The Setting Sun by Osamu Dazai

CHAPTER THREE / MOONFLOWERS

"No. I only meant to say that it was typical of you. It's just like you to paste pictures by Renoir on thekitchen match boxes or to make handkerchiefs for dolls. To hear you talk about the roses in the garden,one would think you were discussing live people."

"That's because I haven't any children."

I was quite taken aback by my own remark. I nervously fingered the knitting on my lap. It was as if Iclearly could hear a man's voice, a scratchy bass, like a voice on the telephone, saying, "What do youexpect - she's twenty-nine!" My cheeks burned with shame.

Mother made no comment but went back to her book. For some days now she has been wearing a gauzemask over her mouth, and that may have been the cause of her exceptional taciturnity of late. She wore themask in obedience to Naoji's instructions.

Naoji had returned a week or so before from the South Pacific, his face sallow. One summer evening,without a word of warning, he had burst into the garden, slamming the wooden gate behind him. "What ahorror! What atrocious taste for a house! You should put out a sign 'China Mansions: Chow Mein'!"

These were Naoji's words of greeting on first seeing me.

Mother had taken to bed two or three days before with a pain in her tongue. I could not detect anythingabnormal about the tip of her tongue, but she said that the slightest movement hurt her unbearably. At mealtimes she could only get down a thin soup. I suggested that the doctor examine her, but Mother shook herhead and said with a forced smile, "He would only laugh at me." I painted her tongue with Lugol, but ithad no apparent effect. Mother's illness unnerved me.

Just at this juncture, Naoji came.

He sat for a moment by Mother's pillow and inclined his head in a word of greeting. That was all - heimmediately sprang to his feet and rushed off to inspect the house. I followed behind him.

"How do you find Mother? Changed?"

"She's changed all right. She's grown thin. It'd be best for her if she died soon. People like Mama arenot meant to go on living in such a world as this. She was too pathetic even for me to look at her."

"How about me?"

"You've coarsened. Your face looks as if you've got two or three men. Is there any saké? Tonight I'mgoing to get drunk."

I went to the village inn and begged the proprietress to let me have a little saké, in honor of mybrother's return, but I was told that they were unfortunately just out of stock. When I repeated thisinformation to Naoji, his face darkened into an expression the like of which I never before had seen, andwhich made him a stranger. "Damn it! You don't know how to deal with her." He got me to tell him wherethe inn was and rushed out. That was that. I waited for hours for his return, but in vain. I had made bakedapples, one of Naoji's favorite dishes, and an omelette, and had even put brighter electric lights in thedining-room to add some cheer. While I was waiting, Osaki, the girl from the inn, put her head in at thekitchen door and whispered urgently, "Excuse me. Is it all right? He's drinking gin." Her pop-eyes bulgedeven more than usual.

"Gin? You mean methyl alcohol?"

"No, it's not methyl, but just the same. . . ."

"It won't make him sick if he drinks it, will it?"

"No, but still. . . .

"Let him drink it then."

Osaki nodded as if she were swallowing and went away

I reported to Mother, "He's drinking at Osaki's place."

Mother twisted her mouth a little into a smile. "He must have given up opium. Please finish the dinner.Tonight we'll all three sleep in this room. Put Naoji's bedding in the middle."