Adanhel

The bloody remains of a body lay on my front porch. I looked down at that body and then I looked in front of the house. It was a quiet morning. The apartment opposite cast a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The Chinese Trumpet Vines growing on the hedge were blowing in the wind exchanging whispers with each other that no human could understand. Somewhere in the distance I heard the scraping sound of a long haul truck on the road. And before my eyes, halfway up the stairs, a dead body. 

Dead bodies, in any case, seem to be things strangely exaggerated in existence. But this time was different. The dead body blended into the landscape, it was one with the peaceful morning scene. After a little while I noticed the reason for that. The dead body’s chest was feebly rising and falling. Well then it’s not a dead body. It’s alive.

I surveyed the young man. He was completely black from head to toe. A black high collared coat, a black three piece business suit and a black tie. His button down shirt and the bandages wound around his face are not black. These are speckled red and white. The colour pattern reminds me of an ominous Chinese prophetic script. Halfway up the stairs to the front porch was where he had collapsed. The traces of blood down the cracked concrete stairs made it appear he had crawled up. 

This is a problem. How should I deal with this almost dead body before my eyes? 

The solution is simple. I touch him with my foot (TN: it says “ashisaki” and the definition given is specifically “the part of the foot from the ankle to the toes” so i'm not sure if he is touching him with the front of his foot or the side) as is and apply my body weight enough so he will just roll down the stairs to the ground below. Then he will be on the public road, not my property. It’s state territory. 

Everyone ought to be saved by the compassion of the state if they are in trouble there. An unremarkable delivery person like me should go home and eat breakfast. (TN: this sentence ends in べし which is an ancient/classical Japanese suffix for should/must or to indicate something is the right thing to do under obligation). 

The reason for doing so is not because I am a coldhearted, unfeeling human being. It’s because doing so is essential to survival. The young man’s injuries are obviously gunshot wounds. His whole body has many shots to it. It seems likely there must be more holes than can be seen from here. And finally, the coup de grâce, he clutched in his left hand a bundle of new banknotes. 

What does this mean? Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything except his being is an oversized pain in the ass and getting involved is not going to end well. I mean he is  obviously not a person the general public should have anything to do with. At merely the sight of him, a person of normal mind would turn on their heel and flee as far as the next city. Just as Jonah in the bible did when, on the stormy sea, he happened across the giant fish a second time.

I looked at the young man, the road, the sky and again at the young man. Then I took action. First I approached the young man, then raised him up from under his arms. I drag him by his heels to move him towards the house so that I can carry him in and lay him down on the wall mounted bed. He was much lighter than he appeared so it wasn’t difficult to carry him by myself. I inspect his wounds, which are deep and many so the amount of blood isn’t unusual, but with immediate and appropriate medical care he won’t die. 

From the back of the closet I take out a medical toolbox and give him some simple first aid. I put a towel under his upper body that I also made him bite. I cut his clothes with scissors to expose the open wounds so I can check to see if any bullets remain. To stop the blood flow I firmly press on points at his armpits, elbows, knees and ankles and tightly tie clean cloth around them. After that, with the blood stopped, I disinfected the wounds by the tourniquets. A fortunate thing for him is that I can do this sort of first aid with my eyes closed.

After finishing the medical treatment, I fold my arms and look down at the young man. His breathing is steady. His respiratory system and bones appear undamaged. However he didn’t appear to be waking up. ‘Come on, throw him’ out a voice inside my head commands. ‘You'd be a fool to treat anyone this suspicious.’ I guess I should abide by that voice. That’s what a smart person would do. 

Before following that angel’s advice I look at the young man again. I don’t recognise his face. It seems unlikely that he is someone I know. I say unlikely as it’s almost impossible to tell what he looks like given that half his face is wrapped in bandages. Although I notice he is much younger than I first thought. It’s possible he may be of an age where he would be considered a boy. (TN: Odasaku had been saying “seinen” and then says it seems like he could actually be considered “shounen” Please note after this instance he reverts back to, and keeps using "seinen" to talk about Dazai)

And then I recall the bundle of banknotes he was clutching. He was still holding it. If it’s as much as it looks, it would be a fortune for someone as down and out as me to possess.  Given the circumstances I think it would be fine if some of the money should slip into my pocket, as a thank you for saving his life. That is what I believed as I picked up the money. And it is how I finally come to realise I am the single biggest blockhead in this town. 

A bitter taste fills my mouth. 

It was a bundle of new banknotes that had never been used. They’re bloody but the paper strap, to prove it’s new, is still sealed. No bank name is printed on the strap. There’s nothing printed on it all. And the banknotes are neatly arranged in ascending order of serial numbers. I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

There are two conceivable possibilities. 

The possibility that this wad of bills was taken out of the bank’s mint bureau before being circulated in the city. That means  this young man is a Yakubyō gami (TN: an evil spirit that spreads disease and misfortune) There’s no way in hell any normal human being would be able to get their hands on something like that. Banknotes printed at the mint are first sent to the Ministry of Finance, where they are scanned for serial numbers and made available for use. They are then sent to a branch of the Reserve Bank by armoured cash truck. From there, they are further subdivided and distributed to city banks. At which point the city banks exchange the straps for their own. 

However there is no printing on the strap he has. The only way to get your hands on a single bundle of banknotes in that state is to steal directly from the Reserve Bank. Most likely an attack on an armoured cash truck. I wonder if that’s what he’s returning from? However if that was the case I would have gone into the kitchen to make coffee with a sigh of relief. Those who rob transport vehicles are violent but that’s all they are. You can’t create a storm with just violence. 

Another possibility. The possibility that these are counterfeit. I fetched a magnifying glass from inside the room and took a closer look at the wad of bills in my hand. A chill cuts through me that makes my fingers tremble. I compare them side by side to the notes in my wallet. I cannot tell them apart. A perfect forgery. I felt dizzy. This changes what I’m holding into something as dangerous as a small nuclear warhead. 

Counterfeit currency is a tool of war that has been used since before the bow and arrow. When well-made counterfeit currency is put into circulation in an enemy country, the amount of currency circulating in the market increases, causing the value of the currency to fall and prices to rise. A country is, in a sense, money. If you are clever enough to discredit the currency, you can collapse the economy and even destroy the nation by yourself. That's why the national security organisation is always on the lookout for counterfeit money.

If counterfeit bills of this accuracy are out there, it's not the city police who are coming out. It's higher. National security agencies or the military.

I place the banknotes on the desk in order to get rid of them. I don’t want my fingerprints attached to them any longer. Then I head towards the phone. I might be able to get the authorities to take the extenuating circumstance into consideration if I report it immediately. There isn’t a minute to lose. 

As I lift the receiver a hoarse voice can be heard but it is not coming from the phone.

“Put it down”

I turned to the direction of the voice. Unbeknownst to me the young man had opened his eyes and was looking at me with his only eye. I looked at the young man and the receiver in turn. And I say 

“What if I don’t put it down?”

“I’ll kill you.” 

It was a phrase as ordinary as the unsold packets that get lined up at the deli. At least for this young man. I could see it in his eye. When he says that phrase, it is just normal everyday vocabulary for him. Like cutting nails or buying more cigarettes. 

“How?” I moved the receiver away from my ear but didn’t put it back.

“Your body is full of holes and unable to move, you’re close to death. Also, you don’t have a gun. In your position, it would take 200 of you to kill me” 

“That’s not necessary.” The young man said chillingly. 

“I am Port Mafia” 

Just those words were enough. 

“Port Mafia” I consider what I’m going to say carefully. 

“In that case I can do nothing but follow your order.” 

I calmly put the receiver down slowly. 

“That’s it” the young man smirked. 

Supposing he is indeed Port Mafia, I have to be careful of even the motion of raising and lowering a spoon in front of him. The Port Mafia is synonymous with darkness and violence, so even if you call the police and get away with it, you never know what they might do to you later. The human body has approximately 200 bones but it wouldn’t be strange for me to be cut up into as many pieces. 

I stared at him for a few seconds. Then I headed to the kitchen. By leaving the door open I can still see the young man from the kitchen. I start preparing coffee in the kitchen. I put the kettle on the flame and wet the rod with water. I pour in water, bring it to a boil and add the coffee powder. (TN: Odasaku is describing the process of making siphon coffee like this  https://youtu.be/c2LjmkknaVA. It’s also the same way Phillip Marlowe makes coffee in chapter 5 of The Long Goodbye by Raymond Chandler) 

“If I can’t call the police, what about a doctor?” I say, keeping an eye on the hot water. 

“All I did was emergency first aid. If you don’t see a real doctor soon you’ll die.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that.” The young man said in a voice that was thin and drawn out.

“This is nothing. I’m used to getting hurt.” 

“Is that so? In that case I’ll do as you say.” I stirred the coffee and set the timer. 

“Either way, there's no way a mere deliveryman like me can oppose a demon of the Port Mafia.” 

“It’s a good thing to be obedient. Okay, nowー” after he had said that much he started coughing and then threw up blood. 

I quickly rushed over and turned the young man's head to the side so he wouldn't choke on his own bloody vomit. I checked inside his mouth. It's hard to determine where the bleeding is coming from under the circumstances. It could just be a cut inside his mouth or it could be his internal organs are damaged. I don’t know.

“Go to the hospital. Get medical attention. You really might die otherwise.” I say.

“Good.” He whispers. “Just let me die like this.” 

I had a sensation as if a cool breeze passed through me. I looked at the young man. The young man just stared at the ceiling. He had a calm expression on his face, as if he had just told me his age, there was no emotion or implication. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I didn't even feel like there was a human there. Supposing it was late at night instead of a brisk early morning, I would have thought he was a ghost or hallucination I was seeing. Today a hell of a succession of things keep occuring. I’d wager that my life may become unscrewed. (TN: essentially he is commenting that shit keeps happening, his he thinks his life is going to be fucked up as a result)

“Okay” I say.

“If you want to die, fine die. It’s your life. I won’t stop you. But you dying here would be inconvenient. If you die here, there will be no one to testify to the authorities that it wasn’t me who caused those injuries. I could be arrested.” 

“Being arrested or being murdered later by the Port Mafia, which do you prefer?”

“That is an extremely difficult question.” I say whilst staring at him.

I returned to the kitchen, to wait for the timer and turn off the coffee. I take out a can of cream and say “do you want some coffee?” 

No reply.

“Why did you collapse in front of my house?” 

No reply to this either.

“What the hell was that wad of cash in your hand?”

As expected no reply. 

I felt like I was having a conversation with a wind fairy. A character from a picture book who unexpectedly visited my house on a peaceful morning. However, he was covered in blood and wanted to die.

I pour the coffee into two cups and add cream. I take my time stirring it, watching the steam. Then I noticed that, come to think of it, there was no sign of anyone in the next room. No audible breathing. No indication of death in the air.

I held my coffee in my hand as I peeked out the doorway. The young man was crawling towards the front door. If his legs had been able to move, he would have walked out, but he did not seem to have recovered that much strength. He hooked his arms over each other across the floor and was creeping forward. Similar to a prisoner of war escape scene in an old war movie. The young man noticed my gaze, smiled a resigned, yet mocking smile and said 

“You don't want me to die while I'm in this house, do you? If that’s the case then if I leave the house, you're irrelevant. No need to help. No need to think or worry. Just stand and watch.”

Still holding my coffee I say “You want to die that badly?”

“Naturally. I joined the Port Mafia but there was nothing.” The young man said in a voice that sounded like the wheezing of a vanishing soul. 

“There’s nothing but death to wish for now.” 

Then he resumed moving forward.

I watched as I sipped my coffee. The young man’s progress was slow and pathetic. I took another drink of my coffee. The young man continues on without breaking. He no longer even looked at me. There was only one thing to do.

“It’s pointless to try and stop me.” 

He sensed I had moved, and turned to look at me as he said 

“No one can oppose the Port Mafia. And no one in the Port Mafia can oppose me. In other words there is no one ahhhhhhhh!?”

The young man was hung upside down. I wrapped him in a bed sheet and lifted him up. I twisted both ends closed. Sort of like a candy wrapper. Then I turned him upside and carried him away.

“Owwwwww ow ow that hurts! My wounds are opening. What are you doing you blockhead, do you want to get killed?”

“I don’t want to be killed. However it will be inconvenient if you die. If you leave in that condition you will certainly die. After you get well you can make up a death story that I don’t appear in.”

The young man tried to make more complaints, so I gave the hanging lump of sheets a shake. 

“Aaa ow aaaa! Stop! I don't like pain, you know.”

“So, you’ll give up?”

“I will not!”

I was considering how to deal with situation when I was struck with an idea

ー Tie him to the bed.

I put the young man down on the bed and undid the bundle. 

I bring in a wide towel and wrap it around the young man's arms, which were crossed in front of his chest, and around his entire torso. I take the decorative cord from the doorway to tie both of his legs together and then knot the ends to the metal bed fixtures. I raise the pillows, replace the quilt with a new one, and open the skylight to allow fresh air to reach the room.

“You’ll accept staying like that until the time has come that your wounds have healed.” 

I look down at the young man and say

“Anything you want?”

“My nose is itchy.” 

Whilst squirming about and trying to move his arms which were not free, the young man looked at me with increasing resentment in his eyes. 

“Sorry to hear that” 

I went back to the kitchen for coffee. 

Behind me the young man’s torrent of verbal abuse filled the air. However in this neighbourhood houses are few and far between so there is no need to worry about neighbours. I enjoyed my morning coffee. 

And that is how Dazai and I began our strange, brief time living together. 

Dazai was a peculiar man in every respect. His eyes made me think of a burnt to death black cat, his physique made me think of a burnt to death black cat, his presence made me think of a burnt to death black cat. A tone of voice that sinks towards the very depths of an abyss of suffering, dark eyes that seem to be filled with the certainty that the sun will never rise again. 

There were few words from that voice which had a sound of disconnect, rejecting mutual understanding from the beginning. No one is in a position to understand him and a person who understands will never appear. He understands that of himself. That sort of voice. 

It seems he was telling the truth when he said he wanted to die. Every standard of value for living reflects the same as the worthlessness and unattractiveness of iron shavings in his eyes. I don't even understand the reason for it. Perhaps even with an eternity of days I could never come to a position of understanding (TN: that is quite a literal translation. Everything I looked up said it’s the equivalent of “the day when I understand will never come” but I liked the other version better) He seemed to know it, too.

So that’s why he wanted to get out. The only way to quickly end the pain of his injuries and get the “big sleep” he hopes for is to leave my house. But since I prevent his escape, he is even cut off from death. 

From this point on Dazai decides to thoroughly complain about my existence. He indeed had a large number of complaints. The meals, sleeping as well as the leisure time. He systematically criticised my nursing skills, I was picked apart and put down. (TN: I found this difficult to translate as it was just repeating that Dazai was severely criticising him. “Ragged on” and “slagged off” came up as equivalent idioms but I don’t know how well known they are and they’re pretty dated even for me.) Not one thing escaped his criticism. He was a king of tyranny. It wouldn’t have been out of place if I had sobbed and cried like a nine year old girl. 

Actually though I was fine. How come? Because I was aware that Dazai’s criticism was a performance, his sense of purpose. His goal was to beat me down. To make my spirits so low that I would get fed up with him and throw him out as if I don’t give a damn anymore. That was how he would win. Therefore no matter what he said I was fine. Actually it must be the case that he is deeply impressed by my suitable and proper nursing. This sort of thing for example:

“Hey you! The porridge is hot! I can’t eat it like this!”

“Hey! You know my hands are tied up and I can’t use them, right? No, even so you can’t force it in my mouth….hod! Id hod” (TN: he is saying ‘hot, it’s hot’ and I owe thanks to @mayurixflower (and someone else who wants to stay anon) on Twitter for explaining that it was written in a way that expresses how Dazai is talking with his mouth full so not pronouncing it properly) 

“I’ll eat, I’ll eat! Hold on, don’t give me another one! Hey….wait….ouch it’s in my eye, aaaa! Yowch that burns!” (TN: it says ‘hot pain’) 

“Hey...can't you do something about the toilet being limited to twice a day? Even mafia prisoners have a little more freedom.”

“Hey, I know I told you to do something about the boredom, but reading out loud, to someone my age, really? And always the same book! Not only that the last few pages are missing as well so the ending is unknown! Is this torture? What kind of new torture is this!?” 

It was very realistic acting.

I didn’t take any notice and just kept on performing my nursing. That dedication was effective as after several days the young man’s eyes lost spirit and became weary, in a faint voice he said

“It’s hopeless……it’s not getting through……This person is a natural airhead…”

I’m not sure what he meant by that, but from then on Dazai became a little more amenable to my instructions. 

Then Dazai changed his action plan. Instead of complaining about his life in care, he began making very specific demands, particularly in regard to the ingredients for meals. It seems his purpose is to get me to admit defeat but I am a man that is both consistent and patient. Then again I am also a pragmatic man who believes that it is reasonable for a person with his hands wrapped around his body to prevent escape to find a distraction necessary. I became a gracious chef. 

His first request was for fugu sashimi. It is an unusual ingredient. I went to the fish market to search for it but gave up when the fish market owner said “you are an idiot.”

Next, grilled dokutsurutake. It is a species of mushroom (TN: also called Amanita Virosa aka Destroying Angel). I hear it is a beautiful white mushroom. I walked across the mountain in search of it but couldn’t find it. Which is a shame as I thought there would be plenty out there because the locals never ever eat them. 

On my return from the search I happened to find some wild vegetables that I stir fried and served to Dazai, who looked at me like he wanted to kill me whilst muttering “delicious.”

Last of all was potato sprout salad. The ingredients for this are easy to get hold of. Except there was not enough of them available or enough time to wait for them to sprout so out of necessity I served them as a sandwich rather than a salad. Dazai was strangely delighted to eat it, but later that night, while vomiting profusely, he cried out "I didn't have enough...!” whilst writhing in pain. To eat it even when it makes you vomit like that, it must really be a favourite dish of his. It was a rewarding moment for my efforts. 

Another time, on a different day, I received this complaint.

“Okay you know what, I get it, you have no intention other than treating me however,”

Dazai said, waving and clapping his arms that were now free. Incidentally both legs were still tied to the bed. 

“I have too much spare time! No reading, no phone calls, no tv, no radio, nothing more than a few records! I’ve already memorised the songs, I could start playing them tomorrow….don’t you have any, what’s it called? Decent entertainment?”

“No.”

“Such a quick reply…What the hell do you usually do in this house…” Dazai looks at me with an expression of trepidation. 

“In that case how about a game?” I sat down on the chair in the room.

“Right here, there are playing cards left behind by the previous owner of the house.”

“I’m aware, they were left on the bookcase.” Dazai said with a suspicious look.

“Besides I’m not a ten year old kid, just playing cards won’t be entertaining you know.”

“Hmmm…in that case how about a wager?” I say whilst taking the cards from the packet.

For an instant Dazai’s eyes shone like a sharp blade. 

“Hmph. Do you even have anything to bet with? You don’t look like you have a lot of money.” 

It’s true, I don’t have a lot of money.

“Then how about this” I took a chessboard off the shelf. I place the sixteen white pieces and sixteen black pieces in front of us. 

“These are our chips. They play poker with these as wagers. The rules are Texas Hold'em Heads Up. Opening bet is one piece. No betting limit. If you win all sixteen pieces, which is the bankroll of the bet, you win the right to freely leave this house.

“Ehhh?” Dazai narrows his eyes. 

“You sure? That’s some confidence. What if you win? You want me to turn over my hidden stash of assets?”

“It's no use making a wager on something that isn't here now. Your asset value, for example, I have no way of confirming it.”

“In that case, this fake money?”

“I definitely do not want that.” I used my hand to force back the wad of money that Dazai held up. They were counterfeit bills, after all.

“I know. Every time you lose sixteen pieces, you disclose to me a secret, how about that?” 

“A secret?” Dazai said with a faint laugh. “You’ve given this serious thought haven’t you?”

That is because it was very in my self interest to suggest it. My current problem is that when Dazai is healed and freed, he might come back for revenge. I have no means to protect against that. There is no barrier in the world that can protect against the severe retaliation of the Port Mafia. That is why it is necessary to get insurance. Or at least something that is similar to insurance. To have a small amount of knowledge in hand about who he is and what he knows would help against any retaliation. 

Of course, any secret I hear now I have no way of corroborating. Therefore it is more about my peace of mind. And the more secrets I am able to get from him the greater my peace of mind. 

“Haha, funny. You are going to take a lot of secrets from me, is that what you’re saying?” Dazai gave a crooked smile. 

“It's been a long time since I have had an opponent with such determined spirit.” 

“I’m glad to motivate you.” I said as I dealt out the cards.

“Good to go?”

“When you are.”

I dealt the cards face down, two to me and two to Dazai. Before I could deal the next card Dazai said 

“You seem like a fair person, so I will reveal my trick to you.”

“Reveal your trick?”

“This game, you are the one who originally suggested it, but I am the one who guided it to you.” Dazai looked at me with a deep peace in his eyes. 

“I had already confirmed there were playing cards on the shelf and I knew it was unlikely there was any other means of passing the time. It was clear we would have a little wager and come to the conclusion of betting on my freedom. If you had come to a different conclusion I just would have made a fuss. (TN: Dazai says he would have sounded off in a way to cause problems and be difficult) That is how I got you to do what I want.”

“I see” I stared at his face. 

“If that’s the case then you are expecting to win.”

“Aaa” Dazai gave a smile that seemed to hint at darkness.

“I have never been defeated in this kind of thing.” 

There was no trace of bluffing or joking. He was being serious. 

“And for that reason” Dazai said as he pushed his pieces forward to make a blind bet (TN: blind bet is a poker term where a bet is placed before seeing any cards) 

“You will never get my secrets out of me.”

Thirty minutes late. 

“The PIN code for the Port Mafia's emergency armed storage room is…7280285E...”

Dazai said as he laid his head on the table dead-faced.

“You certainly have a great many secrets” I said, impressed.

“It’s natural that I do! I am the leader of a special group under the boss’s direct control!” Dazai cries out.

“Ohhhh, what the hell is this, that’s just about all my personal information revealed! I’m humiliated!” 

We played eighteen games, I won the whole lot. His address, the different abilities of his men, when he joined Mafia, the total amount of money he has, his current occupation in the organization, his favorite food, the location of his secret safe, and that his current leader is a back alley doctor named Mori. 

Every one of the eighteen secrets Dazai told me were out of the ordinary, I had to believe that he was really an important figure in the Port Mafia.

I think actually, I heard too much. Few people in this world would know about the background of Yokohama’s Lord Taizan, the leader of the Port Mafia. Especially few when it comes to those who know and are still alive.

(TN: Lord Taizan is a Chinese mountain God who is also a King of Hell. He keeps books with the lifespans of humans in it. His name is attributed to a ritual that asks the Gods to make someone live longer/save them from death/bring them back to life)

Dazai was lying on the desk in deep distress. He really was confident. 

“You…cheated right?” Dazai gave me a dirty look. (TN: it was as if his gaze was sticky with mud)

I tilted my head.

“Cheated?”

“I noticed halfway through. A special ability. You have a special ability that allows you the foresight to see how the game will develop. I was unprepared at the beginning because special abilities do not work on me. However if you used your powers against the place and not against me, it would explain that revolting foresight.”

“I'm sorry. I wasn’t trying to hide it.” I said as I sorted through the cards.

My special ability is to foresee events in the very near future in my field of vision. The time is longer than five seconds and shorter than six seconds. I can see the next development, the next wager, the next card number, everything.

Very rarely, for example in months when I am hard pressed for money, I go to the casino in the concession and use this ability to get my hands on some easy money and return home.

“It wasn’t very fair.” I honestly admitted.

“Similar to you, losing at this kind of betting never happens to me. Let’s call this game invalid. From the outset all we wanted was a way to kill your free time.”

“It can’t be invalidated” Dazai gave me a look of protest.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. If it was money I’d wagered, I’d get you to give it all back but this time it was information given. Information doesn’t get taken away even if you return it. (TN: it literally says ‘information doesn’t decrease by being returned’) Or does it? Are you able to put your mind to completely forgetting the information you’ve seen and heard in this incident?” 

“If that is the only way, let’s try.”

“Huh…..?” Dazai said with a weary expression.

“Your jokes are not quite right. Somehow it never sounds like a joke because you always have a straight face.” 

I tilted my head confused. 

“It wasn’t my intention to say it as a joke.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dazai turns away sulkily. 

“Argh good grief, I’m going to get scolded by Mori-san for letting the organisation’s secrets slip out this way.” 

I thought for a moment and asked

“Mori-san……who’s that?” 

Dazai looks amazed.

“Are you really forgetting….?” 

Several days passed in that way. Dazai was over the worst of his injuries and was on the road to recovery. (TN: literally ‘he was facing towards convalescence’). Even though the wound should still be hot and painful, Dazai was strangely flippant. I don’t know the reason for it. 

It was apparent he had no intention to violently escape. So I removed the leg restraints. The front door stayed locked though. It was a very pleasant autumn day. Fallen leaves that once belonged to the trees whispered memories of past days in the corner of the street. The smell of sweet olive drifted in from I’m not sure where. 

It is a fragrance that that alters past memories into fuzzy nostalgia. 

(TN: the kanji 記憶 is used first followed by 思い出. They both refer to memory but 記憶 relates to a more physical recollection e.g I remember what happened yesterday where as 思い出 refers to emotional memory and a kind of nostalgia. E.g I remember how that made me feel. This Tumblr post explains it well)

My thoughts wandered as I reflected on my past by the window. A purposeless time, waiting for the coffee water to boil. What an indulgent way to use time.

“What are you thinking about?” Dazai asked from the bed.

“Just the time around when I quit my job before. The sweet olive was blooming then too.” 

“What was your job before?”

I glanced at the kettle in the kitchen. There is still a small amount of time until the water boils. For a moment, until that time the water boils, I think it might be good for it to become known by talking about it. If that’s the case I must not be not right in the head at this time.

“Nothing important.” I said as I walked towards Dazai.

“It was rough work, but I turned over a new leaf.” (TN: the expression in Japanese is to wash your feet and it specifically means to quit shady business/cut ties/go straight)

“What sort of rough work?”

I didn’t answer. The room fell silent for a while. Somewhere I could hear the voices of  trumpet vine parent and child calling to each other. (TN: this is literally what it says and I can’t find anything that makes it make sense. The closest I can come up with is that trumpet vines apparently symbolise a fresh start so Oda is hearing the call of making a fresh start?)

“Not a thing you want to talk about,” Dazai says giving up after a while.

“Whatever. I’ll leave when my wounds are healed. After all, we don’t have a relationship past that.” 

I didn’t answer that either. In the kitchen faint steam rose from the kettle.

“Just like you said. You’ll leave when your wounds are healed. And somewhere along the way, you'll end your life the way you would like. Can I make a guess about it.”

“About what?” 

“The reason you have for dying.”

“Eh?”

“You wish to die, because you are stupid.” 

Dazai looked at me startled. The room fell silent. As Dazai turned around and shifted his weight, the old floorboards in the room faintly creaked. Somewhere in the distance, a dog out for a walk barked at the roadside trees. 

“That’s interesting.” 

Dazai's eyes, as he said this, were different from those of any human being. Or any kind of living thing. Wounds are what they are. A pair of wounds from which a black darkness peeks out.

“That’s a big statement for a deliveryman to make, isn’t it? But there have been many people who have said such a thing. Although I'll never know why they said such things. ー Because they're all dead.”

The expression of Dazai as he says that, makes me think of the end of a culvert, 

the black wall at a dead end with nowhere to go. 

“Is that so? I see. Even so, at least anyone who dies with not even one visit to that place is nothing short of stupid. That’s an assertion I can make.”

“Heh? That place?” 

“It's a quiet place. It is not that far away. There are no special qualifications necessary to enter, but the true value of that place is limited, not everyone can accept it.”

“Don’t you think that sounds somewhat like a riddle?” Dazai gave a dry laugh.

“Is this a strategy to attract my attention by suggesting a secret?”

“There is no way of carrying out a strategy against an opponent like you.”

“That‘s for sure.” Dazai turned to face the other way. 

“Really, you say things in a way I can’t read.” 

Dazai only turns his line of sight horizontally to look at me, then looks at the door and then gives a small laugh. It’s as if he is laughing at the state of affairs rather than me. 

I get the sense that the gravity in the room has returned ever so slightly back to normal. 

“All right. In return for the treatment, I'll go along with you in a little nonsense. You said it was stupid to die. Now let me ask you a question. If it is stupid to die, why do we always die?”

Like an ancient text waiting to be read, Dazai waits serenely for a reply.

“The act of living has a fatality rate of 100%” his voice grew husky and sounded like a thousand year old immortal mountain wizard (TN: it says senin and the other definition of the kanji for this is “hermit/person not bound by earthly desires” but I really like immortal mountain wizard.)

“However, if you look at all life, there are living things that don’t die. Organisms are in existence without lifespans. That is to say human death is no more than a natural feature to pass through, no more than something along the lines of a cliched finale written in a script. 

I reflected on that. 

“So in that case life is not a thing to value/regret?” 

(TN: this was a tough sentence it has the verb 惜しむ which can be “to be frugal/to value/to regret/to be unwilling. And I couldn’t decide which fit best.)

“It isn’t. Even more detestable. ー Despite a promise of death from the plot, humans are born with a preset desire “to not want to die”. That is also 100%.Therefore that desire is never attainable.”

There was an emptiness to it, that seemed like a script repeatedly being read a thousand times over. A stereotypical cliche that had been gone over and complained about many times.

“Speaking of this, the very act of desire is a tool, a convenient theory that is far from truth, it means we are nothing more than epigone imitating a hypothetical thesis, you live because your predecessors lived. In what way can you counteract this depressing proposition?” 

I looked at Dazai. I think of a few counter arguments. However I intuitively understood that Dazai had not revealed even one ten thousandth of his true intentions. No matter what counter argument I struck him with, a counter argument to my counter argument would already be prepared. Because it is a discussion he has talked to exhaustion about in his mind. And the counter argument in regards to that counter argument is already prepared. Like descending down an infinite staircase to Hades, there is no bottom to Dazai’s dispirited reasoning. 

I look over to the kitchen. Steam from the kettle for coffee was beginning to build. 

“Is that the reason you want to die?” I asked.

Dazai shook his head. 

“It’s not. This sort of thing is wordplay. I can’t secure the words to speak it into existence. And concerning things you can’t speak about” 

“You cannot help being silent?” I took over Dazai’s words. 

“Quite so. I don’t understand, only you are able to with your world. However it doesn’t change a thing, you are stupid. I can assure you of that.” 

“Yeah, yeah” Dazai said as he sighed exaggeratedly and laid down on the bed. Similar to a teacher who has run out of patience with a student who endlessly plays pranks. 

“I have no intention of correcting that. What about “that place” you just mentioned?” 

“It’ll be clear when you get there,” I said, looking out the window. The street was bright and quiet.

“Why don’t you try to explain it here, now?”

“Pass. In such cases, no, in most cases, words don’t give credit.” 

“Hmph. You say such a thing. Despite liking novels?” Dazai said, casting a glance at my bookshelf.

“That’s right. For that reason I’m embarrassed.” I said frankly. 

Dazai looked at me for a moment and suddenly laughed. Somewhat more naturally than he had done up until now. 

“Fascinating.” Dazai said.

“You’re modest. I don’t hate such a thing.” 

In the kitchen, the steam from the kettle was drawing symbols in the air.

“And you know I don't hate passing time in this house either. More than I thought I would.” 

At that moment there was a knock at the front door. Dazai and I exchanged glances. 

On the other side of the door a man’s voice said.

“Excuse me, I am from the S. River police station. There was a report about a bleeding man who had collapsed in the neighbourhood. Would it be acceptable for me to hear what you have to say?”

As a result of the lighting through the window, the shadow of a man can be seen.

A city police patrol. An embodiment of the great power of the government. Since encountering Dazai my luck has continued to decline, and has now ended by plummeting to the depths of the earth. 

“Excuse me, it’s the police. Do you think they’re in?”

The front door shakes many times as it is rudely knocked. It should be locked. What the hell should I do? Dazai looks at me and puts his index finger to his lips making a “quiet” hand gesture. Does he mean to pretend to be out? I think when at last my brain begins to function well. I don’t mind pretending to be out. But why? It’s not like they’ve come to arrest me. I have nothing to hide. 

I thought about it for a while. For instance, suppose I opened the door and said "Hi" to the police officer. If the door is only opened half way, Dazai won’t be seen in the back of the house. The police officer would enquire about if I had seen a man collapsed and covered in blood. In that case, should I speak honestly about Dazai or keep my mouth shut?

If I keep my mouth shut about Dazai, the police officer will leave. That situation would be good. But after that? If Dazai has committed a crime (which if I’m not mistaken he certainly has), I would later have the problem of being charged with the crime of harbouring a criminal. As a result of that, it may be possible that I am judged as having aided and abetted an offender. If that’s decided I will spend the rest of my life in a state run prison.

Then, the case if I honestly tell the police officer about Dazai? In this case, Dazai will almost certainly be caught. Because everything about him is suspicious. They will be interested in the fact his gunshot wound was not treated at a hospital. Maybe he is already wanted by the police. After all, it's possible that they came here to arrest Dazai from the beginning.

In that case it’s highly likely I am considered an accessory after the fact. I could say “I wasn’t aware he was a criminal when I treated him” but it might not be accepted, for the authorities to believe that story, it would be necessary for Dazai and I to arrange beforehand to tell the same story. The current circumstances mean I can’t have a briefing meeting and Dazai’s character is such that it doesn’t seem likely he’d obediently agree to coordinating stories. 

I looked at Dazai, on whom my slither of hope hung. Dazai had a look that expressed fifty times more concentrated ill-boding than the smile of a child planning a prank. That’s not good. That expression struck me with another thing to worry about. The potential retaliation from the Port Mafia after telling the police about Dazai and selling him out. 

When that happens a small person alone like me will disappear, completely swept away like a sandcastle drowned in a tsunami.  (TN: the kanji was 独身者 which the dictionary says means bachelor/unmarried person but it is made up of kanji that mean single/alone situation person which I think is more the sentiment that Oda is after) 

Conclusion. Pretending to be out is the only way.

I moved quietly to hide behind the bed. Next to Dazai. Inside the house, the only sound is the knock at the door which is like the insolent bark of a stray dog. I had nothing to do but count the sound of my breathing. Ten, twenty, by the time I got to twenty eight the knock stopped.  

“Not home?” Spoke a deep male voice at the front door.

“Maybe not” I heard another person’s voice. This one is younger.

If we just stay quiet like this, the police will leave. And calm will return to this world once again. Apparently that was not going to happen. Dazai gave my shoulder two quick taps. He had a hard expression on his face. I looked in a different direction to the door. The kitchen. And then I understood what Dazai was quietly trying to say. The kettle was building steam. I had put it on the flame a short while ago to make coffee. The force of the steam indicated that it would shortly reach the peak of its boiling. 

And what’s bad about that? 

My kettle is a whistling model and when the internal pressure becomes more than a fixed point, steam comes gushing out a hole in the spout lid. It makes a noise so great that the wind instrument player is audible from the other side of the street. The police would understand that someone is home, no matter what the appearances. I looked at my surroundings. It appeared there was nothing helpful. From here to the kitchen is about eight metres. If I walk there, the wooden floor will make a creaking noise. And we’re still exposed to the police. 

I look at Dazai again. Dazai had a moment of hesitation after which he made a series of gestures. He pointed at the kitchen. He pointed at me. He held the palm of his hand up under his nose and pointed the fingers of his other hand down to stand up on it. He curled his hand leaving only his index and middle finger pointed and then he moved them slowly in turn. Then he puts his index finger to his lips. And then he puts his thumb up, smiles and nods. I also nodded.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

“Quiet!” Dazai whispered in a low voice. “You didn’t get it? I told you to take stealthy steps into the kitchen and put the flame out! I can’t walk well in this condition.”

“Okay” I nodded. “There’s not much time before it boils. I need to hurry.” 

“Come on you, are you really in a hurry?” Dazai looked at me with an expression of doubt. 

“It’s not clear because your expression has not changed at all….”

I stealthily took a step forward. The amber coloured floorboards are thin because of the cheap structure of the house, even just a little body weight mistakenly placed and they produce a strained gish sound. (TN: the onomatopoeia is ギツッ which is apparently for a sound like grinding teeth or a pained gasp) 

My toes must fall down like soft cloth, I think whilst taking my first step. But here my special ability is useful. I carefully inspect where I can place my toe that won’t make the floor creak. One second has the feeling of one hour. The kettle has not started making a sound yet. On the other side of the door the police officers are talking about what to do. 

It took me about thirty seconds, but I had reached about halfway down the path leading to the kitchen. I was doing okay. By the way, in this world there is an expression called wishful thinking. 

At that moment I was in the appropriate position to be the dictionary entry for “wishful thinking”. 

[Wishful thinking] /ˌwɪʃ.fəl ˈθɪŋ.kɪŋ/ Noun. A state of affairs just like Oda Sakunosuke’s right now. (TN: In the book it has the kanji and then the hiragana of the pronunciation so to follow the format i copied the online dictionary’s pronunciation thing)

I saw a future where the kettle started making noise. A sound that was high pitched, and in some respects happy. That means I now have a little over five seconds before receiving a death sentence. This state of affairs makes my heart pound.

I immediately wanted to hop towards the kettle but I held back. This called for a new effort. An effort that you might call deliberately uncivilised. I got down on the floor holding myself up with the fingers of both hands and with my arms and legs quietly began to crawl horizontally across the floor on all fours. Similar to a pond skater in summer floating silently on the water. In the background Dazai laughs as he is unable to put up with watching my movements. 

Dazai is right. If someone took a picture of my current behavior and placed it in the city's public newspaper I would immediately move that same day. I am staring ahead as my face skims the floor, while my torso follows. My arms and legs become independent operating entities, bustling about the floor. One second, two seconds. Good, steady progress was being seen despite the embarrassing march. Soon I will arrive at the kettle. By the time I turn the knob on the gas stove, there will be approximately enough time left over to imitate the clucking of a chicken.

However my expectations were again betrayed. I had forgotten the matter of a foreign body existing in this house. It was, of course, Dazai. In comparison to every person I’ve met until now he is the most unpredictable. For example, if we were moving forward together in a three legged race, there would be a sudden moment when Dazai would break into a run and turn in the other direction. Or for instance if you were frantically climbing a cliff for survival, he would suddenly say he feels like falling off to die. A man far separated from the logic of this world. Our dear trickster.

Dazai stood up without warning and said

“If I rushed out the front door now with a gun in one hand, I wonder if the startled police officer would shoot me to death?” 

I instinctively turned to look at him. I must be wearing a considerably idiotic look on my face. What the hell, how many more of these situations have to happen before today is satisfied? 

“There are no guns in this house” I declare.

“Is that so? Well then a kitchen knife is good”

As Dazai said this, his suit passed sideways by me. Beside me having difficulty walking on all fours. Not surprisingly the police officers at the front door heard this amusing manzai. (TN: manzai is a traditional Japanese style of comedy between two people with a straight man and a funny man. The jokes are usually centred around misunderstandings and puns. There’s a BSD Wan skit where Dazai thinks Aku + Atsushi would make a good duo for this.)

“Hey, there’s someone inside,” a distant voice said.  “Listen!” 

The situation became too hectic, I couldn’t keep up with it. 

Dazai skipped towards the kitchen. If he acquires a kitchen knife,  the situation will start running in completely the opposite direction. I must prevent it. I wanted to cry, to someone for help, but there wasn’t anyone except me. I bent my arms and legs to jump, and as soon as Dazai was in front of me I did a foot sweep move on him. (TN: specifically the judo move called ashi barai) 

Dazai did a half turn and fell down completely. His eyes and mouth were wide open in perfect circles. I grabbed him by the neck, turned him round, and with my elbow on his carotid artery strangled him in a rear naked choke hold position. I force Dazai’s body between my legs to pin him down. There is a commotion on the floor as Dazai and I grapple with each other. The police at the front door shout angrily. Finally a grand whistle overhead as the kettle begins to sound. I don’t even understand what I’m doing anymore. 

Dazai seemed to happily flap his foot on the floor, and occasionally landed a clear blow to the kitchen sink. Something on the sink shook. Another blow. Something above made a sound as it fatally shifted. However being one with the floor meant I didn’t see what shifted. The moment I became aware that the insistent kicking was deliberate,  I saw the future. I wish I hadn’t seen it. A future that comes from  the kitchen knife Dazai was trying to obtain, falling because it cannot put up with the vibrations. There is no way now for me to stop it. I can’t part my arms from choking Dazai. 

I predicted with my special ability the trajectory of the falling knife and narrowly avoided it. The kitchen knife stuck vertically into the floorboard and made a brisk thud sound. The sharp cutting ability. Like hell will I sharpen a knife again. 

“Don’t struggle” I say. 

“There’s no need to struggle. It’s not scary. It doesn’t hurt.” 

I don’t know what I’m talking about. 

“Liar! Mori-san made the exact same remarks when he gave me an injection!” Dazai said as he struggled. 

In other words, many people have trouble with Dazai, not just me. I wonder who Mori-san is. Dazai kicked the sink again. It sounded even more unpleasant. The sound of the kettle shifting. As expected, it’s not funny. It was a situation I'd never experienced before, not in all my life. Above me a kettle, by my face a knife, counterfeit money somewhere in the house, police officers at the front door. And finally I was diligently wringing the neck of a man I had only just met. 

If the kettle falls down boiling water will fly everywhere. The bombing range is not comparable to a knife. Burns by means of hot water have a risk of death when it becomes greater than a certain surface measure rather than depending on the location of skin. 

The police officer at the front door was trying to open it by kicking it in. I guess because they heard the sound of fighting inside the room.

 “Hehe, ahaha” Dazai laughs in my arms as he loses consciousness. 

It appears now that the kettle will fall down any second. I pull the knife out of the floor, and throw it. Thrown diagonally up the kitchen knife caught the handle of the kettle exactly as it came falling down. As it was, the knife got stuck in the wooden structure of the sink and held up the kettle by the handle. The piping hot kettle came to a stop suspended in mid air, it shook with a groan. (TN: it says ぐらんぐらんと揺れた。and I can’t find anything for guranguran so I can only assume it’s onomatopoeia for the sound the kettle makes at it is caught by the knife and hits the side of the sink.)

A little hot water spills from the spout. Several drops reach the back of my hand. It’s hot. A police officer stepped in. Just like me, the police officer has never in his life had an experience like this situation. It’s understandable that he stares in wonder. In the house he has stepped in, a man is strangling an injured man on the floor. The young man has pleasantly fainted. A knife is stuck into the sink, entirely holding up the kettle as if it were a sacrifice. Silence. 

The police officer looked down at us, it was as if he truly didn’t know what to say. Certainly, I never expected the first arrest of my life would happen as a result of this kind of situation, under these conditions. (TN: first arrest? How did you end up in prison all those other times then if you weren’t arrested? I call BS Odasaku) 

Out of my mouth came “Take your shoes off” (TN: it is 靴は脱いでくれ and くれ is informal/impolite way of saying give me. Oda is literally saying ‘give me taking off your shoes’ in a rude way) 

The officers look at each other. There was an elderly officer and a younger one. They were wearing uniforms as regulated and on their heads they wore the regulated hats. 

“Aah, oh” The older officer vaguely sighed. 

“Looks like the job today is going to be extremely strange.” 

“I know the feeling,” I said. 

Well, I know a lot of things occurred in succession today, among them all the most extraordinary thing to happen was the final thing, that incident. I said I knew how a police officer felt. However I was wrong. I didn’t know. I didn't know what they thought of the work they were doing, or what was going to happen. The two officers took out hidden gas masks and put them on. Something spilled over and fell from his hand, I saw it. A gas grenade. When white coma gas started coming out of it, I finally understood the situation. 

There’s no way that police officers would release gas for the benefit of questioning a noisy suspect. These guys are not police officers. I saw the future, but only when it was already too late. I jumped up. I could have hurled myself at both of them, kicked them away and made an escape, but I didn’t. I saw the police officer take out a gun and point it in the direction of Dazai. If I resist, he will shoot. Even though the gas mask blocked my view, I saw their intent to kill. I raised both my hands. 

Finally, inside my fading consciousness I thought. As expected, that morning when I discovered Dazai collapsed at my front door, I should have kicked him to fall down the stairs. Although, regret is a thing regarding my life. It’s not that big of a deal to at this point, have one more regret. 

I black out.