Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yamamoto Shugoro Pull yourself together, Thirty-Six! Are you going to crumble? Do you want those bastards out there to cheer your downfall? Get a grip—you're a chosen man! Stand firm on both feet and meet those hardships head-on! You've got the strength for it! Don't forget—hold yourself in higher regard! And now, laugh.

2588 = Shōwa 3 = 25 years old (Residing in Urayasu Town)

Today was the festival day of Hori’s Honored Yakushi. The Takanashi couple came to invite me, so I went out. Tome-san was also with us. The festival was tremendously lively—the girls were bold enough to astonish me. I saw a girl of about fifteen who was pregnant. I wrote letters to my brother and Kiku. I began drafting a scathing letter to Ishii about They Dance but stopped midway. It wouldn’t amount to anything anyway. I resolved to leave it to God’s will. During this time, Tsu’s mother had died—that pitiful woman passed still clinging to empty hopes. Tsu himself was nothing but a fraudster through and through. It was now past ten o’clock, yet young men and women singing Bon dance songs streamed endlessly down the street—may their annual moment of “liberation” be blessed. May there be peaceful sleep tonight—Shizuko, watch over Sueko and me.

(2588/8/12 [August 12, 1928])

I took a two-day break from the diary. The day before yesterday, I visited Sueko’s house. She seems to already know. She was watching me with eyes full of nostalgia. The engagement is nearly settled. Let’s keep at it. I’ve been drafting plans for *Aki Fūki*, but it isn’t coming together. I feel a bit melancholy today. Tonight, I plan to stay up all night and watch the local Bon dance. Wo is also supposed to come; it’s now evening.

I went to see the Bon dance. The dance had no fixed “steps.” Men and women pressed close together to form a ring, their bodies rubbing against one another as they circled around singing. The songs themselves held nothing unique—yet there were about three types of melodies, each “ring” differing in tune. What struck me most was how vigorously the girls led the chants. It was wild and intensely carnal—desire made flesh. There was no moon; both girls and youths cast off all restraint, utterly liberated. May blessings grace the love they would surely kindle in dew-heavy grasses. Well—time to sleep. Sueko—may good dreams guard your night. (8/15)

The character “Wo” has vanished from my diary. That is all there is to it. Yesterday, her brother and Wo met. The matter was nearly settled. Last night, I returned home late alone and watched the final Bon dance at Todaishima.

It was morning now. In the early morning, braving the rain, I set out for Hori beach. On the way, when the rain grew too heavy, I stopped at the fish farm’s embankment and stood beneath a row of poplars. At the fish farm’s wide pond, I watched cormorants dive into the water to eat fish. When I reached the beach, fishing boats lay moored in the shadow of the seaside hut to avoid the strong wind. I sat down inside the hut and spent two hours watching reeds rustle in the wind. When I returned home, they told me Miss O-Tama—the young girl from the basket shop out back—had been waiting for me. Well then—time to play with Miss O-Tama.

I was transcribing *Shattered Tamuran*. It was tedious. But be that as it may, I had to earn money. Another day of rain—just chilly enough to feel it on the skin. It was now ten o'clock. Until recently, guests from Tokyo here for whiting fishing had been making a ruckus at the tackle shop out back. But they had already quieted down. They were fools. Sueko, may good dreams guard your night. Shizuko, please protect my sleep. (2588/8/19)

Today was the first anniversary of Mrs. Kobikichō’s death. I did nothing. I didn’t think anything in particular. The elderly woman at the boarding house where I stay was away again today due to her daughter. The weather seemed somewhat improved. But it would probably rain again. In any case, I should write a letter to Wo. That would be better.

I do not fear being alone. Sueko, may you have good dreams. Shizuko, please protect my sleep.

(2588/8/20)

I didn't think about anything. Again, I did nothing. I wrote a letter to Ishii Shinji to consult about the location for *Shū*. At night, Takanashi came to visit. He spoke about his personal circumstances and left. He is a dear man.

Today was a crisply clear day. Because there was no wind，it had been hot all day，and even now it remained so；the moon had been out. The moon is gone now. Well，time to sleep. Sueko，may good dreams guard your night. Shizuko，please protect my sleep.

(8/21)

I visited Dr. Ando Hirotaro. He was an approachable person. On my way back I visited Tokuda Shusei; a girl smiled bashfully at me. That she was his youngest daughter; that she was a sentimental girl. Mr. Tokuda seemed to have his heart drawn to Urayasu. I left behind three one-act plays. I wonder if she understands. Sueko. I feel uneasy somehow. Is she going to drift away from me again? Perhaps that was indeed the truth. In any case I resolved to remain silent until some word came from Hi. I was now living listlessly. I was about to begin work on my novel *The Immovable Piston*. Night. I walked along the canal. Well—time to sleep.

(8/22)

From evening onward, violent lightning and thunder continued. I saw pale pillars of fire rise two or three times. The autumn rains persist. Cold. If winds now scatter blossoms in early autumn, people fear the rice stalks will bear only empty husks. Yesterday brought a letter from Ishii Shinji. Today I sent my reply. "Hi avoids me." Has it collapsed entirely, Thirty-six? Steady yourself. Are you prepared? The novel *Gostan* stands as Noto Series Number Two. The framework solidified—Monday shall see me begin writing. Sueko. Grant me peaceful sleep. (8/24)

I was away for two days. The day before yesterday, I visited my father and stayed at his house. Yesterday, I visited Ishii Shinji. I read *Shattered Tamuran*. My wife treated me to a meal. Today, I spoke with Tome-san about Sueko’s family home in the countryside. At Takanashi’s house, his cousin had come. She was a fair-skinned girl with well-defined features and a gentle demeanor. I may relocate. I have something to look forward to. I'm slightly drunk.

(2588, 8, 27)

Today I slept in a daze. And so I took the day off from work. I did some work. I wrote fifteen pages on the novel *Gostan*. It will go well. I am now planning to select ten one-act plays and compile them into a single-volume book. I hope it goes well, but thunder rumbled five or six times during the day. Restless thoughts lingered throughout the day. It is now eight in the evening. The clear fourteenth-night moon shines over the tranquil town, relaxed after finishing a day's work. Tonight is Fudo-sama’s festival day, and the canal area is bustling. Today I saw magnificent clouds. The rain will probably stop. My life will be enriched. Oh, I’m a clever fellow! Sueko, may you have good dreams.

(2588, 8, 28)

Just now, I returned from watching the Bon dance at Fudo-sama’s shrine in Hori with Takanashi and Tome-san. A fine moon hung in the sky. Under its light, youths and maidens who had seized their last chance to dance whirled in abandon. They performed the Rice-Pounding Dance too. Near my house by the riverbank, six or seven bashful girls—those too timid to join the main dance—had gathered to practice. They would stop and giggle whenever someone passed. These girls had only just learned the rhythm. The sky clouded over again. Lightning flickered intermittently. A midnight thunderstorm seemed inevitable. Time to sleep. Shizuko, watch over Sueko’s slumber and mine.

(28th, Night)

I neglected my diary. On the night of the 27th, a meteor fell on Urayasu. I saw it. Yesterday (the 29th), I went alone to Ōtōhama Beach to see the moon—it being the fifteenth night of the old lunar calendar. The cries of the first wild geese passing high over reed-covered sandbars lingered; red fishing fires dotted and drifted across the blue sea surface.

Today was August 30th. Today I met Fujita Reisai. He was human after all. A reply to “Hi” came from Sueko’s house—they wished to postpone the marriage another three or four years. I resolved not to abandon my purpose. The wedding would likely happen by next spring. I would hold firm. Intermittent downpours had continued since morning. The river swelled with rain. By evening, a splendid moon emerged. The air grew cool now. Sueko—may sweet dreams find you tonight. Shizuko—guard our sleep through this stillness. (2588, 8, 30)

I was away for three or four days. During this time, I suffered from stomach and intestinal issues and lay bedridden in Kobikicho. Now I feel better. Last night I visited Takanashi and spent time there; his wife gave me some eggs. It was an intensely thirsty night. It was a fine moonlit night, with lightning and thunder. It’s a strange year—we’ve had summer-like fine weather for two or three days now. In the river, children were swimming.

In the early morning, I sketched three pieces. It is now afternoon. (9, 3)

It was now ten o’clock at night. In the evening sky far to the northwest, I saw lightning flashing beautifully through gaps in low gray stratocumulus clouds. The evening had been intensely lonely and cold; the twilight’s hue appeared cruel, while the river’s surface shone coldly like tarnished silver. As the wind was strong, waves came pushing upstream from downstream. The sight of fishing boats silently ascending the river on their return felt especially forlorn. After nightfall, I passed time with Otama and her mother. I had just returned from viewing the moon at the embankment called “Steam Riverbank.” Beyond the distant horizon, I could see the sea with swaying fishing fires—perhaps lights from Chiba’s direction. At “Steam Riverbank,” some old captain had caught a large carp and was making a commotion. Our old woman had gone out again to Yamanashi Prefecture searching for her daughter and still hadn’t returned—a pitiful situation. Well, I’ll sleep now. Sueko, may peaceful slumber and fair dreams grace you.

(9, 3)

I went to show my sketches to Ikebe Kiyoshi. They were well-received. I did nothing in particular and thought of nothing. In the evening at Takanashi's house, I passed time drinking beer with the captain and Engineer while discussing things like the Onagi guardhouse. I might be able to meet Sekiguchi, an elementary school teacher in Urayasu Town.

Rest peacefully, Sueko. May you have good dreams.

(2588, 9, 4)

Yesterday I did nothing. I spent the evening at Takanashi’s house; I was treated to chestnuts and grapes; the scent of early autumn left me satisfied. Today again, I did nothing. A letter arrived from Ishii Shinji. It stated that on the ninth, he would visit Takanashi’s wife and me in Urayasu. At night, I was transcribing "Tsubame." Ah, I forgot something important. I am now beginning work on the plan for "Tamura Okitsugu." It will be a substantial work; this time, I feel I can grasp it properly. I am short one reference book and must borrow it from Ishii. I intend to portray him as a petty bureaucrat (as I define it) and as a dismantler of capital power—a financial administrator. The crux lies in the one phrase above.

×　　　　×　　　　×

Okitsugu. “Samurai honor?” “Hmm, fine calligraphy—elegant words with resonance. But is that edible?”

×　　　　×　　　　×

Today was extremely hot. My stomach had completely recovered. This time I'll be careful. I didn't think about anything else in particular. I'll take a walk around Hori now and then go to bed. Sueko, may there be peaceful sleep and good, beautiful dreams for you.

(1928, September 6, 9:30 PM) Today I caught a goby in the evening. “Mi” came from Tokyo but left without staying over. In the evening at Takanashi’s house, I amused myself with “magic tricks”; his younger brother called “Maro-san” was entertained. Good people. Today I neither thought nor did anything. Sueko—may blessings rest upon you; Shizuko—grant me good dreams. Well, I’ll sleep now. “Sueko—may you have sweet dreams.”

(September 7)

Tonight was the festival at Hori’s Yakushi-sama. The maiden Okou from Hori called out to me. When I looked, she hid in the crowd and said, “Shall we go tomorrow?” She’ll probably come tomorrow. What a peculiar girl. Tomorrow, the Ishii couple and then Sueko are supposed to come. The plan for *Tamura Okitsugu* progresses steadily. Today was hot the entire day. When night came, the wind died. Well, early though it is, I’ll go to bed. Sueko—may you have good dreams and peaceful sleep. (9,8)

Today was windless and hot all day. Around noon, Ishii Shinji came. I went to the beach, played for about an hour, and returned. Sueko did not come. Okou from Hori came. Because the baby cried, she went home. At night, I watched a movie. Takanashi came to visit but left when he found me out. It was still hot; I decided to try sleeping. Sueko—may there be good dreams and peaceful warm sleep for you.

(1928, September 9)

Last night I stayed at the "Hi" house in Yoyogi. Sueko was there. She returned to her hometown. What would become of things? As God willed—today my stomach was acting up again. I could have started writing Tamura Okitsugu immediately, but there was no manuscript paper. How disheartening. I decided to go watch a movie then. It was an unconsoling night. Sueko—may there be peaceful sleep for you, and may you stay healthy and pure. (September 10)

I neglected my diary for four or five days. During this time, I spent a couple of days in Tokyo. "If only I had a hen that laid golden eggs." I structured one act.

Today was hot all day. During the daytime, Okou from Hori and the others came. However, when I called out to them, they ran away. When evening came, I crossed over to Kasai and walked along the riverbank. There were people fishing for crucian carp and gobies. I did a sketch. A south wind was blowing across the ripe rice plants. In Jūyonken, they had already cut the rice and were drying it. It was now night. Takanashi came to visit and had just left. He was bored.

Well, I'll go to bed. Sueko, may you stay happy. (September 16)

I spent the entire week in Kobikicho. I had just returned. The day before yesterday, I was afflicted by a cold. I was weakened by a mild nasal catarrh. The air grew gradually cooler. There were no letters from anyone. I didn’t think about anything in particular. I didn’t write anything. (September 22)

I neglected my diary considerably. I am now weakened by neurasthenia and a cold. It's a bit cold. On the 24th, I met with Lieutenant General Satō Tetsutarō. When the conversation turned to his work *History of National Defense*, he became visibly excited, showing me materials while displaying great kindness. On my way back, he saw me out to the entrance and even worried about an umbrella for me. ――Today I'm feeling slightly better.

I intend to move residence.

(1928, September 26)

In Urayasu Town (moved to Willow House)

Today I moved through the continual rain. I took up residence at Willow House. Takanashi and two ferry crew members helped me earnestly. Wind and rain began in the afternoon.

The new residence faced the river and commanded a view of Kasai and Myoken Island. It also offered a view extending as far as the Great Triangle area downstream on the river. The housekeeper was a somewhat rough-mannered and seemingly amorous woman. “I’ll go to the public bath now.” Ah, yesterday I had met Lieutenant General Ōshima Ken’ichi. The day before yesterday, I had stayed at “Hi’s” house.

On this day—the wedding of Prince Chichibu—the Akasaka area was bustling with a lantern procession. I too joined the procession.

(September 30)

A gentle rain continued to fall; the new residence was remarkably comfortable. Well, I’ll go to bed. Sueko, may you have sweet dreams and warm sleep. (30th, 10:00 PM)

The new residence also shattered my composure. In other words, I had to live with a young fittings craftsman; I resolved to leave this house soon too. I decided to return to Tokyo. My work refused to progress smoothly. Today I visited Tokuda Shusei but failed to accomplish my objective. A headache plagued me all day, my body feverish and ill at ease. I would go to bed.

(October 1)

Yesterday I paid for a woman. My cough still hasn’t stopped. I must change residences. I should return to Tokyo. I would begin working on the novel *Nude*. For a while—more transcribing again—how absurd. I will take Sueko as my wife. Ah—yesterday in Tokyo—I saw *Drag-Net*. I saw *Berlin*; *Drag-Net* was excellent. Bancroft was skillful; Stanwyck was a splendid poet.

A quiet rain continued to fall. Downstairs came a persistent clatter. What a racket. I should return to Tokyo as soon as possible. And I’ll get to work. Work! Work!

Sueko, may peaceful sleep and sweet, quiet dreams guard your night. Well, I'll go to bed.

Shizuko, tomorrow is your death anniversary—tonight I’ll perform the memorial rites alone. God, may Shizuko’s soul rest in peace.

(October 3)

The fourth marked Shizuko’s third anniversary. At the house in Kobikicho, I spoke with her remains. I will keep my vow to Shizuko’s remains. I had been away for two days.

Tonight I stayed at Takanashi’s house. Mr. Tome had been dumped by a woman again. Women are terrible creatures. She had wrung twenty or thirty yen out of him through her charms and then slept with another man right before his eyes. Furious, Mr. Tome had declared before Mr. and Mrs. Takanashi that he would never look at a woman again. ――Yet when I stopped by “Edogawa-tei”—where that woman was—on my way back, there he was, drinking cheerfully while she and everyone around scorned him to his face. Pitiable—no, a man deserving of pity. He neither thought nor acted. I want to return to Tokyo as soon as possible.

(During this time, I stayed on the fourth floor of the company.) I arranged eight leather chairs, laid cushions atop them, and slept under a blanket—this would make for fine memories someday. Today, this ascetic practice was supposed to continue. How dreadful! (October 6)

The entire day was rain. I felt terribly unwell. My tonsils were swollen and my throat hurt. The sake I drank with tempura at lunch must have been the culprit. I slept the entire time. In the afternoon, it turned into a violent storm. The north wind made it bitterly cold. When night fell, the wind shifted to the south, and it became strangely sultry. Disagreeable weather. The woman from the lower house made me some sweet tea. I started writing the kyogen *Onigatake*, but it was no good. The concept for the novel *Nude*, using Omori’s Oshizu and her surroundings as a motif, also took shape. I think I will try to depict the depths of carnal desire. Additionally, my novel from the Kobe period—*Kinosaki Made*, centered particularly on Nakai Tensei—also seems to be taking shape. I want to work—I should hurry back to Tokyo and get started. If only my body would get better. I’ll be sleeping on the fourth floor of the company again starting tomorrow—what an absurd situation. Shizuko, guard my sleep.

(October 7)

It was a torrential downpour all day.

As soon as I boarded the ship for the return journey, a violent storm struck; the voyage became a tremendously perilous endeavor. In Urayasu, they were in a state of alarm, saying a tsunami was coming. However, since the tide had already begun to recede, it seemed safe. If it came, it would be at the next high tide—around midnight. The cough had improved significantly. But I still needed to be thoroughly careful; tonight I’d drink some egg wine and go to bed. Shizuko, grant me peaceful sleep; please protect me.

(October 8)

I missed that man. My cough still hadn't improved. The day brought clear autumn weather with a south wind blowing through from dawn till dusk. I wanted to work. I wanted to work—reading De Curel's *Lion's Prey*, I found what seemed worth noting in its advocacy of individualism and capital's power. Yet my interpretation differed (I'll say no more now). From the returning boat after autumn's sunset, I saw desolate reeds and sandbars, an aging townscape, and river embankments. Toward the distant sea, a crimson bank of clouds glowed ceaselessly. A single pale evening star began flickering faintly. Dragonflies darted about devouring mosquitoes. Both Arakawa and Nakagawa Rivers ran thick with earthen floodwaters—swift currents raising choppy waves. At twilight I visited the old woman from before; she sat eating supper alone in solitude. It had been a lonely autumn day.

(October 9)

The day before yesterday, I stayed at the "Hi" house in Yoyogi; near midnight, there was a fire. To see it, I exposed myself to the cold night air and caught a cold—yesterday, I was racked by a terrible fever. Around noon, I returned to Urayasu and went to bed, but with a high fever over thirty-eight degrees and no ice pillow, I endured an excruciating ordeal. Fortunately, through the housekeeper's kindness, I drank some sweet tea, after which I broke into a violent sweat and my fever broke. The housekeeper makes sweet tea for me without hesitation. Today I have no fever at all. I spent the day with buttered bread, canned fruit, and sweet tea. For dinner, I ate cutlet and rice and bit into an apple. And I drank milk. The cough that had temporarily healed began again. This summer I ultimately spent in a state of minor ailment—how absurd it all was. Well, I should turn in early again tonight. (October 12)

Enough already. The cough wouldn’t go away. I felt well all day. I took a bath. I got through the day with milk, apples, bread, and chocolate. I ate dinner at Takanashi’s house. I had chazuke with grilled sardines, a vegetable-packed soup, and dried foods. It had been ages since I’d tasted something so good. The grapes after dinner were delicious too. Today I did about three sketches. There was one that turned out well. *The Shell-Buying Boat* was what I called it. As material for the novel: *The Man from the Ash-Burning Field*— Mr. X; the naked man; the tale of that brazen killer; the comrade’s wife—dead in a pot. Other. I didn’t do anything else worth noting.

“Tamura” I wrote two pages. It wasn’t going well. It would have to wait until I returned to Tokyo. I needed to hurry back. And work—work. Ah—Ikeya Shinzaburo was living off debt. Then came his declaration: “If I can’t eat here, I’ll go anywhere. I’m Japan’s Shinzaburo.” Anyone reduced to laughable poverty says such things. Shinzaburo—have you too finally become human? Be well, young master. You’ll glimpse true life soon enough. Or else you’ll settle for becoming a teacher. Bring it on. Thirty-six doesn’t break so easily—mark my words. May tomorrow find glory.

(2588 [1928], October 13)

In the morning, I went toward the sea. In the reed-covered sandbar，ducks were flying about. A wagtail was calling. After eating an apple for breakfast，I took a steamship to Gyotoku. I sketched. I had now seen all there was to see of Gyotoku Town，so to speak.

I rested on the embankment of the Edogawa Diversion Channel, crossed Gyotoku Bridge, and headed toward Hachiman—but stopped halfway. I saw one called Tokuganji. August 19, Bunka 4 (1807)—the day of the Fukagawa Tomioka Hachiman Festival—a monument had been erected for those who drowned when Eitai Bridge collapsed. There was an old-fashioned bell tower and a pine tree of elegant grace. The Niō statues at the temple gate were a poor work; not worth seeing. Tonight, I was invited to Takanashi’s house for dinner again. I ate a satisfying chazuke made with ainame—a type of small fish—chestnuts, and fresh vegetable pickles. After the meal, I drank three cups of black tea at Tagawado on the riverbank—a barbaric act indeed. Ah, the lantern at Gyotoku’s boat landing was constructed in Bunka 9.

Well, I should sleep. From tomorrow, it would be back to Tokyo for a while. Soon I would be bidding farewell to Urayasu as well. In the evening, I strolled toward the water inspection station. As I gazed upon the wide riverbank devoid of any sound—the wind stirring half-withered weeds into battle, the lonesome reed flowers, and the quiet sunlight—life truly seemed bleak and devoid of purpose. What did we seek in the end? What did life deign to give us? What a strange thing it was. Alcohol, women, hubbub, fame—were all these not merely means to forget this? What a strange thing it was. I muttered this many times. Ah, let me return to Tokyo soon and get to work. Sueko, may a peaceful life be upon you. Shizuko, please protect my health. Well, I should sleep. May there be a peaceful slumber and sweet dreams.

(2588 [1928], October 14)

The day before yesterday I stayed in Kobikicho. Yesterday I slept with Fuko at a seaside brothel. Today is Kannamesai—a holiday. In the morning I returned to Urayasu and napped. The housewife treated me to "gomoku rice." After eating I grew terribly thirsty and devoured two apples. The rain came and thwarted my sketching—tonight too I'll turn in early. Good dreams will come—though given last night's doings tonight's seem suspect—I suppose. Sueko—sweet dreams guard your night. Now the rain has ceased—a quiet night.

(2588 [1928], October 17)

I returned to my hometown with my younger brother for my late mother's third-year memorial service. On the return journey, I visited Ishii. My wife was asleep again. That day, through a notice from my workplace, I was dismissed from my position. The severe blow left me somewhat crushed. Yamamoto offered encouragement. Finding it unbearable to sleep alone, I visited a seaside brothel and lay with a woman.

On the 22nd, Hi and Ta hosted a farewell banquet for me; that night, I stayed at Hi’s house. On the 22nd, I also visited Mr. Tokuda Shusei (now I must call him "sensei") during the daytime—despite our shallow acquaintance, I ventured to ask about manuscript matters and employment prospects—and he treated me with great kindness. I am grateful. Last night (the 23rd), I also slept with a woman at the Kawabata brothel. Her name was Kobayashi Hikaru. She was a beautiful, lovely maiden. I will not be broken; no one can break me. Is this finally my last stand? Ha ha.

(2588 [1928], October 24)

Yesterday, I visited Shin Kokugeki and met Aoki and Takeda. They kindly welcomed me. I stayed at Hikaru’s house. Today I slept all day. (25)

Last night was a splendid moonlit night. In the dead of night, the sound of dew dripping from the eaves persisted; I fell asleep gazing at the pale glowing sky. I ate breakfast at Takanashi’s house. I attempted to write *Tanuma* but failed. Today was cloudy from morning onward, with a light rain falling. Guests who had come from Tokyo for fishing went further and further out to sea, shivering in their boats from the cold. I rewrote *Tanuma* three times. This time, I seem to have finally found a proper starting point. I wasn’t thinking anything particularly important—if money comes in, I believe I’ll travel around Tohoku. Ah, last night at Engi Hall, I saw something called “Scientific Magic.” O pitiful travelers, repeating tricks from twenty years past. Well, I should sleep—I’m supposed to move again soon—may there be good dreams.

(2588 [1928], October 28)

In Urayasu Town (at the second floor of the Kasai boat inn)

I moved. It was the second floor of a boat inn. This time I’m completely alone; I think I’ll be able to work calmly. I am utterly exhausted now; however, the sweet fatigue after a bath—so relaxed—pleasantly tingles throughout my entire body. Alright, work! Work!

(2588 [1928], November 1)

*The Tragedy of Tanuma Okitsugu and His Son* All six acts; the curtain rises.

(11/2, 9:00 AM)

Today I went to Tokyo and watched Shitoruheim’s “Wedding March.” A pure naturalist cinema. Shitoruheim had aged; a love story beneath scattering apple blossoms was too saccharine even for discussion. However, the depiction of the old duke and duchess’s bedroom at the opening curtain was superb. In the afternoon, it began to rain. I wrote a few pages of *Tanuma*. It seemed to finally be taking shape. Hurrah!

After nightfall, the daughter of the house “Okiyo” and the housemaid “Osada,” their hair newly styled, came to my room saying they wanted to show me the Bon dance song. Osada was agitated and flustered. That scene from *Wedding March*—where after being with Nicky, a girl sees hallucinations and screams “O Iron Man”—came back to me. A violent storm was now raging. In the neighboring room, guests from Tokyo who had come for fishing were making a commotion. The landlord, fueled by drink, held forth with drunken eloquence. I might now have my first real glimpse into a fisherman’s life. Tonight too, my fatigue remained unshaken. I resolved to sleep early. Sueko—they say you’re returning to Tokyo again. Let us meet soon. May tranquil dreams guard your nights; may splendor grace my tomorrows. Thirty-Six shall not break! Aimu rimaakaburu ferou!

(11/2)

This morning around half past midnight, a fire broke out in Horie. In the storm it burned furiously; after burning for over an hour it collapsed—Engi Hall, an entertainment venue, had been the source. The Yasugi-bushi performers fled along the riverbank embankment soaked and bedraggled from the rain; the hall’s owner burned to death while his wife went mad. I wrote ten pages of *Tanuma*. A letter came from Ikebe Kiyoshi. I walked to the embankment—a fine autumn day though a strong north wind blew. Now night has come; still the wind continues blowing.

I think I will prepare a statement for him. The cough seems to have finally stopped. It might be thanks to Da Capo.

(2588 [1928], November 3)

Ah, I had forgotten something important. Last month, Fuji—the woman from Nisshōtei—traveled all the way to Yamagata Prefecture to meet the cook from her former household with whom she’d been involved, and together they threw themselves into the Mogami River in a lovers’ suicide. She was a plump woman with features one might call homely, yet there was an air of resignation about her—something oddly compelling. The last time I saw her was on the night of October 22. I had just left the meager farewell dinner arranged by Hi and Ta when we stepped outside and found her there speaking with Okimi. We took her story about setting up house with her beloved at face value and offered hearty congratulations—“Hey now, don’t spoil that husband of yours too much!” ...and thoughtless remarks like “You should’ve told us—we’d have thrown you a celebration!” Little did we know she’d come to bid farewell resolved on death. Even now I see her—that uneasy smile, those repeated deferential bows lingering before my eyes. The roots of this tragedy defy simple explanation. I think I must write of it someday. (Her: husband’s imprisonment; childbirth; separation from her child; working at cafés; destitute upbringing; the young cook; their affair; pregnancy; his return home due to illness; Husband’s release; their joint suicide.)

Today I wrote eight pages of *Tanuma*. It turned out relatively well. Good work, Thirty-Six. Last night I stayed at Takanashi’s house. Tonight there’s a festival on Contemporary Island with “plays” and “*kagura* dances.” The house’s daughter Okiyo-bō and the housemaid Osada-bō left all dressed up. They probably wouldn’t come back until late at night. It was a quiet day; from the direction of distant Contemporary Island, the sounds of festival music and singing could be heard.

May good dreams be upon the young people.

Sueko.

(2588 [1928], November 4) *Tanuma* The curtain fell on Act 1, Scene 1. (11/4, midnight)

May the second scene go smoothly starting tomorrow.

Today I went to Tokyo. I watched a film. After returning home, I raised the curtain on *Tanuma*'s second scene—it will likely go well. In the evening after dinner, I went to Contemporary Island's festival and saw the shrine play. The so-called "young crowd" bustled about, making tonight their grand occasion. I must work harder. Thirty-Six—steady yourself!

(11/5)

I wrote four pages of *Tanuma*. In the afternoon I went fishing but didn’t catch a single fish. Must be punishment for slacking off. Melancholy weighs on me. Pull yourself together Thirty-Six—you’d crumble now? Let those bastards cheer their triumph? Be mocked as some grand liar? Get up—up! Plant both feet firm and meet hardship’s face—you’ve got that strength! Got it—never forget—hold yourself higher and tend yourself right! Now laugh—laugh till your guts shake!

(2588 [1928], November 6, 11:00 PM)

I wrote six pages of *Tanuma*. I wrote five pages of *Musashi’s Flight*. Around noon today, I went down the river along the embankment and followed a path of withered grass through rice fields and reeds all the way to the seashore. The tranquil, unadorned scenery of the withered fields offered me some solace. In the distance, here and there in the lotus fields, farmers were digging up roots. A light rain came along the way, but I pressed on. In the withered reeds along the edge of a dried-up rice field, katydids sang. The plump female hung far below, gnawing at drooping reed seeds as her ovipositor swayed heavily, devouring ripe fruit. The male katydid perched upside down among blue leaves and stems above, trembling his wings to call her. A small love scene on a windless, overcast day. When I walked through reeds tall enough to drown my back toward the embankment, I saw beyond them still stretched pale reed beds—some twenty chō keeping the sea distant from me. Four dogs leapt through the withered reeds. I resolved to hasten the marriage. Sueko, come to me swiftly. (11/7)

Today I was in excellent form. I wrote eight pages. *Tanuma* Act 1 is finished.

(2588 [1928], November 8, 8:00 PM)

I wrote five pages of *Musashi*. All day, incessant rain. Keep at it, Thirty-Six! Don't lose! Don't lose! Stay strong! Stay strong! You're a chosen man—don't forget that! Shizuko, watch over my sleep.

(11/8)

*Tanuma* Act II began. It didn't go well. My condition was rather poor today. In the evening, I worked on shark nets from the 'boat'. I didn't think about anything. Today I slacked off. You idiot.

(11/9)

I wrote only one page of *Tanuma*. *Musashi* I wrote four pages. I thought to hasten the marriage. In the afternoon, I went to the sea of Daito and spent half an hour gazing at the bleached reed beds and the stern hue of the ocean. Across the entire sandbar, the gray plumes of reeds swayed in the wind.

Today, the Emperor’s enthronement ceremony was held in Kyoto. In Urayasu Town, there was an evening lantern procession. Today was bustling with people fishing.

A man with three guests from the boat inn where I was staying went out to sea by boat, fell into the cold waters beneath an overcast sky whipped by northern winds, and returned trembling. While drinking sake and fishing, one of them tried to relieve himself. One man fell overboard after striking the gunwale; then another tried to rescue him by grabbing his collar—but since this would-be savior was thoroughly drunk too, he joined the former as a guest of the sea. The remaining man, queasy from the boat’s rocking, could only groan helplessly.

Today I slacked off—this is inexcusable. "Doing nothing is doing ill." Pull yourself together. (11/10)

Today I slacked off again. I drank sake at noon—wrote one page of *Tanuma*. This won’t do. This won’t do. At night, a commotion erupted when the landlord flew into a rage after his daughter was nearly violated by a steamship crewman called “M.” To address the incident, three captains from Tsuusen Company came to apologize. Their discussion kept circling back to notions of national polity, culminating in the pathetic spectacle of invoking the divine pair “Izanagi and Izanami” as justification. Thus did the captain of Ship No. 26—first denounced as a “blithering lickspittle”—find himself declared “a brilliant strategist” after their inquiry concluded, with claims that “the company survives by his wits alone.” And so I had the privilege of witnessing this farcical fumāsu unfold through the night. (I mean to recount this affair more thoroughly.) (11/11, 12:30 AM)

*Tanuma* I hit a wall. In the afternoon, I went to the riverside embankment in Horie, lay down on the withered grass, and passed the time basking in the autumn sun. In the evening, I drank sake with dried foods at Takanashi’s house. After returning home, I opened the curtain on *Akikaze-ki*. Tomorrow I go to Tokyo; Sueko will likely be there. O God, grant that my sleep be guarded tonight; Sueko, may your dreams be peaceful.

(2588 [1928], November 12, 11:30 PM)

The battle has begun. Here we go. Advance. Thirty-Six.

(2588 [1928], November 13)

The town had been holding its festival since yesterday. I am weary as sand. Tomorrow I think I'll take the boat toward Matsudo Town. It rained all day but cleared up at night. A strong south wind was blowing lukewarm. I am being tormented by my tonsils. Last night’s dust-laden fog assailed my throat. It was now midnight.

(11/15) Idiot—idiot—idiot—know your shame.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Have some shame.

(16) Take it easy, Thirty-Six. Don't rush. It's fine to play as much as I want.

Last night, from evening onward, I went out toward Matsudo. The boat we boarded at "Ikkendate" slowly made its way up the dusk-cloaked river against the north wind. The crescent moon had been shining in the western sky for a while, but by the time the boat passed Gyotoku, it had set. (Interruption)

I hadn’t kept my diary for quite some time. During this interval, I had spent about four days traveling around southern Boso Peninsula.

Today is 2588 [1928], 11/28.

Now braving the north wind under a moonlit night, I was returning from Urayasu-tei where I had gone to listen to naniwa-bushi (Oh God). Alright, time to work. Shizuko. I will look into your eyes.

The sound of the wind continues mournfully.

(11/28)

Yesterday, I was refused a loan at Yamamoto’s. I took the girls' novel to Hakubunkan. Iguchi was very kind to me. Today I did two sketches. I made thirty-four clean copies of "Cow". It’s Recood. It was a quiet night. Last night, there was a lunar eclipse under a crescent moon. I reconciled with Takanashi. His sister (who has three children) is dying. The two daughters are pitiable.

May God’s grace be upon all things. Shizuko.

(2588 [1928], November 30)

I wrote five scenes and eleven pages on “Urashima.” A cold north wind had blown through all day long. I went sketching with our “Nagataro” toward Jūman-tsubo. Nag was an amusing fellow. This would make for a fine memorial in my lifetime. Today I drank sake and ate tempura. “I refuse.” Time to sleep now. A beautiful moonlit night it was.

(2588 [1928], 12/1)

I wrote four pages of one scene for "Urashima." During the day, I bought a scoop net and went to Horie to catch small fish. I caught Korean crucian carp, Japanese crucian carp called 'kin,' gobies, and freshwater shrimp. I sketched them. There was misfortune at Takanashi’s house—his sister had passed away. She had a ten-year-old eldest son and daughters aged eight and six. It was pitiable. The rain fell quietly. I’ll go to sleep.

(1, 2, 3)

I wrote five pages of one scene for "Urashima." In the afternoon, I went to catch small fish with a net. Willow minnows, okame, goby crucian carp, crucian carp, kin crucian carp—I caught these and sketched them. There had been a naval review that day. A fishing boat sank from the warship's wake; two airships swam through pure white sky. Night brought a fierce northwest wind. The cold bit deep—Gorzu Ōjii was no mediocre writer. Among English poets, his position defies dismissal.

(12/4)

A cold west wind blew through all day. “Urashima” I wrote two scenes and eight pages. At dusk, I went to catch minnows. I caught about thirty crucian carp and willow minnows. In the evening, I sketched Kuranako’s statue. It was still bitterly cold. I’ll go to sleep. May there be sweet dreams. (12/5)

“Urashima” I began working on the second act and wrote fourteen pages for one scene. I wasn’t satisfied.

Today was wonderfully calm and warm. At dusk, I visited Takanashi. In the evening, I drew a portrait of “Kunaa ko.”

I wrote three pages of Aki Kaze Ki. It might go well. It is now twelve o'clock.

(12/6)

“Urashima” I began working on the third act. It was now noon. It was a cloudy, cold day; my hands froze, so I moved my pen while clapping them together and rubbing them. Since I was only eating two meals a day, my stomach grew empty and I couldn’t bear it—though I’d grown somewhat accustomed. The night before, I’d drunk sake with tempura. I felt unwell. (12/13)

"I made it to Act 3, Scene 5 of 'Urashima,' but then got stuck; the tone had somehow turned strange." "I read Tokuda Shusei’s Mold." "Good." "Tomorrow I will go to Tokyo." "Will Hakubunkan give me money? If that fails, I’ll finally have to take action." "I think I’ll write a novel." "I hadn’t thought of anything particular." "In the evening, I went offshore and sketched." “Chō has become my sole comfort in life—you dear, lovable child.”

(12/14)

Rain since morning. It was bitterly cold; my pen froze repeatedly. It fell from my hand. In the afternoon, I played with Chō. At night, I visited Takanashi and helped repair the pillar clock. I wrote only three pages of "Urashima." The housemaid’s daughter—the maid herself—utterly vile, loathsome; even their touch repulses me. I recoiled when they flung the grilled dried fish straight onto the dining table at lunch. The cold lingered. I’ll curl up like a shrimp and sleep.

(12/15)

Because it was raining and bitterly cold, I didn’t go to Tokyo today.

The day before yesterday, I visited Hakubunkan. Iguchi went out of his way to be kind; I was grateful. Yesterday I met with “Hi” and “Ta”—we drank sake. Today I brought down the curtain on “Urashima.” In celebration, I raised a cup alone. In the evening I strolled toward the open sea, circled the long breakwater of the fish farm, made a sketch; across desolate withered fields raced a twilight north wind. At Benten Shrine offshore knelt three women who seemed teahouse girls. In a hundred thousand tsubo of reeds mewled “Hamaneko,” fluttering—disagreeable birds they were. Herons too flew. (12/20)

Stomach troubles flared up. It must have been due to lack of exercise, alcohol, and fatty foods. For the time being, I will practice abstinence.

“Urashima” I began revising. I think I’ll start new work as well. Tomorrow I plan to visit my father and Ishii Shinji. What response will I get from Hakubunkan? It’d be good if things go well—but if that doesn’t sell, I’ll be in immediate trouble. I didn’t think about anything. I will not be defeated. The situation with Sueko grows increasingly dubious by the day. In accordance with God’s divine will.

(1928.12.23)

The day before yesterday, I visited my father and had dinner with him; afterwards, I visited Ya at the house in Ise Town. Her mother was extremely pleased and provided all sorts of hospitality. Her sisters also welcomed me warmly. Yesterday I visited Ishii Shinji. His wife had developed peritonitis from a ruptured fallopian tube and was bedridden. I read Urashima. I think it would have been better if I hadn’t read it. He was not at all defeated. After returning home, I drank bad-tasting sake at Takanashi’s house. Today as well, I drank at Tentetsu. I am about to sleep now; Hakubunkan still hasn’t responded.

(1928.12.26) Today I revised ten pages of *Urashima* and eleven pages of *Fox*. It was cold. It was already midnight; I was writing one act of *Critics and Gout*. From this, I might deduce and depict *Mamashi-ō*. If I were to write it, a comedy would result. A quiet calm. Though cold, heaven and earth lay utterly still. May there be blessings upon the earth. (1928.12.28) A strong northern cold wind blew through. The moonlight was good now; the revision of *Urashima*'s first act was finished. *Fox* The second act was nearing its end; I was tired. The wind still hadn’t stopped; tomorrow I would go to Hakubunkan. Let it go well. I didn’t think about anything. Work! Work! I wouldn’t be defeated. (1928.12.29)

But cowed by my own roar echoing in the house across the river, it kept crying endlessly. In Kobikicho, Kōuche was sleeping.

I visited my father and borrowed money. I visited Yagi.

(1928.12.30)

The New Year’s Eve bells of 1928 were ringing. This year had been exceedingly hectic. However, I had firmly taken the first step. I had nearly completed sufficient work; particularly, my relocation to Urayasu in the latter half of the year would likely mark a favorable turning point in my life. The New Year’s Eve bells… The five-colored bells of five temples (just like that night in Suma in 2583 [1923]) now visited my solitary, impoverished study. The people had gone to sleep.

O soiled girl who provoked me to anger moments ago—your spirit too is now buried in dreams.

The New Year’s Eve of 2584 [1924] was spent at Kobe Senjuya Inn. The New Year’s Eve of 2585 [1925] was also spent in Kobe; that of 2586 [1926] in Tottori City, that of 2587 [1927] at Wo’s residence in Shinagawa, and now that of 2588 [1928] here in Urayasu Town, Chiba Prefecture. The steamships coming from Tokyo had ceased. Now, the fire watchman’s clappers circling Kasai Village on the opposite shore rang out crisply. The bamboo leaves planted at the gate swayed quietly in the wind, making a rustling sound—swish… swish…. This year I wrote *Geshi*, *People and Life*, *Shattered Tamuran*, *Straw Hat*, and *Urashima*, and further produced one three-act unfinished work, two one-act unfinished works, and one six-act historical drama unfinished work. I met Haru Shizuko and lost her immediately. In early summer, I met Sueko, and our engagement was nearly settled. I moved to Natsu Urayasu and severed ties with Wo. In autumn, I lost my job and holed up in Urayasu. In early winter, I traveled to the Minamibō region.

The sketches I began in the latter half of the year greatly comforted me and nurtured me. I shall give thanks to Strindberg again this year. Well now, you really managed to keep going without wearing yourself out, Thirty-six. May there be a good year. Things with Sueko will probably improve. Farewell, 2588 [1928]. (12.31, 00:10)

2589 = Showa 4 = Age 26

The last New Year’s Eve bell finished ringing; it was 1:00 AM on January 1, 2589 [1929]. Congratulations, Thirty-six. Keep at it steadily this year too. It was now exactly one o'clock. I’ll sleep.

Last evening at Takanashi’s house, I played karuta. I beat Maro-san. Tome-san vigorously shook his swarthy face and danced the Great Catch Dance and the Fool’s Dance.

This morning, ice flowed all day in the Ōkawa River. It was extremely cold; the Hokuriku region was, as usual, under wind and snow, and around Oyashirazu, the railway had again become impassable. Today was *Urashima*. I wrote sixteen pages of Act II (revised version). In the evening, I visited Takanashi and played karuta with Maro-san again. It was now 2:30 AM; the Ōkawa River had entirely frozen over. The sound of ice cracking persisted. Occasionally, motorboats would pass through slowly, splitting the ice with sharp cracking noises. The first rooster crowed; a slight wind had picked up. Tomorrow would probably be cold.

Good night, Thirty-six. You’ve worked hard. May there be good dreams. (2:35 AM. 2589.1.4 [1929.1.4])

Today was warm. I wrote six pages of *Urashima*. Having struggled considerably, I considered rewriting *Autumn Wind Record* with multiple scenes. It was now 2:30 AM. The Ōkawa River had frozen slightly. It was freezing; I began structuring the first act of *Takadono*. (1.5)

On the 7th, I visited Hakubunkan, but neither Iguchi nor Yokomizo were there. Having no money, I sold four books and returned home. Today being the 9th, I wrote twenty-five pages working on Act III of Urashima. It progressed relatively smoothly. It was now 3 AM. When I visited Takanashi earlier, the captain of No. 26, Mr. Abiko, had come to complain about being caught between two marriage proposals—one being a twenty-eight-year-old woman from Gyōtoku named Ogin, the other a daughter from his hometown. Though already involved with Ogin and aware of her deep affection for him, he was straining to be with her despite everyone's advice against it. Once I finish Urashima, I plan to go to Kaizō. "I want to visit Wo too—no word from her... Well done, Thirty-six. Rest easy now. May there be good sleep." May there be blessings upon the earth.

(2589.1.9 [1929.1.9])

It was now four in the morning. Urashima As I approached completion and encountered great difficulties; however, it would likely turn out well. I wrote fifteen pages today. I have nothing on my mind. The youthful transgressions may have begun to punish my body. But I would face this formidable foe with composure. I would not yield. I wanted to shape both Tamura and Morishita into similarly richly scenic frameworks. During the day, I walked along the Hori canal and made two sketches. In the evening, I visited Takanashi and sold a book. It was now four-thirty. Well, I would sleep. May there be good dreams. Last night I dreamed of Shizuko. May there be blessings upon the earth.

(2589.1.10 [1929.1.10])

*Urashima* I finished all revisions of Urashima. (2589.1.11 [1929.1.11], 4:00 PM)

I will begin work on *Tamura* tomorrow. Keep at it. Tonight I attended a performance by a troupe called Seibige-ki at a provisional theater built in Jikata. I will write this account. Now I'll sleep here tonight; it’s nine o’clock now. A fine calm. May there be good dreams. (2589.1.12 [1929.1.12])

I visited Tokuda Shusei and requested the return of the manuscript I had left in his care. I had already visited Mr. Tokuda’s house five times in vain for this purpose. Mr. Tokuda said to me thus: “That stuff won’t sell no matter how you peddle it around.” And in the end, the manuscript was nowhere to be found. “Since Koppii should be kept at home, that would be most kind,” I said and took my leave. I thought about writing a letter demanding accountability after returning home but stopped myself. The wise and the foolish do not change. It was my mistake to have entrusted such an important manuscript to the likes of him. I have lost trust in all things. I am utterly alone. The housekeeper refused to lend me nail clippers. [She] refused to lend a razor. How cold and cruel, how utterly barren, how choked with dust this world is! Now I am reading Strindberg’s *Blue Book*. Strindberg is, each time, the greatest, most revered, and truest teacher and friend to me. I speak his name through tears. I visited Iguchi at Hakubunkan. My hopes were not realized; today I sold several books to get money.

(1.15)

I began writing my manuscript on the back of scrap paper. (Due to a lack of manuscript paper) I was writing a full-length work titled *Professor Kose’s Experiment*. At the same time, in order to formulate plans for *Christ*, I was reading Renan’s *Life of Jesus*. It was extremely cold today. It is still only nine o'clock. Strindberg’s *Blue Book* greatly strengthens and encourages me.

“Professor Kose” I wrote ten pages. The wind stopped. It is now eleven o'clock. Tonight I will sleep here.

(2589.1.16 [1929.1.16])

"Professor Kose" I wrote thirteen pages. It was cold all day today with a north wind. I walked toward Hori at night. At Takanashi's house, I was treated to a late-night meal of sujiko and nori. May there be peaceful sleep. May there be blessings upon the earth. It is now 1 AM; I will read *Life of Jesus* and then sleep. The wind picked up a bit again. Shizuko, may you find peaceful eternal rest. (1.17)

I lazed around for two days, spending them drinking. Tomorrow I go to Tokyo. The branching point of my fate is staked on tomorrow. Farewell, be it good or ill. If it’s ill fortune, I plan to sell off my book collection and flee to Hokkaido or some such place. Ō Goddo asu yū raiku itto. Shizuko. O eight million gods.

(2589.1.19 [1929.1.19])

My *The Eve* settled into calm. A penetrating chill seeped through - perhaps snow approached. Drunk as I was, I begged indulgence for these trembling characters. Hmph. Again.

(2589.1.19 [1929.1.19])

Today I met all sorts of people. I met Tamura Mitsuko. She had become a gentle, beautiful girl. With a calm, spring-like smile, she spoke while blushing. As I left, she kept her gaze fixed on me. Various memories must have welled up in her heart. I met my younger brother. I met Shizuko from Kanagawa. Fumiko’s friend “Mr./Ms. Tamura” The two girls called “Matsuzawa-san” delighted my eyes just as that person’s friends “Yagi-san” and “Akamatsu-san” had, and thus saddened me. I went to Hakubunkan but couldn’t meet anyone. On the way back, I drank sake with loach stew. After returning, I visited Takanashi. “Professor Kose” — I wrote eleven pages.

It was now 3 AM; the cold bit bitterly. Robberies had been prowling Tokyo City with increasing frequency these days. A wretched state of the world. Time to sleep.

(2589.1.20 [1929.1.20])

“Keiko’s illness still hadn’t improved,” they said.

It was bitterly cold all day. *Professor Kose* I wrote seven pages. At night I wrote a fairy tale titled "The Miser and the Ogre" for Takanashi and transcribed eight pages of *Kose*. It is now 3:30 AM; when four o'clock comes I will go deliver the manuscript to Takanashi then return home and sleep. Today I sent a letter to Yokomizo at Hakubunkan. A plea letter. Feel shame. (2589.1.21 [1929.1.21])

Today was even colder. “Professor Kose” I wrote fifteen pages. Other than that, I did nothing else. In the afternoon, I watched female sumo at Horie’s Shofukuji Temple—that’s all. It is now 1 AM. I’m tired so I’ll sleep now.

(1.22)

The cold grew increasingly severe. “Kose” I wrote seventeen pages. For dinner, Mrs. Takanashi treated me to “potatoes, pork, and onions.” It was good. I didn’t think about anything. It is now 3 AM. I sleep.

(2589.1.23 [1929.1.23])

Today was a day of calm. “Professor Kose” I wrote sixteen pages. Drank sake with tempura. The moonlit night was beautiful. In the afternoon I went sketching at Toudaijima Island. Tomorrow should bring calm again—I’ll sleep straightaway. May blessings grace this earth.

(2589.1.24 [1929.1.24])

Today was windy all day, and it was cold. *Professor Kose* I wrote twenty pages. Tomorrow I will take this to Hakubunkan; may fortune favor me. Shizuko, my fate will be decided tomorrow. I didn't think about anything. Money—that bastard—truly degrades life. Takanashi is extremely kind to me; he stands among my benefactors. These past four or five days held no true encounter with "life." Whether fortune smiles on me tomorrow or not, this month of poverty carved an entirely new path for me. I tasted poverty at life's absolute bottom. Now I stand truly rooted in the earth. Never before have I seen myself so powerless yet filled with such colossal strength. I'll welcome anything gladly—this greatest task of mine defies all defeat. Farewell—the die is cast.

(25)

The die had determined my fate. Thus my fate compelled me to set down roots in a new land; whether I should head to Hokkaido or settle for an ordinary life in Tokyo remained undecided.

I am truly at life’s lowest depths. Now I stand utterly isolated; I learned with painful clarity that in this existence, beyond myself, there remains nothing to rely upon. What is a friend? If there comes a time when one needs a friend—precisely when only a friend would suffice—and that friend turns their back to leave, then what purpose does a friend serve? Yes—what is a friend? In this modern age, the meaning carried by the relationship called “friendship” amounts to nothing more than “club members with aligned interests.” If in a friendship between A and B, B harbors even the slightest unfounded fear of suffering harm, then the “friendship” between A and B has already ended.

Alright, I abandoned modern "friends."

Today I visited the "Western Art Retrospective Exhibition" at the Prefectural Art Museum. I saw three paintings by Kaidai, two by Sekine Shoji, several by Kuroda Seiki, and then works by Takahashi Yuichi. Sekine and Kuroda stood out. Kuroda especially was magnificent. After all, one must live long to complete their work. In youth, one’s works are all affectation; even a genius only shows fleeting sparks. One isn’t genuine until fifty. Today I finished reading Strindberg’s *Blue Volume*. The final words—“Suffer and work; always suffer while always holding hope; do not seek permanent settlement, for this world is a pilgrimage”—lashed me mercilessly yet comforted me. Ah, Strindberg—my friend, my teacher, my lord. I shall continue my pilgrimage while worshiping you.

(2589.1.28 [1929.1.28]) Do you think a man can complete his life's work with ease? Fool. Mushanokoji

Thirty-Six, bow your head before these words.

(2589.1.29 [1929.1.29])

I have today been further enlightened. Very well—let seven multiplied seventyfold come crashing down. I will rise up without end. Today’s great harvest. It is now 2 AM. Sleep, Thirty-Six—there will be a new day. (2589.1.29 [1929.1.29])

My life in Urayasu Town was coming to an end. Within the next two or three days, I would leave this beloved town. Today I visited Hakubunkan; my manuscript had been rejected. My father was suffering from neuralgia. Having lost my job four months ago and finally run out of money, I sold my book collection and had to step forward anew. Moreover, my only friend abandoned me, and the girl I was engaged to finally flew from my grasp. Even the Kobikicho family—my sole supporter—now refused to provide me with financial assistance.

Now, what remains to me is only this one thing: "the joy of creation." I hold fast to my final jewel—a jewel as vital as my own blood, one I could never relinquish even in death—and step onto tomorrow's path.

“Master,” (the disciple asked) “when should a person rest?” “Is it when one has no faith, no hope, no money, no friends, no lover, and is starving?”

“No,” answered the Master, “you must not rest until the final three beats of your pulse cease. To complete you, these hardships and trials are necessary—such is their purpose. A most precious jewel must be polished without respite by the hardest emery. For you are a most precious jewel.”

“Master,” (the disciple asked) “when should one feel anger—when insulted?” The Master answered: “No—it should be when you yourself desecrate yourself. Others can never truly insult you, for you are a jewel and they are sand; even if five hundred thousand of them were multiplied a hundred thousandfold and gathered to demean you, they could never destroy you.”

(2589.1.31 [1929.1.31])

Yesterday I invited a bookseller from Tokyo and sold off my book collection. Eighty yen came into my hands. If I settle my debts now what remains will be pitifully small. This will let me stay on in Tokyo awhile longer.

If there was work to be had, I would take it; if not, I would go to Shikoku.

Today I took Cho to Tokyo for an outing. I showed him movies，took him on the subway，and we amused ourselves with sea lions，polar bears，lions，and monkeys at the zoo. The excitement of my childhood welled up in my chest as Cho’s excitement grew. It was a day filled with happy memories. After taking a bath，I attended a farewell banquet at the Takanashi residence hosted by Mr.Maro，Akiha，Mr./Mrs.Takanashi，and Mr.Tome. The day of parting finally drew near. Tonight I intended to sing heartily. (2589．2．2 [1929．2．2] 7 PM)

In Urayasu Town (at the Thatched Hut)

I settled in Urayasu Town.

It was an old, decaying Bouya with a thatched roof—a house containing a spacious two-tsubo dirt-floored area and a single four-and-a-half-tsubo room. I prepared cooking utensils and bought brown rice, intending to cook for myself. Yuukedama and her mother visited, promising to bring me newly pickled vegetables. The family next door was a poor charcoal seller’s household: the husband had been bedridden for two days with a suppurating jawbone when his wife went into labor. Their five children were led by a fifteen-year-old boy. A human tragedy indeed. Now, beyond the wall, the couple’s ongoing financial discussions could be heard. (2589.2.7 [1929.2.7] Night)

Many children come. I tell them a story. I have yet to begin my work; I cannot find a “motif” that would command my entire being. Thus, I am now terribly lonely. I want to start working soon. Work. Ishii Shinji is said to be coming on the tenth. At that time, a communication arrived stating they would read *Woman and Automobile* Eight Views; I am looking forward to it. Tonight was the festival of Yakushi-sama at Hori. Hori was bustling. Ah, in the evening, Otama’s mother brought me pickled vegetables. Today, I crossed the river and took a walk as far as Kasai Village. I didn’t think about anything in particular. Ah, a small manuscript fee came in from Chugai Shogyo Shimpo. So I drank sake. It is now ten o'clock.

(2589.2.8 [1929.2.8]) During the day, I drew a single conte drawing. The children eagerly came to play. “Kose Hirotaka”

I embarked on the plan for a duology. I owed much to Su Be’s “Rutter.” Having sold off my book collection, I found it extremely inconvenient. On the other hand, it was a blessing that I could devote myself so earnestly; I had to start working soon. To escape this poverty, this loneliness. Tomorrow Ishii would probably come; it was something to look forward to. It was now eleven o'clock. I would go to bed now. (2589.2.9 [1929.2.9])

Tragedy *Painter Hirotaka*

Fifteen scenes, curtain rises.

(2.13) At last, it seems I can write something genuine. My funds were growing desperately thin. For now, I resolved to subsist on unpolished rice and sweet potatoes.

Today was cold. For dinner, I cooked udon, treated the boy Suke to it, and ate it myself; I realized this luxury was hollow. The self-cooked udon I ate with Suke tasted delicious. Were my mother alive to hear of this, she would weep. I thought nothing of consequence. I sent a letter to my brother. There will likely be no reconciliation with Wo again. Let it be as God wills. Tomorrow I'll rise early! (2.13)

I am writing the novel *Doyō Fūkei*. It is now twelve o'clock in the afternoon.

(2.13) I was writing *Hirotaka*. The money had completely run out. “Urashima” I sent it to Kaizo; I wondered what would become of it. Even if it was bad, I wouldn’t lose heart—but I’d rather it turned into money. I didn’t think about anything. I drew a single conte drawing at E River. That morning had been extremely cold; the newspaper reported minus seven degrees. It was now twelve thirty. I read a book and went to bed.

(2.14)

I was writing *Hirotaka*. The first act had ended，and the second act was nearing its end． Mrs．Takanashi brought over some side dishes for my dinner． During the day，I drew a single sketch at Hori． Today I worked sufficiently；it was now twelve thirty． Tomorrow morning I would get up early．

(2.15)

I was writing *Hirotaka*; today I managed quite a lot. I wrote thirteen sheets. It was now 4 AM. A small manuscript fee had come from Chugai Shogyo Shimpo - enough to scrape by for two or three days. I felt grateful to Takanashi. I thought about nothing. I bought ten sen's worth of alcohol, drank it straight down, and went to bed.

Today ((Sunday the 17th)), children will come to have their portraits drawn; they must be looking forward to my stories as well. May peace be upon me.

(16) Today I spent the whole day playing with the children. For dinner, I ate crucian carp that Cho had caught, miso-stewed. It was delicious. It is now eleven o'clock; I'll sleep now. May peace be upon me.

(17)

*Hirotaka* The fourth scene was grueling. Today I worked. I finished writing the fourth act and completed the fifth act. I drank sake with tempura for the first time in ages. It was now midnight; I would prepare udon for a late-night meal and begin the sixth act—the Horyuji Golden Hall scene. A splendidly clear night after the rain, lit by a bright moon. A gentle west wind blew. The lights of Kasai Village flickered and swayed upon the river, glowing lapis lazuli blue under the moonlight. Alright, time to buck up and get to work! Until I could work no more. Until I could work no more. ——And then I wrote again. 2589, February 18, 12:00 midnight. As I listened to the crucian carp broth boiling for the udon. (The moon set a little before three o'clock.)

*Hirotaka* The sixth act ended; it was grueling. I had to tear up about five sheets and rewrite them. It was now past five in the morning; the wind had risen and it was bitterly cold. Next would be the “Seventh Act: Golden Hall” scene—but I decided to sleep.

Today I wrote three acts and over thirty pages. I will now visit Takanashi, drink sake, and sleep. May peace be upon me now.

2589, February 19, 5:10 AM.

The eastern sky was tinged with the light of dawn. 5:30 AM. I drank sake smoothly with mirin-dried fish; it was now six thirty. Well then, I would sleep. Shizuko, send me good dreams.

2589, February 19. 6:15 AM.

It was now fully light.

Today I did nothing. I borrowed money at Takanashi’s. He took two photos for me. (Maro-san.) Tomorrow my younger brother and Shōji would come. It was now twelve-thirty; I would sleep. May peace be upon me.

(2/19)

I didn’t keep a diary for quite some time.

On the 20th, my younger brother and Shōji came. On the 26th, I visited Tokyo. On the 27th, *Hirotaka*—which had long been stalled— I finished writing the eighth act; yesterday had been rain, today was rain again, and now it was 2:00 AM. Today at noon, I loaded Cho onto the Aobeka boat and rowed down the Okawa River. I went up to Myoken Island, lay on the withered grass, and basked in the warm sun of a gentle breeze. It had been good exercise—*Hirotaka*. I finished writing the ninth act. It was grueling. I’ll sleep now. May peace be upon me.

(2589, 3, 1)

I finished writing the tenth act of *Hirotaka*.

(3/3)

At Takanashi’s house, I raised a celebratory toast for the Doll Festival.

Today, Sawada Shojiro died. He came like a storm and left like a storm; I alone will hold a night’s wake for him. He too was one who proved useful to me. May there be peace. May there be peace upon Sawada’s soul. (3/4)

From this afternoon, I rowed the Aobeka boat all the way to Shinokawaguchi. I wrote one conte at Myoken Island. I opened the fourth act’s curtain—it was bone-breaking work.

(3/4) I wrote the children’s story *The Clock and the Octopus*, with Takanashi securing work for me. My first original children’s story. I also began writing the screenplay *Spring Returns to the Hill*. It is now 4:00 AM.

Today was cold, but I still rowed the Aobeka boat; I went as far as Imaibashi Bridge. From the afternoon onward, boats heading out to gather seaweed blackened the river’s surface. I was now reading Akutagawa Ryunosuke’s collected works—what truly stirred me were his modern pieces rather than the historical ones. Compared to works like *The Nose*, *Rashōmon*, and *The Yam Gruel*, the short story *The Mandarin Oranges* might be immeasurably more valuable. One must live in the modern age and make the modern age thrive; even if that isn’t everything, it must be the foundation. Such were my thoughts. *Frog* must be a masterpiece. But if it’s going to be a paradox anyway, there should have been far more room to delve deeper; the blade had only managed to cut through one layer, never reaching the second or third—let alone the bone. This clearly arose from the burden exceeding its capacity and his physical strength being insufficient. For his sake, I took the latter as the cause.

Akutagawa lived earnestly; this was especially true in the latter half of his life. If he had possessed sufficient physical strength and an unyielding mental fortitude, what a great harvest Japan would have reaped! He had now been liberated from humanity’s greatest hardship—(as he himself had desired)—but had he truly been liberated? (2589, 3, 5)

I began writing about the relationship between Wo and myself. "The title is 'Wo and Myself.' It might be useful for something. Once it’s finished, I think it would be fine to show it through Ishii." It was now 5:30 AM. (2589, 3, 5—no, it’s already the 6th—)

I was reading Akutagawa’s collected works. “*Cogwheels* is good.” Today I did nothing. Today was desolate and melancholy. I had no energy. In the evening I took a walk toward Okino-Bentensha shrine. I did not take the boat. I bought alcohol and drank alone. At Takanashi’s they gave me white rice.

(March 6)

Today, I took the Aobeka boat down the river and exited to the sea past Daisankaku’s right flank. The windless sea glittered lapis-blue, while carnation-pink clouds drifted across the sky. Far offshore, a Gozeeki ferry raced into view beyond the haze-shrouded Kazusa mountains. Steering the Aobeka boat further out, I reached the third channel marker and gathered seaweed. There I ate Crime Pan and anko dumplings, stripped to my shirt, circled Daisankaku, then rowed back upriver from the eastern inlet. I wrote a letter to Ishii Shinji. Captain Daigo and his alluring wife had a vicious fight—she’d taken up gambling. The husband seethed with jealousy, though peace seemed restored. Speaking of marital spats, the Kei couple’s were even more fascinating—the wife with her eggplant-droop face would make fine material for my *TELL’S OF Urayasu*. Today I accomplished nothing again. Tomorrow I’ll go to Tokyo. Sell more books.

It is now 1:00 AM. There is no response from Iguchi. (7)

In the case of Mr. and Mrs. Kei’s fight: the shop they were currently running as a business [a small eatery] had been purchased with his wife’s money, but the eave extension that served as the kitchen area was something Mr. Kei had built himself; therefore, he said he would tear off just that extension, load it onto a boat, and take it away.

At the very depths of my destitution came a compassionate notice from Iguchi; though less than thirty yen, through Iguchi’s arrangements I would be able to earn this sum. I received Iguchi’s letter just as I had wrapped several books and prepared to depart for Tokyo to obtain less than ten yen. Tears rose unbidden as I clenched his letter fiercely in my hand. Iguchi too ranks among my benefactors—this diary shall boldly record his name. Today I accomplished nothing. But tomorrow—from tomorrow onward— It is now midnight.

A quiet, warm night.

(2589, 3, 8)

Today I went offshore in the Aobeka boat. I read *Werther*; there was a slight breeze. In the evening I listened to naniwa-bushi at Urayasutei. After returning I wrote a girls’ novel; around twelve o’clock there was a sudden downpour and hail fell. Thunder roared. It was the first thunder of the year—quite fierce. After the rain cleared crisply came the ceaseless cries of migrating wild geese. It is now 4:30 AM; I’ll go to bed.

(9)

Yesterday, I visited Hakubunkan with the "Achiya" manuscript and stopped by Kobikicho on the way back; the proprietor was in good spirits. In the evening, I met with "Hi"—drank sake and ate tempura. It was a nostalgic yet heartwarming reunion.

On the way back, the boats were gone; I took the train to Imai and walked home from there. A terrible wind blew through all night. Today I did nothing; my head isn't working right. I am struggling with the scenario. Yesterday brought a letter from Ishii Shinji. News concerning Yasuko and Koyasu. Tomorrow I will go to Tokyo.

(12) Today I went to Hakubunkan and received money. I settled debts with Seiji and Takanashi. I drank sake with beef tendon. I did nothing. Ah—I met Fumiko in Kobikicho. She looked nostalgic. We talked about various things. She was studying wearing glasses. I met Nobuharu. He was an amusing man. No-chan too had turned twenty. The wind still blew. I finished reading *The Sorrows of Young Werther* two days prior. It wasn't contemporary—a tedious work. I wasn't impressed. I thought he'd had not the slightest need to kill himself. Now I'm drunk.

(2589, 3, 13)

I spent the entire day writing some fifty pages of uninspired drivel. It is now three o'clock in the morning. When day breaks, I will go to Tokyo.

(15)

I bought dogfish and sweetfish and drank sake with them. It was delicious. The dogfish was just in its spawning season, and the eggs were nearly ripe, but even so, it was delicious. In the evening, I visited Takanashi. It is now 2 AM; I intend to finish *Kōkō* in one go starting tomorrow—I pray it goes well. After that, I’ll also write my novel. Today, there was a communication from Ishii Shinji. I sent a reply right away. Madam Yasuko is out of bed only during the day. And.

(16)

The death anniversary of my first and second mothers.

The Last Supper.

(2589, 3, 20)

March 21, 2589 [Shōwa 4] (In Urayasu Town)

Since yesterday, the warmth of spring has suddenly intensified. Yesterday, Naga, Hisashi, and I went to the weir to catch minnows. We caught crucian carp, willow minnows, and gobies. Today I am boiling them. I began writing *Nude*. (3, 22) I caught minnows with the children and also dug for loach nests in the lotus fields. We made the loaches into miso soup and ate them. *Nude* I am writing. The pen that had aided me in my work and shared hardships with me for three years up to today was lost. I was disheartened. Today, with a hard-to-use brass pen, *Nude*— I wrote about fifteen pages. Yesterday was unusually warm—so much so that I broke a sweat during the day—but today is cold again. The charcoal ran out. Today, because I couldn’t cook, I bought bread and made do with that. Again poverty comes. It’s awful—no word from anyone. I keep thinking about traveling; I want to go to Ou.

I want money. Tonight, I feel as though there will be a warm, quiet dream. I’ll sleep now. Let peace be upon me.

(2589, 3, 25)

The rain that began last night continued—a quiet rain. Today I worked on *Nude*. I wrote up to twelve. There was word from Ishii Shinji. He said he would come on the 29th. A girl named Hide came to Takanashi’s house—a bold thing raised in Asakusa who chattered about love and such with brazen curiosity, utterly unselfconscious. Two lower front teeth—the so-called buckteeth—thin lips with a nasal voice, dark round eyes that stared fixedly at people. According to Madam Takanashi, they were “eyes full of allure.” I bought charcoal. It was now twelve o’clock.

(2589, 3, 27)

Today, Ishii Shinji came. His wife had nearly recovered. Yet she still could not resume household duties. He aired domestic disturbances. He too was suffering. Together we walked from Imai toward Kasai for about three hours. He had come to check on me, thinking I was losing heart. Ah—he brought mizumochi rice cakes as a gesture of his wife’s thoughtfulness. *Nude* I started writing fifteen pages but stopped. I’ll start tomorrow. Tonight again, I’ll sleep early. Simmered carp was delivered from Yoshino. It must be delicious.

(2589, 3, 31)

Today I worked on *Nude*. I wrote four installments; I could still write more but restrained myself and went to sleep. I read Kyōka’s *The Women’s Pedigree* and wept—then realized how effortlessly I could write a novel that makes others cry. Kyōka belongs to three eras past; viewing him thus reveals certain merits. I chose Oson—the most indolent woman in *Nude*—as its devoted reader. Yet regarding uniqueness, her occupying a singular position admits no doubt. May she remain well. Beyond this, I considered nothing else. It was now half past three in the morning. There must be a good dream.

(2589, 4, 1)

*Nude*

I'm writing—today was somewhat grueling; the Bōsō trip may have been a mistake. I wrote three installments of ten pages each. Not very satisfying. But it will go well. Kozakai Fuboku died. What a loss. I thought he was Japan's Poe, but... Yokoyama Yusaku died too. I must take care of my body. I want money.

It was now half past four in the morning. May there be good dreams.

(4, 2)

*Nude* I'm writing. It's becoming increasingly unclear. Today again I wrote about three installments of ten pages each, but it's unsatisfactory; perhaps it would be better to split yesterday's and today's portions. The Boso trip was a failure. Today Takanashi came to visit—a rare occurrence. The plump woman from Edogawa-tei set up a household with the steam engineer Mr. Okubo. I didn't think anything in particular. I sent a letter to my father. During the day I walked along the riverside embankment. The embankment is already fully spring. The sky is bright. The clouds are light. The wind is still cold, but it will probably warm up soon. I'll keep at it. Now I'll drink some sake and go to sleep. I must keep up my spirits.

It is now half past three in the morning.

(4, 3)

I hit a wall. Today I did nothing. My heart feels blocked. During the day, I crossed to Myoken Island with Cho by Aobeka boat and picked horsetails. I also broke off some willow branches and brought them back. I find no comfort. I’ll go to sleep.

(4, 4)

I soaked the horsetails in lye water overnight to remove the bitterness, boiled them in hot water with a pinch of salt, then coated them in sweet miso and ate them. [There was a faint fragrance.] Today I went with Cho to gather horsetails. I gathered a whole bunch of small ones and brought them back. I will eat them tomorrow. Today I did nothing. *Nude* I deleted seven installments—approximately twenty-five pages—from the eighteenth to the twenty-fourth. Starting tomorrow, I will begin rewriting. May it go well. A letter from Ishii Shinji arrived, informing me about “Tsutenkaku.” In the afternoon, I rowed an Aobeka boat. Spring warmth; the wind still slightly cold, reed shoots beginning to bud. I finished reading Kyoka [from the Kaizosha edition of the Complete Works of Japanese Literature]. I gained something. This too is a whetstone from another mountain. Tonight I will sleep again.

(4, 5)

I currently have eight plays and four novellas within my head and inkwell. All of this will likely take shape within the year. I will proceed without haste, without wavering, steadily bringing them to life.

(5)

I'm being worn down. My younger brother fell ill and returned home. I haven't written anything since the fifth. Today I went to Tokyo and sold books. In Kobikicho, I borrowed five yen. I'm utterly worn out. Everything was pitch black, but I should be able to pull through. I'll manage to see it through somehow. Now I am worn out. When my spirits revive, I will rise again. I'll take it slow. Cherish my heart. I'll nurture my emotions. *Tajō Bushin* I read *Satomi Ton’s Work*. A quality piece. I'll do it too. I gained something. A quiet rain began to fall. The cherry blossoms also began to bloom.

(4, 8)

Today I did work. *Nude* I wrote five installments' worth—seventeen pages. It was now 4 a.m. I drank sake with tempura. After sobering up, my productivity improved. It felt strange. The day had been relatively warm. Now the air hung mild. Though I could still write, I steeled myself to sleep. I took a brief walk before bedding down. Tonight there would be good dreams.

(4, 9)

Don’t rush, Don’t rush, Do all that can be done. The rest I leave to God— Leave it.

When good times come

God will surely declare, “Good,” without fail— Now I’ll sleep.

(2589, 4, 9) [April 9, 1929]

*Nude* I was writing. Today I wrote seven pages. It was nearly finished. The day had been extremely warm. I changed into summer clothes. From the afternoon, I walked along the waterfront. The willow stood fully in leaf. Bush clover and sumo wrestler plants bloomed. Reed shoots had emerged. Cherry blossoms had bloomed at Offshore Benten too. Those before Takanashi's had bloomed as well. There were low-tide visitors. The evening turned to sudden rain, and the night stayed rainy throughout. The rain had now stopped. A letter came from my brother. In the evening, Takanashi treated me to Buddhist vegetarian tempura at his place. It was now 3 a.m. I would go to bed. I would have a good dream. (4, 10)

*Nude* I was writing *Nude*. Today I wrote twelve pages; it was nearly finished. It went relatively well. During the day, I spoke with a Korean student by Yokogawa Bridge and invited him to visit; it would provide some stimulation. Today I boiled field horsetail and ate it. It was delicious. For dinner, I ate rice cooked with "yomena". The day was bustling with low-tide visitors, but frequent sudden showers occurred until just past noon when it turned into a downpour, leaving the visitors bedraggled. The stoker Hiroyasu-kun aboard ferry No. 55 had taken up with a woman. They were sailing together aboard the steamship. "If we cannot be together, we will die," he declared. He meant it. It was an old-fashioned romance. The woman seemed somewhat simple-minded. [I didn’t really know] The cherry blossoms on the embankment were in full bloom. She was the lumber dealer’s plump and comely daughter. During the day, I got into a fight with a brat among the children. It was a foolish thing. It was now 3 a.m.

I think I'll go to Yokohama. I think I'll go once *Nude* is finished. Today I did good work. There must be a good dream, Shizuko. (2589, 4, 12) [April 12, 1929]

I sat resolutely,

With strength in my core,

My head clear, I said, "Bring it on." When I reached that mindset,

I write without rushing. (April 12)

*Nude* I wrote fifteen pages and finished it all. I think it turned out quite well. I borrowed money from Takanashi. The wind was fierce. It was relatively warm. During the day, I went from the offshore direction to the end of the fish farm pier. When I went down to the shore, the crabs were in a great uproar scrambling to escape—it was amusing. There were also sea crabs. It was now spring tide; the sea had become a tidal flat stretching endlessly. It looked like I could walk across to Chiba. The wind was strong now—around one o'clock there'd been a fierce downpour. The rain had stopped. Today Akiha-kun dove into Honjo's putrid Kamaya River water and cut wire tangled in a ship's propeller. His whole body reeked of ditch mud. Diving headfirst into that methane-belching black water—it's barely endurable. It was now 4 a.m. I don't think I'll go to Yokohama—no money after all. With my recent work done I'm too pleasantly keyed up to sleep. I'll have a drink. Then sleep.

You’ve worked hard, Thirty-six. Tonight, there should be a good dream. It is now April 13, 1929.

Day had fully broken; a strong south wind was blowing. I was slightly drunk now. I thought I would sleep soundly. Smoke from the neighbor’s morning cooking drifted in, making it hazy—but since the town was thriving, I supposed this too could be welcomed. It was now 6 a.m. (14)

Tears would spring forth unbidden. While reading a novel, tears would spring forth unbidden at passages that weren’t particularly sentimental. My nerves had become terribly delicate; my irritability had grown particularly severe of late. The slightest words from others stung and jangled my nerves. I would flare up. I had been eaten away by loneliness.

Today was hectic with all the low-tide visitors. In the evening, the Tsūsen and Kasai ticket offices caused a huge commotion as they competed to poach each other’s customers. In the end, it turned into a fight, but they managed to settle it without any major incident. Barges overflowing with passengers were plying up and down the river by the dozens upon dozens. I want to take my father to see Kyoto. If I can get the money, I will probably carry it out. No word from anyone. I am writing *Noto no Tabi*. It is now ten o'clock.

"I will only throw my life into this work—I won’t let it be drained by anything else."

"Lifespan won't wait until I accomplish great work."

*Kōkō* 1-1

I was rereading *Kōkō*. Good. I would go to sleep now.

It is now April 14, 1929.

Today, I went to Tokyo. I sold books. At Ueno, I saw the "Famous Treasures Exhibition" - Tawaraya Sōtatsu's pair of screens "Thunder" and "Wind" were superb. The scroll *Landscape Painting* by a foreigner called Li Guang was a monumental work, truly overflowing with divine resonance and ethereal beauty. The Kōzan-ji version of *Chōjū-giga*, attributed to Toba Sōjō, is a beloved masterpiece - one of Japan's foremost national treasures. Kōrin's paintings don't suit me. I detest even celebrated works like *Portrait of Taikōbō*. Pieces like "Tie," "Incomplete Text," and "Poetry Match Calligraphy" were so numerous I couldn't bring myself to look at them all. What struck me was seeing Third Rank Fujiwara [a certain Fujiwara], Yoshitsune, and others writing on the backs of scrap paper. One could say modern people are utterly lacking in reverence regarding this matter. Sōtatsu was an artist. A magnificent painter. Whether Japanese or Western in origin, reflecting on classical works proves laborious. After merely circling the exhibition hall, I felt nearly disappointed - my head wearied as if stuffed with a bushel of sand. To appreciate classical works, we must first return our minds to a specific era - or if that phrasing offends, to that era's spirit. This intangible effort must be repeated for each work, so the finer the piece, the more it exhausts the mind. If it's bad? That's pure calamity. In contrast, modern works can be appreciated straightforwardly through one's own sensibilities - good pieces excite immediately, bad ones get discarded at once. Even when fatigued, it's exhaustion born solely from combustion between artwork and appreciative effort - a peculiar kind of exhilaration.

"Events like the 'Famous Treasures Exhibition' should be held as infrequently as possible." In rotation. Such exhibitions should be held with low admission fees. Otherwise, the stated purpose of widely promoting these obscured 'masterpieces' to the general public will not be fully realized.

Ah, Count Gotō Shinpei died about two days ago.

*Kōkō* I have read through everything; I must rewrite all four scenes or so entirely. But I should be able to manage it somehow. I telephoned "Hi." I drank beer for the first time in a while. Tonight, I will go to bed early again. April 15, 1929.

Starting tomorrow, I will begin revising *Nude*. May peace be upon me.

I had forgotten—yesterday, on my way to Tokyo, at Imai, I encountered a girl who closely resembled Sueko from Kitaura and Kiyoko from Azabu. Her full, delicate lips miraculously belonged to both Sueko and Kiyoko; her small, narrow—occasionally glistening moistly—soft eyes remained exactly as Kiyo’s. Her eyebrows, softly furrowed with frequent expressions, were Sueko’s; her entire face bore such an astonishing resemblance to both women. If I had to say which, she probably resembled Sueko more. She was short. Her hair was slightly brownish. She was carrying hand luggage with a woman who seemed like her older sister—not particularly attractive—and was dressed in fine attire. It seemed they were setting off on a journey somewhere. At Imai, they boarded a train together and also rode both an automobile and a city streetcar. About five times, steadily, with eyes resembling Sueko’s, she fixed upon me a gaze akin to Kiyo’s. Wondering where they were from and where they were going, I thought of the sisters with a warm feeling—a sense of love I hadn’t touched in so long.

Today I went to see the cherry blossoms at Shinozaki Embankment after being invited by Mr. and Mrs. Takanashi. The cherry blossoms were blooming in full splendor. Few people had come out. On the grass below the earthen embankment, several couples grotesquely drunk on liquor were straining their parched voices. It was an unpleasant affair. Today I will do nothing but sleep; tomorrow I will rise early and rush to revise my manuscript.

It was the sixth-day moonlit night; the river lay still in hues of silent darkness; the wind blew from southern skies. Warm. Occasionally came drunkards' voices from the earthen embankment.

May peace be upon me.

(4/16)

I read Pierre Loti’s *The Iceland Fisherman*. I had seen this at the cinema two or three years prior. The entire work was wrapped in a cold blue mist, within which the modest romance between Yan and Goad unfolded, buffeted by a ceaselessly rustling wind. On the grassy slope of a cliff overlooking the vast Bay of Pan-Pol, Yan and Goad met. At that moment, they exchanged only a glance before parting amidst wind-tossed grass. That single scene never left my mind. It’s fair to say this work truly formed one root of my fascination with fishermen’s lives.

Having read the original work this time, I felt its excellence even more strongly. *The Iceland Fisherman* is excellent art. If I ever come into money, I want to make sure to travel to the northernmost regions of Hokkaido. Ah, it was a good day. May peace be upon Loti's spirit. Today, I did nothing again. It was a quiet, warm day. I went to the doctor for a sailor named Yukihisa who was ill. I took Boss and walked along "Oki". The earthen embankment was in full spring, and the bush clover was in glorious bloom. In the evening, two sailors had a fierce fight on a steamship. One of them, named Yoshikō, wielded a long pole called "Hakka" with a hook-headed tip attached to its end; he tried to bash the other to death but failed—it was an extremely murderous scene. Tonight was the seventh-day waxing moon; a hazy night. Quietly, simply, I will sleep.

Until now, I had been engrossed in travel talk with the Takanashi couple. A windless, still night. May there be good dreams; O God, let Your will be done. (2589, 4, 17) Na·Tsu, as a fellow contributor to *Kindai Seikatsu* magazine,

Na·Tsu was energetically publishing new works. Wo·Ki was beginning to gain recognition in the magazine managed by Kikuchi Kan. Wo·Ki was starting to be recognized there, I·Shi contributed regularly to *Sōsaku Gekkan* magazine, He published works monthly, And there I was now, with thirteen sen in my pocket, I ate brown rice once a day,

While I boiled and ate wild greens, As ever alone and putting on airs,

I am writing unprofitable manuscripts. Father has chronic neuralgia.

My younger brother has severe beriberi.

I had no more books left to sell, In Kobikicho, of course, they wouldn’t lend money, And I myself was writing manuscripts that brought no money. The value of my work— When I tried to doubt, I was engaged in work that was too earnest,

I want money.

I want money enough to eat. (2589, 4, 17)

My heart was heavy. I had no energy. The rain kept falling. The whole day had been cold. From the thirteen sen I possessed, I spent eight on fried food and five for the public bath. Now I stood penniless. Driven by unbearable hunger through the rain to Takanashi's house to borrow money, I found him already asleep. My spirit felt like paper crushed thin and stretched taut. This pattering rain—quiet yet skin-chilling—proved most unbearable. No hope remained. Not even coins to reply to my sickly brother's letter. I would sleep. There existed no alternative. I attempted revising "Nude Woman," but it resembled tin-smithing—no spark touched my soul. Only restlessness, frivolity, and disgust persisted. I stopped. I would sleep.

(2589, 4/18) Hungry I sleep, chilled by spring night's rain Spring chill— sleeping hungry, feet cold [18] Fairy Tale "Me and the Tree Frog" I wrote it. I submitted it to Chūgai Shōgyō. Today was chilly again, overcast all day—a dreary day. I borrowed money from Takanashi and drank sake with tempura. I talked all night at Takanashi’s. Tome was ensnared by that woman from Itako and set up a household. The notification for that manuscript that was supposed to bring money still hasn’t come. It probably won't work out. Let it be however it may. No matter what comes, I myself won’t be defeated. I am gradually regaining some energy. It is now 1 AM. I will sleep. I should have good dreams; tomorrow, I will work. The charcoal ran out. (19)

Today was rainy all day again. Braving the rain during daylight hours, I went toward Oki to gather field horsetails. The cherry trees, willows, and poplars were all coming into bud.

Today again, I accomplished nothing. But my energy is gradually returning. I should somehow be able to get to work. Tonight again, I stayed up talking at Takanashi’s house. I will sleep.

(4/20)

Rice scarce; in spring cold's lamplight I cook porridge.

The sound of scraping the rice tub's bottom; spring rain

Lonely rain— again today, a man picks wild asters [20]

Today was a terrible storm. During the daytime, steamship voyages were halted. The water rose, and in Kasai Village there were sections where the embankment was submerged. Even in the moats, there were places where water reached under the floors. Violent waves arose on the river. They came crashing against this shore as well. By evening, everything had calmed. The moon rose with not a breeze stirring. The river became as flat as a mirror—utter stillness after the storm. At night, I wrote a commercial manuscript. Tomorrow I would try taking it to Hakubunkan. If only it could turn into money. With no charcoal today, I spent the day eating bread. I was a bit cold. It was now twelve o'clock. Takanashi came to visit me just now. I would sleep. I had no complaints. I wanted sake. That was all there was.

I will sleep.

Will I have any good dreams?

(4/21)

Spring without storms— a poor man cooks his gruel of greens (21)

Today I went to Tokyo. At Hakubunkan, my manuscript was rejected. But Iguchi was kind to me. I also stopped by Kobikicho. Everyone treated me well. They’re all such good people. I met Hi. “The brother of my wife’s sister’s husband has died,” he said with a laugh. After being treated to tempura and sake, we parted. After returning, I visited Takanashi. Everyone is truly such good people; I will reform my life. The wind picked up again. It was a beautiful moonlit night.

(4/22)

Today I revised fifteen pages. A letter came from Ishii Shinji. It was an invitation to Ōfuna's wife's house. I sent a letter of refusal. I couldn't go because I had no money. If only I had money - nothing would have pleased me more lately than this invitation. In the evening Takanashi came and invited me to see a comedy. Through Takanashi's generosity I saw it. There was no wind. It was a beautiful moonlit night. (4/23)

I borrowed money from Takanashi. I was grateful. I felt gratitude toward both my wife and Takanashi. Today passed in hunger. I mustn't let myself starve. I couldn't manage any work at all. After all, to undertake significant work requires having food, clothing, and shelter properly secured.

I did no work. I drank sake. What a contradiction this makes. A letter came from my brother. He wrote that fortunately, I had been exempted from the conscription examination with Class 2B. I will start tomorrow. I will work.

(4/24)

If you wish to make water flow, the path you want it to follow must be dug lower than where the water lies. "Flow!" Merely shouting this—

Water does not flow.

[24] Intently and ceaselessly Scrutinize deeply and sharply. From one to two, two to three—

As if unraveling a cocoon Keep reeling it out steadily.—If

If you still couldn't write— Just go to sleep.

[24] For those who do this work, There is neither wealth, Nor comfort, Nor fame. Nor love. Only unending poverty And insatiable creative desire— These alone exist.

Do you know?

[25]

I talked late into the night at Takanashi’s house. I was treated to sake at Edogawa-tei. I revised about ten pages. It was now 2:30 AM. I would sleep. I resolved to live a true life. I determined to work.

(2589, 4, 25) Takanashi's wife had to undergo nasal surgery for sinusitis and served me mackerel miso pickle. I revised ten pages. The day was stormy throughout. After nightfall, a fierce squall joined it. Around ten o'clock, Takanashi came to visit. The electric lights went out, leaving Urayasu in darkness beneath the storm. I was writing by candlelight. I should go to sleep now. May Takanashi’s wife’s illness pass lightly. The wind remained fierce. It was now 1 AM.

(26) Today I revised twenty-five pages. During the day I went out to the sea and gathered shellfish. As I dug carefreely, ark shells, razor clams, surf clams and clams kept coming into my hands one after another. Delighted with my haul, I was engrossed in gathering them when suddenly—blaring like a tofu seller’s horn—a great hulk of a man appeared. About a hundred meters offshore from my spot, some men were fishing for small fish using a contraption called a “korogashi.” The brute kept blaring that horn-like thing while roaring in a savage voice: “You bastards keep workin’ there an’ we’ll come beat ya with our boat! Get out! Head west!” Growing somewhat intimidated myself, I respectfully approached him and asked: “Is it all right to gather clams here?” The brawny man suddenly swung his ruddy face toward me and barked imperiously: “What kinda clams you takin’?” When I said “Various kinds,” he marched over to my spot as if demanding “Show me!” But when I showed him the ark shells and razor clams, he roughly grabbed them and started scattering them everywhere. A true “Shell Expulsion.” “Take stuff like this here and there’ll be hell [what kind of hell? He never explained—pity].” “But these big ’uns”—he indicated the Ōnokai clams, the least tasty variety that clung everywhere like vulgar pests—“you can take those. Seems you really don’t know squat—I’ll let it slide today.” Having thus bullied me, the brute softened his tone slightly and coaxed: “These Ōnokai are real tasty now—grab yourself plenty!” With that he left. Having no choice, I gathered those oversized shells with dull thuds and went home. I plan to eat them tomorrow. People say they’re awful—like chewing dried squid.

I was invited to dinner at Takanashi’s place. I was treated to simmered potatoes. It is now 4:30 AM. I took a short stroll and went to bed. I received word from my younger brother.

(2589, 4, 27)

O man who seeks fortune, Though you accomplish but three tasks, So long as you crave ten results, Fortune will never come.

O man who seeks fortune,

In order for you to obtain two results If you do ten things, then without fail—

Fortune will come—I tell you! [27] Even if you are poor, Even if you fall behind friends who advance, True work—

I am steadily working.

This strength.

How termites hollow out the main pillar— turn it into an empty cavity—

I know. [28] I boiled and ate Ōnokai clams. I revised eighteen pages. Today was bustling with tide-gathering visitors. I'm getting all worked up over trivial matters. I intensely despise myself; Shimizu Sanjūroku of 2589.4.28 is a foolish glutton. Let people pass by, spitting upon the surface of the ditch. It is now 2 AM. I drank beer and went to bed. Tomorrow will be another good day.

I will overhaul my life. I will do true work. Now I fear nothing that may come. I will not break. If a stone crushes me, I will absorb even that stone as nourishment. Shimizu Sanjuroku is one such plant. May there be peaceful sleep. Still night. A perfect calm. May there be blessings upon the earth.

(4,28) I finished the revisions. A letter came from Ishii Shinji saying he would arrive on the twelfth; I didn't know if I'd still be in Urayasu by then. I went to Takanashi's and was treated to dinner; it was bamboo shoot rice. It was cold all day. Today was the Emperor's Birthday.

(29) In spring-numbing rain, I washed brown rice. A five-foot man lies hungry abed; spring’s cold bites deep [29] Some five hundred yen came through. Today I visited the Takanashi main household and viewed their stored calligraphy and paintings. This I’ll document separately in full. My heart rests tranquil. How absurd—that this paltry sum could so shift my spirits.

I'll sleep.

(30)

I went to Tokyo. The master of Kobikicho said cheerfully, “Sanjuroku, you don’t have to eat unpolished rice anymore.” He looked genuinely pleased. Everyone was delighted for me. I called Hikoyama and waited at the Kyobashi intersection for about an hour at the appointed time, but he never showed up. After returning, I drank sake at Tentetsu and then had beer with everyone at Takanashi’s. It’s twelve o’clock now; I’m tired. I’ll sleep.

(5, 1)

Because money came in，my feet left the ground．How foolish．I thought poverty was noble．I was reading Hayama Yoshiki’s “People Who Live by the Sea．” It was good．I had to think about this．My own artistic realm remained unchanged．The thing called “Yotoboshi” began．By the light of a kerosene lamp，I walked through the rice fields，spearing loaches．The scattered red lights swaying into the distance were romantic．Tomorrow I would go to Tokyo to collect money．From yesterday through today，I spent fifteen yen．You fool．It was best to keep such a wretch like me beaten down at the bottom of poverty forever．

(5, 2)

I drank sake yesterday; I drank again today. I wrote "Kouchē" for the Chu-Sho Shimpo. I had yet to start on Kōkō. I found myself constantly thinking of traveling. The rain continued. A couple of days earlier, the Duke of Gloucester from the United Kingdom had arrived in Japan to present the Garter Medal. That day, a Japan-British friendship music concert was held at Hibiya Park. A man named Adachi from C.S. Company labeled me a literary youth - I burned with anger at this. I was young; if this was my reality, I might indeed be a literary youth. I wanted to work. It was now eleven-thirty. I would sleep. The cold bit deep.

(5, 4)

The day before yesterday, I met with “Hi.” I drank sake at Kesa. After parting ways, I went to Matsudo. I visited Seki’s house. Yesterday, I walked from Matsudo down to Ichikawa, then came to Yawata and returned by car. Today I slept until noon; the fatigue hadn’t completely lifted. I accomplished nothing. I drew a picture. [I began ink painting.] It was now twelve o’clock. I’ll sleep. Tomorrow I plan to start work. I’ll sleep now.

(2589/5/8)

The first mosquito alights on skinny shins—unswatted. (5, 11)

On the 10th, I went to Kobikicho and stayed there.

On the 11th, I visited Aoe and stayed there. On the 12th, I visited Ishii Shinji. My wife, having recovered from her illness, was extremely beautiful and graceful. Then I visited my father and stayed there.

In Urayasu Town (at the embankment house)

Yesterday I moved to the embankment house. It is a bright and well-ventilated house. My mind remains unsettled. The rain continues falling without cease. (5/16)

Today I went to Tokyo. I saw the Kokuten. There was a good painting. I was troubled by the bad taste paintings of Kōno Michinari and his disciples. Bad things were in vogue. I was not much impressed with Uemura Ryuzaburo either. Mushanokoji painted three pieces. The portrait by Senge was well done. The Nude Woman and Mishima Nippun’s statue were bad. They were poorly executed. I must say, it was an unsightly painting. The paintings of the Kōno Michinari school were extremely bad. I stopped by Kobikicho. Mrs. Kanda had come. Her voice greatly resembled Mrs. Kobikicho’s, which made me feel nostalgic. I would depart Tokyo tomorrow and set out on a journey to Hokkaido. I would probably gain something from this. I planned to go from Nemuro toward Abashiri. It was a quiet night.

O God. I give thanks for today's bread and peace; You are worthy of praise, O Lord. May there be good dreams.

(2589/5/17)

Today I returned from my journey.

The twenty-day journey had ended; now I was utterly exhausted. I ached with longing for Miss Fumi of Nemuro—it felt just like when I first visited Suma and snuggled into Sumiko’s warm embrace, then returned to the capital only to have my spirit drain away like a fool’s, left unbearably lonely. That same feeling gripped me now. Miss Fumi was such a fine girl. I intend to write separately about the journey. (6/6)

I returned to work. I had quite indulged myself.

Now I could sit calmly at my desk. During that time, the cabinet had changed. Tanaka had finally resigned, and Hamaguchi had succeeded him. I hadn’t met Ishii Shinji for some time. At the beginning of the month, I had been afflicted with a cold and was hospitalized at the Ishii hospital in Urayasu. By then I had fully recovered, though a bit of phlegm remained. Tonight I would sleep early. From then on, I would probably sleep early and rise early. I wasn’t reading anything; I was just reading nonsense. I would likely work on Autumn Wind Chronicle and Hirotaka.

(2589/7/10)

I was writing Autumn Wind Chronicle. Poverty had returned again. I swam every day. My lungs seemed damaged. So I took sunbaths. I couldn’t obtain nourishment. Because I had no money. There was still no interaction with people. Lonely. My heart tended to grow heavy. There was no word from Ishii. I would regain my health. I wanted to obtain money and go on a journey.

(2589/7/24)

2589/8/3: I visited Ono Kinjiro at the Yomiuri Newspaper Company. I ended up crying. Kinjiro kept saying, “Thank goodness, thank goodness,” and wouldn’t let go of the hand I had grasped. “We probably won’t fight anymore in this lifetime.”

My harsh, lonely life had ended. From tonight onward, my mind would be at ease—at last, work! (8/4)

“Donkey Chronicle” I was writing. From evening onward that day, there had been a rare great thunderstorm. The thunder still raged violently. Beautiful lightning streaked across the vast sky in all directions. I wrote a letter to Ishii. The money ran out. My body regained its health. When I grew tired from writing, I played the guitar to rest my mind. The work would probably proceed smoothly.

(2589/8/13)

“Donkey Chronicle” I was writing; it seemed to be going well. A chilly wind continued blowing that day due to yesterday’s storm. Urayasu was in Obon; in Hori, the Bon dance seemed to have begun. The roar of songs flowed over the rice fields as young men and girls who appeared headed to dance on the embankment went along singing. The croaking of frogs was also pleasant. May the young people be blessed. No word had come from Iguchi. What could Wo and Ishii have been up to? Goby fish had come up the river; autumn was near. “Autumn Wind Chronicle” I intended to keep writing. "I wanted to work on Hirotaka soon as well."

(8/13) The rumor of melon thieves—the wind turns cold. Goby fish climb the river—lanterns set adrift. Eggplant blight—the bride's listless brows. Fond of wine—by lamplight comes a silent katydid. Books sold—still no sake to serve—autumn wind [13]

With about forty yen coming in, I crossed Sasago Pass with Ono. I walked from Hatsukano to Saruhashi. In Hatsukari, I saw my great-uncle Midō Ogasawara.

(17–18) The Graf Zeppelin arrived from Germany. (19) I have no money. (20) I have no money. I have no money.

The revisions for Hirotaka were progressing smoothly. Yesterday, I sold books—the proceeds came to one yen and eighty sen. Pitiful. Today, the village’s petty scoundrels came selling crucian carp; they wrung twenty sen from me. I can’t pay the rent. I’ve shriveled up—how pathetic.

(31)

I was working on *Hirotaka*. Today I revised scenes six through nine and began scene ten—it was nearly finished now. The day had brought quiet rain since dawn; Urayasu bustled with its abundant crab haul; Father’s letter arrived—he too faced money troubles—what could I do? Seven sen remained today; my plan stood firm—to walk to Tokyo by the seventh. At last it reached breaking point. (9/5)

"Hirotaka" five acts completed—9/6, 4:00 PM. Cloudy.

The river was turbid with earth tones; the water was overflowing; a flood might come at any moment. Kasai Village had areas where water had reached. I am drunk; I will sleep.

(9/12)

All plans have been ruined. I flee Urayasu like an otter; many jeers will be hurled at my back.

In the afternoon, wary of the rain-laden sky, I descended along the earthen embankment and wandered from Benten Shrine out in the inlet through Hori, Egawa, and Nekozane; in the rivers and ditches, children were scooping up crucian carp; along the riverbank, people stood fishing for goby; the rice had ripened; seaweed-drying frames were being set up in the rice paddies; I circled around contentedly—a final farewell. Ono Kinjiro's wife was suffering from a chest illness. I will return to Yokohama, and begin anew, I suppose.

(9/20)