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truskawavx · 4 months

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (2)

Continuation from Part 1.

This is from Side A of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. It is not a summary, but a full translation of one part of novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don't speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.

· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoiler tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don't take many screenshots.

· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

I'm sorry if that's too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don't want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

...

Dazai is a strange guy in every possible way.

His eyes remind me of a burnt black cat, his build reminds me of a burnt black cat, his presence reminds me of a burnt black cat. He has a tone that sinks into the abyss of the spirit, and deep, dark eyes that seem to hold the conviction that the sun will never rise again. He is a man of few words. And his voice has the sound of severance that rejects mutual understanding from the very beginning. No one could understand him. No one ever will. And he himself knows that very well. That kind of voice.

It seems true that he wants to die. It seems that all the value standards of living reflected in his eyes are just as worthless and ugly as scrap iron. I don’t understand why. Perhaps the day when I understand will never come. He seems to know that too.

That is why he wants to go outside. The only way to quickly end the pain of his wounds and achieve his desired “big sleep” is to leave my house. However, he is even cut off from death, because I prevent him from escaping.

And that is when Dazai decides to complain about my existence to the very end. He actually has a lot of complaints, about meals, sleep, and other pastimes. One after another, he will find faults in my nursing, criticize, and roast me in the most disparaging way possible. There is nothing that can escape his criticism. He is simply a tyrant. I could have whimpered like a nine-year-old girl.

However, I am actually fine. Because I know that Dazai’s criticism is nothing more than an act he put on to serve his purpose. To discourage me. To depress me through and through, until I’m sick of him and kick him out of my door like I don’t care anymore. That will be his victory. So, I am fine, no matter what I am told. In reality, he must have been very impressed with my proper and adequate nursing.

For example, it goes like this.

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

“Hey, it’s really too hot. You know I can’t use my hands because I’m tied up right?? No no, I told you. Stop forcing it into my mouth… It’s hot! It’s hottttt!”

“I’m eating, I’m eating! Don’t bring another one! Arghhh! Wait… can’t move…. Gyaaahhh!! It’s in my eye! It hurts! It’s hot!! It hurts!!!!!”

“Come on. The toilet is limited to twice a day? Do something about that, won’t you? Even Port Mafia’s prisoners have a little more freedom.”

“Hey, I told you to deal with the boredom, but reading books to me? It’s not something you do with someone this age, you know? And it’s all the same book. And it doesn’t have the last few pages so I don’t even know the ending! Is this torture? A new type of torture?”

Very realistic acting.

I ignore him and just continue with my nursing.

My dedication pays off. After a few days, the young man’s eyes are all dead and exhausted. He speaks in a faint voice.

“I can’t… get through to him. This guy… He is a natural airhead.”

I don’t really understand what he means by it, but after that, Dazai has become more obedient to what I say.

From then on, Dazai changes his strategy. Instead of complaining about the daily nursing, he starts to make very specific demands about food, especially the ingredients. I suppose he wants me to give up. But I am a man of patience and consistency. And I am also a practical person who believes that someone whose hands are wrapped around like that needs a proper distraction. I then become an amiable cook.

His first request is for pufferfish’s organ sashimi. That is a rare ingredient. I go to the fish market to look for it, but the owner there tells me, “Are you stupid or what?” so I give up. Next is grilled amanita virosa. It is a kind of mushroom. The white and beautiful one I heard. This time, I also walk around the mountain to search but I can’t find any. Since the locals never eat this type of mushroom, I thought there should be quite some left in the mountain. What a pity. When I end up serving him the stir-fried dish made from the wild vegetables I happen to find on the way back from my search, Dazai looks at me with grudgeful eyes as if he is going to kill me, while saying “It’s delicious.”

The last dish is potato sprout salad. This one is just ingredients, so it is easy to get. However, I don’t have enough time to wait for them to sprout and get enough of them, so I have no choice but to serve them to him as a sandwich, instead of a salad. Dazai is strangely happy to eat it, but later that night he vomits a lot, while writhing in pain “It is not enough…!” To want to eat something even if it makes him vomit like that, he must like it a lot. It is a moment of hard work paid off for me.

(TN: In case you haven't realized it, everything Dazai requested above is super poisonous and can kill you if you eat them. xD)

On another day, I got this kind of complaint.

“You know, I understand very well that you don’t have any other intention rather than treating me.” Dazai says, flapping his two arms that have finally become free. By the way, his two legs are still tied to the bed. “But I have too much free time! No reading, no phone calls, no video or radio broadcast whatsoever, only some music from those records! I have memorized so many songs that I can start performing tomorrow. You really don’t have anything else? Any real entertainment?”

“No.”

“What’s with the immediate answer…? What on earth do you usually do living in this house?”, Dazai looks at me with a frightened face.

“Then how about playing a game?” I sit down on the chair in the room. “The people who lived in this house before happen to leave behind a deck of cards.”

“I know. It was left on the bookshelf.” Dazai makes a suspicious face. “But I’m not ten years old. Playing cards alone doesn’t make an entertainment at all.”

“I see… Then let’s bet on something?” I says as I take the cards out of the box.

For a second, Dazai’s eyes shine sharply like a blade. “Hmm. But do you even have anything to bet on? You don’t look like you have that much money.”

It is true. I don’t have that much money.

“Then how about this?”, I take out a chess board from the shelf and place sixteen white pieces and sixteen black pieces in front of us. “These are going to be our chips. We will play poker with them as our stakes. Texas Hold’em Heads Up rule. Opening bet is one piece. There is no upper limit. If you manage to win my whole bankroll of sixteen pieces, I will give you the right to freely leave this house.”

“Eh?” Dazai narrows his eyes. “Are you sure about that? You have quite some confidence there. So what if you win? Should I give you all my hidden assets too?”

“There is no point in using something that is not here right now, as I have no way to confirm things like your assets and such.”

“These fake notes then…”

“I absolutely don’t need that.” I push back the wad of notes that Dazai just takes out. “Let’s see. How about revealing one of your secrets every time you lose sixteen pieces?”

“Secret?” Dazai chuckles. “You did give it some thought, didn’t you?”

That is a suggestion based on my selfish calculation.

The problem now is that there is a chance Dazai will come back for revenge after he is healed and released from here. And there is nothing I can do to prevent that. There is no wall in this world that can resist the fierce retaliation of the Port Mafia. I need some kind of insurance. At least something that looks like an insurance. If I can get just a little bit of information about this identity, his secrets, his intentions, it can be helpful in preventing that to happen. Of course, even if I hear his secrets now, there is no way for me to confirm them. That is why it’s only for the ease of mind. If I can get more than one secret out of him, that ease will deepen somewhat.

“Haha, interesting. You are thinking of taking a bunch of secrets from me?” Dazai smiles a distorted smile. “It has been so long, since someone has been so determined to win against me.”

“I’m glad you got in the mood.” I say as I deal the cards. “Ready?”

“Anytime you wish.”

Two cards are dealt in front of me and two cards in front of Dazai, all facing down. Before I deal the next card, Dazai says, “You seem like a fair person. So, I will tell you a trick.”

“Trick?”

“The one who suggested this game were you, but the one who guided you to it was me.” Dazai looks at me with deep tranquil eyes. “I already confirmed that there were playing cards on the shelf, and there seemed to be nothing else to pass the time. We both had little to bet. It was obvious that we would settle with the conclusion that we should bet on my freedom. If it were another conclusion, I would just make a bigger fuss. And just like that I was able to draw out the game I desired from you.”

“I see.” I stare at the expression on his face. “Then it means you also expect to win?”

“Yeah.” Dazai says with a smile that seems to glimmer in the darkness. “This kind of game, I have never lost once.”

There is no hint of bluff or humor. He is serious.

“That is why” Dazai says as he pushes the first bet piece forward. “You will not get to hear a single secret from me for eternity.”

30 minutes later.

“The passcode for Port Mafia’s emergency armed vault is…7280285E.”

Dazai speaks with his dead face on the desk.

“You have so many secrets.” I speak in admiration.

“Of course I do! I’m the head of the special force under Boss’s direct command.” Dazai bawls out. “Argggh what the heck is going on? There goes most of my personal information. It’s humiliating!!!”

This is the eighteenth game, and I have won all of them. His address, his subordinates’ skills, time of joining the Mafia, total amount of money he has on hand, what he does in the organization, his favorite food, location of secret vaults, the fact that his current boss called Mori was once an underground doctor etc.

All the eighteen secrets Dazai have told me are so out of the ordinary that I can’t help but believe he is really an important person in the Port Mafia. In fact, I probably have heard too much. There are not many people on earth who know the background of Port Mafia’s boss – Yokohama’s Taishan Fujun. (TN: Name of a God in China, who is said to be in charge of the life and death of mortal beings on earth) The number of people who are still alive after learning about that is a different story.

Dazai puts his face down on the desk in despair. He sure did have a lot of confidence.

“You… cheated, didn’t you?”

Dazai stares at me, his gaze as sticky as mud. I tilt my head.

“Cheated?”

“I noticed it halfway. That’s a skill. You used some kind of skills to foresee how the games will unfold. I let my guard down at first because I thought skills wouldn’t work on me. But if you have used your skill not on me, but on the place itself, then that would explain that disgusting foreseeing of yours.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hide it.” I speak as I sort out the cards.

My skill allows me to look into the very near future. Not less than 5 seconds, not more than 6 seconds from the present. That’s why I am able to see everything, from the next development of the game, the next stake to be made, to the next card that will come out. On extremely rare occasions, during months when I am in a tight spot for money, I will go to the casino and use this skill of mine to grab some easy money and go home.

“It sure was not fair.” I honestly admit. “Just like you, I have never lost in this kind of gambling before. Let’s void this game. From the beginning, I just wanted to help you kill time.”

“We can’t void it!” Dazai looks at me with protesting eyes. “We can’t even if we want to! If what we bet on was money, you would just need to return it to me in full. But I gave you information! You know that you don’t lose information even if you return it, right? What else can you do? Can you completely forget everything that you have heard and seen at will?”

“If that is the only way, then I will try.”

“Hahhhh???” Dazai looks so tired. “Your jokes are not funny. After all, you are always saying them with a straight face. Somehow I can’t take them as jokes at all.”

I tilt my head. “I didn’t mean to make a joke though…”

“’kay kay.” Dazai turns to the side with a sulky face. “Argg damn it, Mori-san will scold me for leaking so many organization’s information.”

I give it some thoughts then ask, “Who is that… Mori-san?”

Dazai looks astonished. “You really… forgot it?”

…..

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truskawavx · 4 months

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (1)

I translated the first few pages of the new Dazai novel, which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. It is not a summary, but a full translation of the first few pages of novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

A bloody corpse of a young man is lying on my front porch.

I look down at the corpse, then at the front of the house. It is a quiet morning. The apartment across the street is casting a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The trumpet vines planted in the hedge are rustling in the breeze, and whispering to each other in a way that human cannot decipher. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the sound of the long-distance trucks scraping against the road surface. And there is a corpse in the middle of the stairs in front of me.

In any case, to our eyes, a corpse is always a strangely exaggerated presence. But this time it is different. This corpse blends in with the landscape, becoming one with the everyday peaceful morning scenery. After a while, I realize the reason. The corpse’s chest is moving up and down faintly. It is not a corpse, it is alive.

I look at the young man. He is all black. A high-collar black cloak, a three-piece suit, a black tie. The things that are not black are his button-down shirt, and the bandages around his head. This one is a mottled color of white and red. This color pattern reminds me of some ominous Chinese prophetic characters. The place he is lying, is the middle of the stairs that leads to the front porch. The blood stains continuing down the cracked concrete stairs looks like he has been crawling.

Question. What should I do with this nearly-corpse in front of my eyes?

The answer is simple. If I touch him with the tip of my toes and put some weight on him, he will just roll down to the ground below. If I do so, then he will not be on my premise anymore. He will be on a public road. The country’s territory. All those who are in trouble within the territory of the country should be saved by the mercy of the country. An ordinary postman like me should go home and have breakfast.

I am not doing that because I am a cold and heartless person. I am doing that because it is a survival necessity. The young man’s wounds are clearly from gunshots. He has been shot multiple times. There are probably more holes in his body than I can see from here. And to top it all off, he is holding a bunch of new notes in his left hand.

What can this mean? Nothing. It means nothing, except that his existence is a huge trouble, and that nothing good will come out of getting involved with him. In other words, he is clearly not someone that an average citizen should get involved with. A normal person in his right mind should have fled to the next city at the sight of him. Just like Jonah in the Bible would do the second time he runs into a giant fish in a stormy sea.

I look at the young man, at the road, and the sky, and at him again.

And then I start to act. First, I approach the guy and lift him up by his sides. Then I drag him by his heels into the house and lay him down on the wall-mounted bed. He is much lighter than he looks. Carrying him alone is not that much of a trouble. I check his wounds. There are many deep wounds, and the bleeding is not usual, but if he receives immediate proper treatment, it is not like he will die.

I take out my medical kit box from the back of the closet, and give him some simple first aid treatments. I put a towel under his upper body, cut his clothes with a pair of scissors to expose the wounds, and check if there is any bullet left inside. In order to stop the blood flow, I apply pressure on the pressure points: below the armpits, inner elbows, ankles, backs of knees, and tie them tightly with a clean cloth. Then I put disinfected tourniquets to the wounds to stop the bleeding. Fortunately for him, I can do this kind of first aid even with my eyes closed.

After I am done with the treatments, I look down at the young man and cross my arms. His breathing has stabilized. His respiratory system and bones seem to be intact. But he does not seem to be waking up. “It’s fine already, just kick him out.” I can hear the voice in my head. There is nothing more stupid than treating a suspicious guy like this. I guess I should listen to that voice. That is what a wise man would do.

Before following the angel’s advice, I take another look at the young man. I don’t recognize his face. Probably not someone I know. I say probably, because the bandages covering half of his face makes it almost impossible to make out his features. But he is much younger than what I first thought. He is probably young enough to pass as a “boy”.

Then I remember the wad of cash he was holding. He is still holding them. If it is actually as much as it looks, it must be a fortune for someone with a miserably cheap wage like me. In this situation, it should be okay to have some of them gently transferred to my pocket as a thank for saving his life, right? Thinking so, I pick up the wad of notes. And now I finally realize that I am the biggest idiot in this town.

I feel a bitter taste spreading inside my mouth.

That is an unused bundle of notes. There is some blood on them, but the paper strap, the proof that they are new, is there. There is no bank’s name printed on the strap. There is no printing of any kind. And the notes are neatly lined up by serial numbers in ascending order.

I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach.

There are two possibilities that I can think of. First, this bundle of notes has been taken out of the Reserve Bank of Japan Mint, before it hits the market. That would mean this man is a plague. There is no chance that an ordinary person could get his hands on such a thing. The notes printed at Japan Mint are first sent to the Ministry of Finance, where their serial numbers are scanned to become usable notes. Then they will be sent in cash transport vehicles to branches of the Reserve Bank. From there, they continue to be subdivided and distributed to city banks. At that point, the straps will be switched with those of the city banks.

However, there is no printing on his trap at all. The only way to be able to carry out a wad of notes in that state is to steal it from the Reserve Bank. The most likely way is to attack a cash transport car. Could it be that he just returned from a raid like that?

But if so, I will just stroke my chest in relief, and go back to making coffee in my kitchen. The cash car robbers are violent guys, but only violent. Violence alone cannot make a storm.

There is another possibility.

These are counterfeit notes. I take out a magnifying glass from the back of the room, and carefully examine the wad of notes in my hand. I become completely chilled that my fingers are tingling. I try comparing them with the notes in my own wallet. I can’t tell the difference at all.

A supernote.

I feel dizzy.

If that is the case, the thing in my hand right now has become as dangerous as a small nuclear warhead. Counterfeit currency is a tool of warfare that has been used way before bows and arrows. If one can bring an amount of well-made false currency into an enemy country, the value of that currency will drop due to the increase amount of money in circulation, leading to inflation. A country is, in a sense, its own currency. By skillfully fueling distrust in a country’s currency, it is possible to destroy the economy and bring down a whole nation. For that reason, the National Security Agency is always on the lookout for counterfeit notes. If this level of a note is to be brought into the market, it would not be the city police’s business. It is much higher. The National Security Agency, or the Military.

I put the wad of notes on my desk as if I am throwing them away. I don’t want to leave my fingerprints on them anymore. I head to the phone. If I report the incident right away, I might be able to argue for some extenuating circumstances with the authorities. There is no time to waste.

When I pick up the receiver, I hear a faint voice. It isn’t coming from the phone.

“Put the phone down.”

I turn to the direction where the voice came from. Before I knew it, the young man has opened his eyes and is looking at me with those eyes. I look at the receiver and the youth in turn. Then I say, “What if I don’t?”

“I kill you.”

Those words are as mediocre as the unsold leftover packs lining up in a deli, at least to this young man. I can tell from looking at his eyes. When he utters the word “kill”, it is nothing more than an ordinary, everyday word for him. Just like cutting your nails, or going out to buy more cigarettes, those kinds of words.

“How?” I put down the receiver, but I have not returned it to the base station. Then I say, “You’ve got holes all over your body. You can’t move anything. You’re dying everywhere. You don’t even have a gun. To kill me in that condition, it would take two hundred of you.”

“I don’t need that much.” He says with a chilled voice. “I’m Port Mafia.”

Those words only are enough.

“Port Mafia”, I carefully choose my words before saying “Then I have no choice but to obey.” Then I take my time and quietly put the receiver down.

“That’s good,” he chuckles.

If he really is from Port Mafia, I would have to be careful even about lifting or lowering a spoon in front of him. When the opponent is the Port Mafia, the synonym of darkness and violence, even if I report this and manage to escape today, there is no telling what will come later. A human being has a total of about two hundred bones. But it would not be strange if I will be shredded into just as many pieces of flesh.

I stare at him for about three seconds. Then I go to the kitchen. I keep the door open so that I can watch him from there. I start making coffee in the kitchen. I put the kettle on the fire and wet the rod with some water. I add the coffee powder, and pour boiling water in.

“If I’m not allowed to call the police, what about the doctors?” I say, keeping my eyes on the water.

“What I’ve done is just emergency first aids at best. If you don’t get checked by a proper doctor, you will die soon.”

“No need to worry.” The young man speaks with a slightly stretched out voice. “This much is no big deal. I’m used to injuries.”

“Is that so? Then I will obey.” I stir the coffee and set a timer. “In any case, there is no way a normal postman like me can go against the Port Mafia demons.”

“Being obedient is good. So next…”

Suddenly, the young man starts coughing and vomiting blood. I quickly run up to him and turn his head to the side so that he will not choke on his own blood. I check inside his mouth. I can’t tell where the bleeding is from in this situation. It could be just a cut inside his mouth, or it could be an internal injury. I don’t know.

“Go to the hospital. Get treatments. You are really going to die.” I state.

“It’s perfect then.” he speaks like whispering. “Just let me die like this.”

I feel a chilled wind passing through me.

I look at the young man. He is just staring at the ceiling. No emotions, no intents. Just a flat expression, like one who is just telling his age. I cannot believe my own eyes. I don’t even feel like there is a human there. If it was late night instead of a refreshing early morning, I would think that he was a ghost or a hallucination.

Crazy things keep happening today. My life is about to get screwed up it seems.

“Fine then.” I say. “If you want to die, just die. It’s your own life. I won’t stop you. But I will be in trouble if you die here. If you die here, no one will be able to testify that I am not the one who caused your injuries. I might be arrested.”

“To be arrested, or to be killed by Port Mafia later, which one is better?’

I stare at him while saying, “That’s a hard question.”

I go back to the kitchen, wait for the timer and turn off the fire. I then take out the cream can and ask, “You want some coffee?”

No answer.

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

Still no answer.

“What the heck are those notes in your hand?”

No answer for this one of course.

I feel as if I’m talking to a wind fairy. A character from a picture book who suddenly came to my house on a peaceful morning. Just that he is covered in blood, and he wants to die.

I pour coffee into two cups and add in the cream. I watch the steam, wait for some time and start stirring. Then I notice that I can’t feel the sign of anyone in the next room anymore. I can’t even hear him breathing. No hint of death drifting either.

I poke my head out of the door, the cups still in my hand. The young man is crawling towards the front door. If he could move his legs, he would just walk out. But it looks like he hasn’t got that much strength back, so he just has his arms hooked on the floor and slowly creeping forward. Just like a prisoner escaping from cell in those old war movies.

He notices my gaze, and then as if he has given up, a mocking smile appears on his face.

“You don’t want me to die in this house, do you? Then if I leave, you’ll have nothing to do with it. No need to help me. No need to ponder anything. Just stay there and watch.”

I ask him, still holding the coffee, “Do you want to die that much?”

“Of course I do. I joined the Port Mafia, but there was still nothing.” replies the young man in a voice that sounds like a soul-deprived gasp. “The only thing I want now, is death.”

Then he starts crawling again.

I take a sip of my coffee while watching that. His progress is pathetically slow. I take another sip. He keeps moving without a rest. He has no intent to look back at me anymore.

There is only one thing to do.

“It’s no use to stop me.” The young man seems to notice my movement. He says with his eyes looking forward, “No one can go against the Port Mafia. And no one in the Port Mafia can go against me. In other words, no one can whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!??”

He is pulled backward.

I wrap him with a bed sheet and lift him up. I then twist the two ends to close it. Like a candy wrapping paper. Then I turn him upside down and carry him back.

“It hurts it hurts it hurts! My wounds are opening! What the hell are you doing, you blockhead. You want to be killed?”

“I don’t want to be killed. But I don’t want to let you die either. If you go out in this state, you will definitely die. Just make up a death story without me in it when you get better.”

As it looks like he is going to let out more complaint, I shake the lump of cloth.

“Ouch ouch! Stop it! I hate pains!!”

“Then will you give up?”

“No!”

I try to come up with a way to deal with it and I get one. Let’s tie him to the bed.

I put him down on the bed and open the pack. I bring in a big towel and wrap it around his arms, which are crossed in front of his chest, altogether with his torso. I take the decorative cord from the door way to bind his legs together and tie the ends to the metal fittings of the bed. I raise the pillows, change the blanket into a new one, and open the window to let the fresh air in.

“For the time being, until your wounds have healed, I will have you stay like that.” I look down to the young man and say “Is there anything you want?”

“My nose is itching.” He looks at me resentfully while wriggling his two arms that are no longer free.

“Poor you.” I go back to the coffee in the kitchen.

The young man’s insults are echoing behind my back. But this neighborhood is sparsely populated, so there is no need to worry about disturbing the neighbors. I enjoy my morning coffee.

And so begins the strange and short communal life of me and Dazai together.

...

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