the cook, he thought it tasted terrible, so he gave the cook a sound scolding. After that, the cook, who had been punished for serving his finest dishes, would only make second and third-rate dishes, and he was always praised. Now, take this cook—he might have been very shrewd as far as working for a living went, but as for working for his art, which was cooking, why, he was insincere; he was a degenerate cook.”
“But if he hadn’t done that, he would have been fired. He couldn’t help it.”
“That’s why I’m saying, unless you’re a man without worries about food and clothing, doing something on a whim as it were, it’s impossible to do any serious work.”
“So that means only a man in your position is capable of sacred toil. Then it’s your duty all the more to do something. Right, Michiyo?”
“Yes, that’s true.’’
Just as he had made it his practice not to place too much weight on anything over the past two or three years, so he recognized no need to place undue emphasis on marriage.
Modern society was nothing more than an aggregate of isolated individuals. The earth stretched boundlessly, but the instant houses were built upon it, it became fragmented. The people inside the houses became fragmented, too. Civilization took the collective we and transformed it into isolated individuals. This was Daisuke’s interpretation.
in any case, he had been feeling an emptiness somewhere in his heart. He had simply viewed this emptiness as one experience among others in his daily life and made no attempt to do anything about its cause. This was because he thought that if he peered deep into the experience itself, he might find dark shadows flitting about.
If it were possible, he would have submerged his head—which could no longer tolerate the stimuli emitted by a universe brimming with life—deep into a blue pool. Daisuke was too acutely conscious of life.
These days, Daisuke had grown fonder than ever of Seitarō. When he talked to other people, he felt as if he were talking to their shells, and he found it terribly irksome. But when he looked at himself, he had to admit that he of all people must be irksome to others. When he thought that this was yet another consequence of prolonged exposure to the misfortunes of the struggle for survival, he did not feel very grateful.
These days, Seitarō was forever wanting to practice balancing on a ball. This was because Daisuke had taken him to the amusement quarters of Asakusa the other day. His single-mindedness was something he had inherited from Daisuke’s sister-in-law. But being his brother’s child as well, there was something generous and unpressing about his single-mindedness. It was a pleasure for Daisuke to keep him company, for his soul poured into Daisuke’s without any reserve. Daisuke was finding it painful to be surrounded by spirits that refused to shed their armor whether it was night or day.
You were taking a nap again, weren’t you? People who don’t work just get too lazy. I wonder what on earth you were born for
“Look here,” said Terao. “It’s no joke. You’ve got to do something once in a while. A guy like you who’s always loafing around must get so bored that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Now, if I’d wanted to find someone who could really read this stuff, I wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way over here. But such people aren’t like you, they’re all busy.”
He turned to the guests and said, “Excuse me for being late,” then took his seat and, turning to Daisuke, said in a low voice, “They’re early, aren’t they.”
Daisuke had always maintained that man was finished when potatoes became more important to him than diamonds.
The two could not talk lightly as they usually did. Daisuke was ashamed of the self that required the help of alcohol in order to declare itself. He had already resolved that when he bared his heart to Michiyo, he would have to be his own natural self. But now, seated formally opposite her, he found himself longing for a drop of alcohol. He thought of going to the next room where he could stealthily pour himself a glass of his customary whiskey, but in the end, he could not bear to come to that decision. Unless he could stand in the open air and broad daylight and make his declaration in his normal condition, he would not be his own true self. To erect a wall of drunkenness and become bold from its heights was, he could not help feeling, cowardly, cruel, and insulting.
In spite of everything, there hasn’t been a single day since I got married that I haven’t hoped that you would get married as soon as possible
“I was happy that night, too,’’ said Daisuke, as if in a dream.