Home to Tsugaru by Osamu Dazai

Author:Osamu Dazai [Dazai, Osamu]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shelley Marshall
Published: 2018-07-28T05:00:00+00:00

I said, "This says two young delinquents from the Kamakura era came to ask for shelter for one night. One was someone with something to hide, Kurou Hogan, the name given to Yoshitsune by the Imperial Court, and the other was a bearded man Musashibo Benkei, the warrior monk who served Yoshitsune. And surely they deceived a country girl along the way. Tsugaru has too many legends about Yoshitsune. Not only in the Kamakura era, Yoshitsune and Benkei may have been prowling around three hundred years later in the Edo era, too."

"But Benkei's role was probably drab," said N.

N's beard was thicker than mine and looked anxious he may be forced into Benkei's role.

"Was his role to lug heavy equipment?"

As we talked, we imagined and found delight in the wandering life of the two young delinquents and were moved by envy.

"There are a lot of pretty ladies around here," I whispered. The young women we glimpsed passing through the shadows of houses in the hamlets soon vanished. All were elegant with pale, white skin and a fresh appearance. Their hands and feet were probably soft.

"That's true. If you say so, that's true."

Few men are as indifferent to women as N. It's the sake.

"Now, you probably won't believe me when I tell you my name is Yoshitsune," I said imagining such stupidity.

We spoke this nonsense back and forth during our stroll but gradually quickened our pace into a full-fledged, two-man race. All talking stopped. We sobered up from our drunkenness brought on by the Minmaya sake. It was terribly cold. We had to hurry. Both of us looked solemn and strutted with determination. The sea breeze strengthened. I pull down the brim of my hat that almost blew off several times. Finally, the root of my hat's brim made of staple fiber ripped. Rain pattered down from time to time. Black clouds thinly covered the sky. The wave undulations increased and sprayed our cheeks as we walked down the narrow path along the coast.

"The roads have gotten much better. They weren't like this six or seven years ago. In a couple of places, you had to wait for a break in the waves and rush through."

"But even now, on a bad night, you can't walk at all."

"Yes, night is bad. It was hard for Yoshitsune and Benkei, too."

We kept our serious looks and kept walking.

"You tired?" N turned and asked, "My legs are surprisingly strong."

"Well, we're not old yet."

After we walked for close to two hours, the scenery became unsettling. It felt dreadful, but that landscape no longer exists. Scenery is seen and described by different people over many years, softens under the gaze of human eyes, and is fed by people. Even at the 318-feet-high Kegon Falls, the scent of people is reminiscent of a caged beast. At famous dangerous places drawn in pictures, recited in songs, chanted in haiku from long ago, without exception, human expression is discovered. But no place along the coast on the northern edge of Honshu becomes scenery.

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