富士の頂角、広重の富士は八十五度、文晁の富士も八十四度くらゐ、けれども、陸軍の実測図によつて東西及南北に断面図を作つてみると、東西縦断は頂角、百二十四度となり、南北は百十七度である。広重、文晁に限らず、たいていの絵の富士は、鋭角である。いただきが、細く、高く、華奢である。北斎にいたつては、その頂角、ほとんど三十度くらゐ、エッフェル鉄塔のやうな富士をさへ描いてゐる。けれども、実際の富士は、鈍角も鈍角、のろくさと拡がり、東西、百二十四度、南北は百十七度、決して、秀抜の、すらと高い山ではない。たとへば私が、印度かどこかの国から、突然、鷲にさらはれ、すとんと日本の沼津あたりの海岸に落されて、ふと、この山を見つけても、そんなに驚嘆しないだらう。ニツポンのフジヤマを、あらかじめ憧れてゐるからこそ、ワンダフルなのであつて、さうでなくて、そのやうな俗な宣伝を、一さい知らず、素朴な、純粋の、うつろな心に、果して、どれだけ訴へ得るか、そのことになると、多少、心細い山である。低い。裾のひろがつてゐる割に、低い。あれくらゐの裾を持つてゐる山ならば、少くとも、もう一・五倍、高くなければいけない。
The apex angle of Fuji: Hiroshige's Fuji is eighty-five degrees, Buncho's about eighty-four; but if you take the army's survey maps and draw cross-sections east-west and north-south, the east-west section gives an apex of one hundred and twenty-four degrees, the north-south one hundred and seventeen. It is not only Hiroshige and Buncho—in most pictures Fuji is an acute angle. The summit is narrow, tall, delicate. Hokusai goes so far as to give it an apex of about thirty degrees; he has even drawn a Fuji like the Eiffel Tower. But the real Fuji is obtuse, thoroughly obtuse, sprawling out at its leisure, one hundred and twenty-four degrees east to west and one hundred and seventeen north to south; it is by no means a soaring, splendidly tall mountain. Suppose that I were suddenly carried off by an eagle from India or some such country and dropped down on the coast somewhere near Numazu in Japan, and happened to catch sight of this mountain: I do not think I would be much astonished. It is because one has been made to long in advance for Japan's Fujiyama that it is wonderful; without that, if one knew nothing at all of such vulgar advertisement and came with a plain, pure, empty heart—how much would it really say to one? On that point it is a mountain one feels a little uncertain about. It is low. For the breadth of its skirts, it is low. A mountain with skirts like that ought to be at least half again as tall.
十国峠から見た富士だけは、高かつた。あれは、よかつた。はじめ、雲のために、いただきが見えず、私は、その裾の勾配から判断して、たぶん、あそこあたりが、いただきであらうと、雲の一点にしるしをつけて、そのうちに、雲が切れて、見ると、ちがつた。私が、あらかじめ印をつけて置いたところより、その倍も高いところに、青い頂きが、すつと見えた。おどろいた、といふよりも私は、へんにくすぐつたく、げらげら笑つた。やつてゐやがる、と思つた。人は、完全のたのもしさに接すると、まづ、だらしなくげらげら笑ふものらしい。全身のネヂが、他愛なくゆるんで、之はをかしな言ひかたであるが、帯紐といて笑ふといつたやうな感じである。諸君が、もし恋人と逢つて、逢つたとたんに、恋人がげらげら笑ひ出したら、慶祝である。必ず、恋人の非礼をとがめてはならぬ。恋人は、君に逢つて、君の完全のたのもしさを、全身に浴びてゐるのだ。
The Fuji I saw from Jukkoku Pass was the one exception: that was tall. That one was good. At first the summit was hidden by cloud, and judging from the slope of the skirts I marked a point in the cloud where the top must be; then the cloud broke, and I looked, and I was wrong. Twice as high as the point I had marked, a blue peak stood clear. Rather than astonished, I felt oddly tickled, and laughed out loud. Well, well, I thought—it is really doing it. It seems that when people meet with something perfectly dependable, the first thing they do is laugh out loud, foolishly. Every screw in the body works loose; it is a strange way to put it, but it is like laughing with your sash untied. If you meet your sweetheart and your sweetheart bursts out laughing the moment she sees you, gentlemen, be glad. On no account reproach her for rudeness. Your sweetheart has met you and is being bathed, from head to foot, in how perfectly dependable you are.
東京の、アパートの窓から見る富士は、くるしい。冬には、はつきり、よく見える。小さい、真白い三角が、地平線にちよこんと出てゐて、それが富士だ。なんのことはない、クリスマスの飾り菓子である。しかも左のはうに、肩が傾いて心細く、船尾のはうからだんだん沈没しかけてゆく軍艦の姿に似てゐる。三年まへの冬、私は或る人から、意外の事実を打ち明けられ、途方に暮れた。その夜、アパートの一室で、ひとりで、がぶがぶ酒のんだ。一睡もせず、酒のんだ。あかつき、小用に立つて、アパートの便所の金網張られた四角い窓から、富士が見えた。小さく、真白で、左のはうにちよつと傾いて、あの富士を忘れない。窓の下のアスファルト路を、さかなやの自転車が疾駆し、おう、けさは、やけに富士がはつきり見えるぢやねえか、めつぽふ寒いや、など呟きのこして、私は、暗い便所の中に立ちつくし、窓の金網撫でながら、じめじめ泣いて、あんな思ひは、二度と繰りかへしたくない。
The Fuji you see from an apartment window in Tokyo is painful. In winter it shows up clearly. A small, pure-white triangle perched on the horizon—that is Fuji. It is nothing at all; it is a Christmas cake decoration. And its shoulder tilts to the left, forlornly, like a warship going down slowly by the stern. Three winters ago, a certain person told me something I had not expected, and I was at a loss. That night, alone in a room in the apartment building, I drank myself sodden. I drank without sleeping a wink. At dawn I got up to relieve myself, and through the square, wire-screened window of the building's lavatory I saw Fuji. Small, pure white, leaning a little to the left—I have not forgotten that Fuji. On the asphalt road below the window a fishmonger's bicycle went tearing past, leaving behind the muttered words, well now, Fuji's showing up sharp this morning, isn't it, and cold as anything—and I went on standing there in the dark lavatory, stroking the wire screen and weeping in a dank, dripping way. I never want to go through anything like that again.
昭和十三年の初秋、思ひをあらたにする覚悟で、私は、かばんひとつさげて旅に出た。
In the early autumn of 1938, meaning to begin again in a new frame of mind, I set out on a journey with one bag.
甲州。ここの山々の特徴は、山々の起伏の線の、へんに虚しい、なだらかさに在る。小島烏水といふ人の日本山水論にも、「山の拗ね者は多く、此土に仙遊するが如し。」と在つた。甲州の山々は、あるひは山の、げてものなのかも知れない。私は、甲府市からバスにゆられて一時間。御坂峠へたどりつく。
Koshu. What is peculiar to the mountains here is the strangely empty gentleness of the lines in which they rise and fall. In Nihon Sansui-ron, a book on Japanese landscape by a man named Kojima Usui there was this: "The sulky ones among mountains are many, and they seem to take their immortal ease in this land." Perhaps the mountains of Koshu are the freaks of the mountain world. From Kofu it was an hour of being jolted about in a bus. I arrived at Misaka Pass.
御坂峠、海抜千三百米。この峠の頂上に、天下茶屋といふ、小さい茶店があつて、井伏鱒二氏が初夏のころから、ここの二階に、こもつて仕事をして居られる。私は、それを知つてここへ来た。井伏氏のお仕事の邪魔にならないやうなら、隣室でも借りて、私も、しばらくそこで仙遊しようと思つてゐた。
Misaka Pass, thirteen hundred meters above sea level. At the top of this pass there is a small teahouse called the Tenka Chaya, and Ibuse Masuji had been shut up on its second floor since early summer, working. It was because I knew this that I came here. If I would not be disturbing Mr. Ibuse's work, I thought I would borrow the next room and take my own immortal ease there for a while.
井伏氏は、仕事をして居られた。私は、井伏氏のゆるしを得て、当分その茶屋に落ちつくことになつて、それから、毎日、いやでも富士と真正面から、向き合つてゐなければならなくなつた。この峠は、甲府から東海道に出る鎌倉往還の衝に当つてゐて、北面富士の代表観望台であると言はれ、ここから見た富士は、むかしから富士三景の一つにかぞへられてゐるのださうであるが、私は、あまり好かなかつた。好かないばかりか、軽蔑さへした。あまりに、おあつらひむきの富士である。まんなかに富士があつて、その下に河口湖が白く寒々とひろがり、近景の山々がその両袖にひつそり蹲つて湖を抱きかかへるやうにしてゐる。私は、ひとめ見て、狼狽し、顔を赤らめた。これは、まるで、風呂屋のペンキ画だ。芝居の書割だ。どうにも註文どほりの景色で、私は、恥づかしくてならなかつた。
Mr. Ibuse was working. Having his permission, I settled in at the teahouse for the time being, and from then on I had no choice but to face Fuji head-on, every day. This pass lies on the Kamakura highway that runs from Kofu out to the Tokaido, and it is said to be the representative viewing platform for Fuji from the north; the Fuji seen from here has been counted from of old as one of the three great views of Fuji. I did not much care for it. Not only did I not care for it—I even despised it. It is far too made to order. Fuji in the middle, Lake Kawaguchi spreading white and chilly below it, and the near mountains crouching quietly on either side like arms gathering the lake in. At the first sight of it I was flustered and my face went red. This is a painted panel in a public bath. It is stage scenery. The scene answered the order so exactly that I could not bear the shame of it.
私が、その峠の茶屋へ来て二、三日経つて、井伏氏の仕事も一段落ついて、或る晴れた午後、私たちは三ツ峠へのぼつた。三ツ峠、海抜千七百米。御坂峠より、少し高い。急坂を這ふやうにしてよぢ登り、一時間ほどにして三ツ峠頂上に達する。蔦かづら掻きわけて、細い山路、這ふやうにしてよぢ登る私の姿は、決して見よいものではなかつた。井伏氏は、ちやんと登山服着て居られて、軽快の姿であつたが、私には登山服の持ち合せがなく、ドテラ姿であつた。茶屋のドテラは短く、私の毛臑は、一尺以上も露出して、しかもそれに茶屋の老爺から借りたゴム底の地下足袋をはいたので、われながらむさ苦しく、少し工夫して、角帯をしめ、茶屋の壁にかかつてゐた古い麦藁帽をかぶつてみたのであるが、いよいよ変で、井伏氏は、人のなりふりを決して軽蔑しない人であるが、このときだけは流石に少し、気の毒さうな顔をして、男は、しかし、身なりなんか気にしないはうがいい、と小声で呟いて私をいたはつてくれたのを、私は忘れない。とかくして頂上についたのであるが、急に濃い霧が吹き流れて来て、頂上のパノラマ台といふ、断崖の縁に立つてみても、いつかうに眺望がきかない。何も見えない。井伏氏は、濃い霧の底、岩に腰をおろし、ゆつくり煙草を吸ひながら、放屁なされた。いかにも、つまらなさうであつた。パノラマ台には、茶店が三軒ならんで立つてゐる。そのうちの一軒、老爺と老婆と二人きりで経営してゐるじみな一軒を選んで、そこで熱い茶を呑んだ。茶店の老婆は気の毒がり、ほんたうに生憎の霧で、もう少し経つたら霧もはれると思ひますが、富士は、ほんのすぐそこに、くつきり見えます、と言ひ、茶店の奥から富士の大きい写真を持ち出し、崖の端に立つてその写真を両手で高く掲示して、ちやうどこの辺に、このとほりに、こんなに大きく、こんなにはつきり、このとほりに見えます、と懸命に註釈するのである。私たちは、番茶をすすりながら、その富士を眺めて、笑つた。いい富士を見た。霧の深いのを、残念にも思はなかつた。
Two or three days after I had come to the teahouse at the pass, Mr. Ibuse reached a break in his work, and one clear afternoon we climbed Mitsu Pass. Mitsu Pass, seventeen hundred meters. A little higher than Misaka. We hauled ourselves up the steep slope almost on all fours, and in about an hour reached the summit. Pushing aside the ivy and creepers on the narrow mountain path, hauling myself up on all fours, I made no pretty figure. Mr. Ibuse was properly dressed in climbing clothes and looked brisk, but I had no climbing clothes with me and was in a padded dotera. The teahouse dotera was short, and more than a foot of my hairy shins was exposed; on top of that I had on a pair of rubber-soled jikatabi borrowed from the old man at the teahouse, so that even to me I looked squalid. I made some effort at contrivance—tied on a stiff sash, put on an old straw hat that was hanging on the teahouse wall—but that made it stranger still, and Mr. Ibuse, who never despises anyone's appearance, did for once look a little sorry for me, and murmured under his breath, all the same, a man does better not to fret about how he looks. I have not forgotten that he consoled me so. In this fashion we reached the top, but a thick mist suddenly came drifting across, and when we stood at the edge of the cliff at what is called the Panorama Platform there was no view whatever. Nothing could be seen. Mr. Ibuse sat down on a rock at the bottom of the thick mist, smoked his cigarette slowly, and broke wind. He looked thoroughly bored. Three teahouses stand in a row on the Panorama Platform. We chose one of them, a plain one run by nobody but an old man and an old woman, and drank hot tea there. The old woman was sorry for us; the mist really is unlucky, she said, and in a little while I think it will clear, but Fuji is right there, quite distinctly—and she fetched out from the back of the shop a large photograph of Fuji, stood at the edge of the cliff and held it up high in both hands: just about here, exactly like this, this big, this clear, exactly like this is how it looks—she explained in desperate earnest. Sipping our coarse tea, we looked at that Fuji and laughed. It was a fine Fuji. We did not even regret how thick the mist was.
その翌々日であつたらうか、井伏氏は、御坂峠を引きあげることになつて、私も甲府までおともした。甲府で私は、或る娘さんと見合ひすることになつてゐた。井伏氏に連れられて甲府のまちはづれの、その娘さんのお家へお伺ひした。井伏氏は、無雑作な登山服姿である。私は、角帯に、夏羽織を着てゐた。娘さんの家のお庭には、薔薇がたくさん植ゑられてゐた。母堂に迎へられて客間に通され、挨拶して、そのうちに娘さんも出て来て、私は、娘さんの顔を見なかつた。井伏氏と母堂とは、おとな同士の、よもやまの話をして、ふと、井伏氏が、
It must have been the day after next that Mr. Ibuse decided to leave Misaka Pass, and I accompanied him as far as Kofu. In Kofu I was to be introduced to a certain young woman with a view to marriage. Led by Mr. Ibuse, I called at her house on the edge of Kofu. Mr. Ibuse was in his climbing clothes, without ceremony. I wore a stiff sash and a summer haori. Many roses had been planted in the garden of the young woman's house. Her mother met us and showed us into the parlor, and we made our greetings, and presently the young woman came out too, and I did not look at her face. Mr. Ibuse and her mother made grown-up conversation about this and that, and then suddenly Mr. Ibuse said,
「おや、富士。」と呟いて、私の背後の長押を見あげた。私も、からだを捻ぢ曲げて、うしろの長押を見上げた。富士山頂大噴火口の鳥瞰写真が、額縁にいれられて、かけられてゐた。まつしろい睡蓮の花に似てゐた。私は、それを見とどけ、また、ゆつくりからだを捻ぢ戻すとき、娘さんを、ちらと見た。きめた。多少の困難があつても、このひとと結婚したいものだと思つた。あの富士は、ありがたかつた。
"Ah—Fuji," and looked up at the lintel behind me. I twisted round too, and looked up at the lintel behind me. A bird's-eye photograph of the great crater at the summit of Fuji had been framed and hung there. It was like a pure white water lily. Having taken it in, as I slowly twisted myself back I caught a glimpse of the young woman. I decided. Whatever difficulties there might be, I wanted to marry this person. I was grateful to that Fuji.
井伏氏は、その日に帰京なされ、私は、ふたたび御坂にひきかへした。それから、九月、十月、十一月の十五日まで、御坂の茶屋の二階で、少しづつ、少しづつ、仕事をすすめ、あまり好かないこの「富士三景の一つ」と、へたばるほど対談した。
Mr. Ibuse went back to Tokyo that day, and I returned once more to Misaka. From then on, through September and October and up to the fifteenth of November, I pushed my work along on the second floor of the teahouse at Misaka, a little at a time, a little at a time, and held conversation, to the point of exhaustion, with this "one of the three great views of Fuji" that I did not much care for.
いちど、大笑ひしたことがあつた。大学の講師か何かやつてゐる浪漫派の一友人が、ハイキングの途中、私の宿に立ち寄つて、そのときに、ふたり二階の廊下に出て、富士を見ながら、
Once I laughed aloud. A friend of the Romantic school who lectures at a university or something looked in at my lodging in the middle of a hiking trip, and the two of us went out into the second-floor corridor and looked at Fuji.
「どうも俗だねえ。お富士さん、といふ感じぢやないか。」
"It really is vulgar, isn't it. It has the air of our dear Fuji-san, doesn't it."
「見てゐるはうで、かへつて、てれるね。」
"It's the one looking at it who feels embarrassed."
などと生意気なこと言つて、煙草をふかし、そのうちに、友人は、ふと、
—and having said such impudent things and smoked our cigarettes, my friend suddenly said,
「おや、あの僧形のものは、なんだね？」と顎でしやくつた。
"Now, what is that thing in priest's dress?" and jerked his chin at it.
墨染の破れたころもを身にまとひ、長い杖を引きずり、富士を振り仰ぎ振り仰ぎ、峠をのぼつて来る五十歳くらゐの小男がある。
There was a small man of about fifty, wrapped in a torn ink-dyed robe, dragging a long staff, coming up the pass and looking up at Fuji, and up again.
「富士見西行、といつたところだね。かたちが、できてる。」私は、その僧をなつかしく思つた。「いづれ、名のある聖僧かも知れないね。」
"Something like Saigyo gazing at Fuji. He has the form of it." I felt a fondness for the priest. "He may well be some holy man of name."
「ばか言ふなよ、乞食だよ。」友人は、冷淡だつた。
"Don't talk nonsense. He's a beggar." My friend was cold about it.
「いや、いや。脱俗してゐるところがあるよ。歩きかたなんか、なかなか、できてるぢやないか。むかし、能因法師が、この峠で富士をほめた歌を作つたさうだが、――」
"No, no. There is something unworldly about him. Look at the way he walks—it's very well done, isn't it? Long ago the priest Noin is supposed to have made a poem here at this pass in praise of Fuji—"
私が言つてゐるうちに友人は、笑ひ出した。
While I was still speaking, my friend burst out laughing.
「おい、見給へ。できてないよ。」
"Look at him. He hasn't got the form at all."
能因法師は、茶店のハチといふ飼犬に吠えられて、周章狼狽であつた。その有様は、いやになるほど、みつともなかつた。
The priest Noin was being barked at by the teahouse dog, Hachi, and was in an utter panic. The sight of it was unsightly enough to sicken you.
「だめだねえ。やつぱり。」私は、がつかりした。
"He's no good after all." I was disappointed.
乞食の狼狽は、むしろ、あさましいほどに右往左往、つひには杖をかなぐり捨て、取り乱し、取り乱し、いまはかなはずと退散した。実に、それは、できてなかつた。富士も俗なら、法師も俗だ、といふことになつて、いま思ひ出しても、ばかばかしい。
The beggar's panic was rather so abject as to be shameful—running this way and that, until at last he flung away his staff, and in complete disorder, in complete disorder, gave it up as hopeless and fled. It really was not done well at all. Fuji is vulgar and the priest is vulgar too, was the conclusion; even now the memory of it is absurd.
新田といふ二十五歳の温厚な青年が、峠を降りきつた岳麓の吉田といふ細長い町の、郵便局につとめてゐて、そのひとが、郵便物に依つて、私がここに来てゐることを知つた、と言つて、峠の茶屋をたづねて来た。二階の私の部屋で、しばらく話をして、やうやく馴れて来たころ、新田は笑ひながら、実は、もう二、三人、僕の仲間がありまして、皆で一緒にお邪魔にあがるつもりだつたのですが、いざとなると、どうも皆、しりごみしまして、太宰さんは、ひどいデカダンで、それに、性格破産者だ、と佐藤春夫先生の小説に書いてございましたし、まさか、こんなまじめな、ちやんとしたお方だとは、思ひませんでしたから、僕も、無理に皆を連れて来るわけには、いきませんでした。こんどは、皆を連れて来ます。かまひませんでせうか。
A mild young man of twenty-five named Nitta, who worked at the post office in a long, narrow town called Yoshida at the foot of the mountain, at the bottom of the pass, came to the teahouse at the pass, saying that he had learned from the mail that I was staying here. He talked with me for a while in my room on the second floor, and when he had finally grown used to me, Nitta said with a laugh: the truth is that there are two or three others of my group, and we had all meant to come and trouble you together, but when it came to it they all hung back—it says in Sato Haruo's novel that Mr. Dazai is a terrible decadent and a bankrupt character besides, and I never imagined you would be such a serious, respectable person, so I could not very well drag them all here. Next time I will bring them all. Would that be all right?
「それは、かまひませんけれど。」私は、苦笑してゐた。「それでは、君は、必死の勇をふるつて、君の仲間を代表して僕を偵察に来たわけですね。」
"That would be quite all right." I was smiling wryly. "So you screwed up your desperate courage and came to reconnoiter me on behalf of your group."
「決死隊でした。」新田は、率直だつた。「ゆうべも、佐藤先生のあの小説を、もういちど繰りかへして読んで、いろいろ覚悟をきめて来ました。」
"It was a suicide squad." Nitta was frank about it. "Last night I read that novel of Mr. Sato's through once more, and came having made up my mind about all sorts of things."
私は、部屋の硝子戸越しに、富士を見てゐた。富士は、のつそり黙つて立つてゐた。偉いなあ、と思つた。
I was looking at Fuji through the glass doors of the room. Fuji stood there, massive and silent. Splendid, I thought.
「いいねえ。富士は、やつぱり、いいとこあるねえ。よくやつてるなあ。」富士には、かなはないと思つた。念々と動く自分の愛憎が恥づかしく、富士は、やつぱり偉い、と思つた。よくやつてる、と思つた。
"It's fine, isn't it. Fuji does have its good points after all. It's doing well." Fuji, I thought, is more than a match for me. Ashamed of my own affections and dislikes, shifting from moment to moment, I thought: Fuji really is splendid. It is doing well.
「よくやつてゐますか。」新田には、私の言葉がをかしかつたらしく、聡明に笑つてゐた。
"Is it doing well?" My words seemed to strike Nitta as funny, and he laughed intelligently.
新田は、それから、いろいろな青年を連れて来た。皆、静かなひとである。皆は、私を、先生、と呼んだ。私はまじめにそれを受けた。私には、誇るべき何もない。学問もない。才能もない。肉体よごれて、心もまづしい。けれども、苦悩だけは、その青年たちに、先生、と言はれて、だまつてそれを受けていいくらゐの、苦悩は、経て来た。たつたそれだけ。藁一すぢの自負である。けれども、私は、この自負だけは、はつきり持つてゐたいと思つてゐる。わがままな駄々つ子のやうに言はれて来た私の、裏の苦悩を、一たい幾人知つてゐたらう。新田と、それから田辺といふ短歌の上手な青年と、二人は、井伏氏の読者であつて、その安心もあつて、私は、この二人と一ばん仲良くなつた。いちど吉田に連れていつてもらつた。おそろしく細長い町であつた。岳麓の感じがあつた。富士に、日も、風もさへぎられて、ひよろひよろに伸びた茎のやうで、暗く、うすら寒い感じの町であつた。道路に沿つて清水が流れてゐる。これは、岳麓の町の特徴らしく、三島でも、こんな工合ひに、町ぢゆうを清水が、どんどん流れてゐる。富士の雪が溶けて流れて来るのだ、とその地方の人たちが、まじめに信じてゐる。吉田の水は、三島の水に較べると、水量も不足だし、汚い。水を眺めながら、私は、話した。
After that Nitta brought all sorts of young men. All of them quiet people. They called me Sensei. I accepted it seriously. I have nothing to be proud of. I have no learning. I have no talent. My body is soiled and my heart is poor. But in suffering alone I have been through enough that I may accept being called Sensei by those young men and say nothing. That, and only that. It is a self-regard as thin as a single straw. Still, this much self-regard I want to hold clearly. How many people, I wonder, knew the suffering behind the man who has been talked of as a spoiled, willful child? Nitta, and a young man named Tanabe who was good at tanka—these two were readers of Mr. Ibuse, and with that reassurance as well I became closest to the two of them. Once they took me to Yoshida. It was a terribly long, narrow town. It had the feel of a place at the mountain's foot. With both the sun and the wind cut off by Fuji, it was like a stem that has grown up spindly, a dark, chilly-feeling town. Clear water runs along the roads. This seems to be a feature of towns at the foot of the mountain; in Mishima too the clear water runs briskly all through the town in this same way. The people of those parts seriously believe that it is Fuji's snow melting and flowing down. Compared with the water of Mishima, the water of Yoshida is both scantier and dirtier. Looking at the water, I talked.
「モウパスサンの小説に、どこかの令嬢が、貴公子のところへ毎晩、河を泳いで逢ひにいつたと書いて在つたが、着物は、どうしたのだらうね。まさか、裸ではなからう。」
"There's a story of Maupassant's where some young lady swims across a river every night to meet a young nobleman—but what did she do about her clothes, I wonder? Surely she wasn't naked."
「さうですね。」青年たちも、考へた。「海水着ぢやないでせうか。」
"That's true." The young men thought about it. "Perhaps a bathing costume?"
「頭の上に着物を載せて、むすびつけて、さうして泳いでいつたのかな？」
"Or did she put the clothes on her head and tie them on, and swim like that?"
青年たちは、笑つた。
The young men laughed.
「それとも、着物のままはひつて、ずぶ濡れの姿で貴公子と逢つて、ふたりでストオヴでかわかしたのかな？ さうすると、かへるときには、どうするだらう。せつかく、かわかした着物を、またずぶ濡れにして、泳がなければいけない。心配だね。貴公子のはうで泳いで来ればいいのに。男なら、猿股一つで泳いでも、そんなにみつともなくないからね。貴公子、鉄鎚だつたのかな？」
"Or did she go in in her clothes, and meet the young nobleman soaking wet, and the two of them dry them at the stove? In that case, what did she do going home? She would have to soak the clothes she had gone to the trouble of drying, and swim again. It's worrying. The young nobleman ought to have swum over himself. A man can swim in nothing but his drawers and it doesn't look so bad. Perhaps the young nobleman couldn't swim at all?"
「いや、令嬢のはうで、たくさん惚れてゐたからだと思ひます。」新田は、まじめだつた。
"No, I think it was because the young lady was much the more in love." Nitta was serious.
「さうかも知れないね。外国の物語の令嬢は、勇敢で、可愛いね。好きだとなつたら、河を泳いでまで逢ひに行くんだからな。日本では、さうはいかない。なんとかいふ芝居があるぢやないか。まんなかに川が流れて、両方の岸で男と姫君とが、愁嘆してゐる芝居が。あんなとき、何も姫君、愁嘆する必要がない。泳いでゆけば、どんなものだらう。芝居で見ると、とても狭い川なんだ。ぢやぶぢやぶ渡つていつたら、どんなもんだらう。あんな愁嘆なんて、意味ないね。同情しないよ。朝顔の大井川は、あれは大水で、それに朝顔は、めくらの身なんだし、あれには多少、同情するが、けれども、あれだつて、泳いで泳げないことはない。大井川の棒杭にしがみついて、天道さまを、うらんでゐたんぢや、意味ないよ。あ、ひとり在るよ。日本にも、勇敢なやつが、ひとり在つたぞ。あいつは、すごい。知つてるかい？」
"That may well be. The young ladies in foreign stories are brave and charming. Once they love someone they'll swim a river to meet them. In Japan it doesn't go like that. Isn't there a play of some sort—with a river running down the middle and a man on one bank and a princess on the other, lamenting? At a time like that there's no need at all for the princess to lament. What if she swam across? When you see it on the stage, it's a very narrow river. What if she just splashed across? Lamenting like that means nothing. I have no sympathy. Asagao's Oi River—that was in flood, and Asagao was blind besides, so I have a certain sympathy there; but even that could have been swum. Clinging to a post in the Oi River and cursing the heavens is meaningless. Ah—there is one. There was one brave one in Japan too. That one is terrific. Do you know?"
「ありますか。」青年たちも、眼を輝かせた。
"Is there one?" The young men's eyes lit up as well.
「清姫。安珍を追ひかけて、日高川を泳いだ。泳ぎまくつた。あいつは、すごい。ものの本によると、清姫は、あのとき十四だつたんだつてね。」
"Kiyohime. She went after Anchin and swam the Hidaka River. She swam it and swam it. That one is terrific. According to the books, Kiyohime was fourteen at the time."
路を歩きながら、ばかな話をして、まちはづれの田辺の知合ひらしい、ひつそり古い宿屋に着いた。
Talking such nonsense as we walked, we came to a quiet old inn on the edge of town where Tanabe seemed to be known.
そこで飲んで、その夜の富士がよかつた。夜の十時ごろ、青年たちは、私ひとりを宿に残して、おのおの家へ帰つていつた。私は、眠れず、どてら姿で、外へ出てみた。おそろしく、明るい月夜だつた。富士が、よかつた。月光を受けて、青く透きとほるやうで、私は、狐に化かされてゐるやうな気がした。富士が、したたるやうに青いのだ。燐が燃えてゐるやうな感じだつた。鬼火。狐火。ほたる。すすき。葛の葉。私は、足のないやうな気持で、夜道を、まつすぐに歩いた。下駄の音だけが、自分のものでないやうに、他の生きもののやうに、からんころんからんころん、とても澄んで響く。そつと、振りむくと、富士がある。青く燃えて空に浮んでゐる。私は溜息をつく。維新の志士。鞍馬天狗。私は、自分を、それだと思つた。ちよつと気取つて、ふところ手して歩いた。ずゐぶん自分が、いい男のやうに思はれた。ずゐぶん歩いた。財布を落した。五十銭銀貨が二十枚くらゐはひつてゐたので、重すぎて、それで懐からするつと脱け落ちたのだらう。私は、不思議に平気だつた。金がなかつたら、御坂まで歩いてかへればいい。そのまま歩いた。ふと、いま来た路を、そのとほりに、もういちど歩けば、財布は在る、といふことに気がついた。懐手のまま、ぶらぶら引きかへした。富士。月夜。維新の志士。財布を落した。興あるロマンスだと思つた。財布は路のまんなかに光つてゐた。在るにきまつてゐる。私は、それを拾つて、宿へ帰つて、寝た。
We drank there, and the Fuji of that night was good. Around ten at night the young men left me alone at the inn and went home to their houses. I could not sleep, and in my dotera I went outside. It was a fearfully bright moonlit night. Fuji was good. Taking the moonlight, it seemed to be transparently blue, and I felt as though I were being bewitched by a fox. Fuji was blue enough to drip. It had the feel of burning phosphorus. Corpse-fire. Fox-fire. Fireflies. Pampas grass. Kudzu leaves. With the feeling of having no feet I walked straight on down the night road. Only the sound of my clogs, as though it were not mine, as though it were another living thing—karan koron, karan koron—rang out very clear. When I looked quietly back, there was Fuji. Burning blue, floating in the sky. I sighed. A loyalist of the Restoration. Kurama Tengu, the masked swordsman. That, I thought, is what I am. Putting on a slight air, I walked with my hands in my breast. I felt very much a fine figure of a man. I walked a long way. I dropped my purse. It had about twenty fifty-sen silver pieces in it, so it was too heavy, and that is no doubt how it slipped out of my breast. Strangely, I did not mind. If I had no money I could walk back to Misaka. I went on walking. Then it occurred to me that if I walked back along the road I had just come, exactly as I had come, the purse would be there. Hands still in my breast, I strolled back the way I had come. Fuji. A moonlit night. A loyalist of the Restoration. I dropped my purse. An interesting romance, I thought. The purse lay shining in the middle of the road. Of course it was there. I picked it up, went back to the inn, and slept.
富士に、化かされたのである。私は、あの夜、阿呆であつた。完全に、無意志であつた。あの夜のことを、いま思ひ出しても、へんに、だるい。
I had been bewitched by Fuji. That night I was a fool. I was completely without will. Even now, remembering that night makes me feel strangely listless.
吉田に一泊して、あくる日、御坂へ帰つて来たら、茶店のおかみさんは、にやにや笑つて、十五の娘さんは、つんとしてゐた。私は、不潔なことをして来たのではないといふことを、それとなく知らせたく、きのふ一日の行動を、聞かれもしないのに、ひとりでこまかに言ひたてた。泊つた宿屋の名前、吉田のお酒の味、月夜富士、財布を落したこと、みんな言つた。娘さんも、機嫌が直つた。
Having stayed one night in Yoshida, when I came back to Misaka the next day the mistress of the teahouse was grinning, and the fifteen-year-old girl was sulking. Wanting to let them know indirectly that I had not been up to anything unclean, I recited the whole of the previous day's doings in detail, on my own, without being asked. The name of the inn where I had stayed, the taste of the sake in Yoshida, moonlit Fuji, dropping my purse—I told them all of it. The girl's temper improved too.
「お客さん！ 起きて見よ！」かん高い声で或る朝、茶店の外で、娘さんが絶叫したので、私は、しぶしぶ起きて、廊下へ出て見た。
"Sir! Get up and look!" one morning the girl shrieked outside the teahouse in a high voice, so that I got up reluctantly and went out into the corridor to look.
娘さんは、興奮して頬をまつかにしてゐた。だまつて空を指さした。見ると、雪。はつと思つた。富士に雪が降つたのだ。山頂が、まつしろに、光りかがやいてゐた。御坂の富士も、ばかにできないぞと思つた。
The girl was excited, her cheeks scarlet. Without a word she pointed at the sky. I looked: snow. It gave me a start. Snow had fallen on Fuji. The summit was pure white, shining and glittering. Even the Fuji of Misaka, I thought, is not to be made light of.
「いいね。」
"It's fine."
とほめてやると、娘さんは得意さうに、
When I praised it so, the girl said proudly,
「すばらしいでせう？」といい言葉使つて、「御坂の富士は、これでも、だめ？」としやがんで言つた。私が、かねがね、こんな富士は俗でだめだ、と教へてゐたので、娘さんは、内心しよげてゐたのかも知れない。
"Isn't it splendid?"—using a fine word—and crouching down, "Is the Fuji of Misaka still no good, even now?" I had been teaching her all along that a Fuji like this was vulgar and no good, so perhaps she had been secretly downcast.
「やはり、富士は、雪が降らなければ、だめなものだ。」もつともらしい顔をして、私は、さう教へなほした。
"Fuji really is no good unless snow has fallen on it, after all." With a solemn face, I revised my teaching so.
私は、どてら着て山を歩きまはつて、月見草の種を両の手のひらに一ぱいとつて来て、それを茶店の背戸に播いてやつて、
I went walking about the mountain in my dotera and came back with both palms full of evening-primrose seed, and sowed it at the back door of the teahouse.
「いいかい、これは僕の月見草だからね、来年また来て見るのだからね、ここへお洗濯の水なんか捨てちやいけないよ。」娘さんは、うなづいた。
"Now then, these are my evening primroses, mind; I'm coming back next year to see them, so you mustn't throw your washing water out here." The girl nodded.
ことさらに、月見草を選んだわけは、富士には月見草がよく似合ふと、思ひ込んだ事情があつたからである。御坂峠のその茶店は、謂はば山中の一軒家であるから、郵便物は、配達されない。峠の頂上から、バスで三十分程ゆられて峠の麓、河口湖畔の、河口村といふ文字通りの寒村にたどり着くのであるが、その河口村の郵便局に、私宛の郵便物が留め置かれて、私は三日に一度くらゐの割で、その郵便物を受け取りに出かけなければならない。天気の良い日を選んで行く。ここのバスの女車掌は、遊覧客のために、格別風景の説明をして呉れない。それでもときどき、思ひ出したやうに、甚だ散文的な口調で、あれが三ツ峠、向ふが河口湖、わかさぎといふ魚がゐます、など、物憂さうな、呟きに似た説明をして聞かせることもある。
The reason I chose evening primroses in particular was that there were circumstances that had convinced me that Fuji—it is the evening primrose that goes with it. That teahouse at Misaka Pass is, so to speak, a lone house in the mountains, so no mail is delivered. From the top of the pass it is about thirty minutes of being jolted by bus down to the foot of the pass, to a village on the shore of Lake Kawaguchi called Kawaguchi Village, a poor village in the literal sense; and my mail was held at the post office of that Kawaguchi Village, so that I had to go down and collect it about once every three days. I chose fine days to go. The bus conductress there gives no particular explanation of the scenery for the sightseers. Even so, now and then, as if remembering to, she would give an explanation in an extremely prosaic tone, like a weary murmur: that is Mitsu Pass, over there is Lake Kawaguchi, there is a fish called wakasagi in it.
河口局から郵便物を受け取り、またバスにゆられて峠の茶屋に引返す途中、私のすぐとなりに、濃い茶色の被布を着た青白い端正の顔の、六十歳くらゐ、私の母とよく似た老婆がしやんと坐つてゐて、女車掌が、思ひ出したやうに、みなさん、けふは富士がよく見えますね、と説明ともつかず、また自分ひとりの咏嘆ともつかぬ言葉を、突然言ひ出して、リュックサックしよつた若いサラリイマンや、大きい日本髪ゆつて、口もとを大事にハンケチでおほひかくし、絹物まとつた芸者風の女など、からだをねぢ曲げ、一せいに車窓から首を出して、いまさらのごとく、その変哲もない三角の山を眺めては、やあ、とか、まあ、とか間抜けた嘆声を発して、車内はひとしきり、ざわめいた。けれども、私のとなりの御隠居は、胸に深い憂悶でもあるのか、他の遊覧客とちがつて、富士には一瞥も与へず、かへつて富士と反対側の、山路に沿つた断崖をじつと見つめて、私にはその様が、からだがしびれるほど快く感ぜられ、私もまた、富士なんか、あんな俗な山、見度くもないといふ、高尚な虚無の心を、その老婆に見せてやりたく思つて、あなたのお苦しみ、わびしさ、みなよくわかる、と頼まれもせぬのに、共鳴の素振りを見せてあげたく、老婆に甘えかかるやうに、そつとすり寄つて、老婆とおなじ姿勢で、ぼんやり崖の方を、眺めてやつた。
On the way back from collecting my mail at the Kawaguchi office, jolting along again in the bus toward the teahouse at the pass, there sat bolt upright next to me an old woman of about sixty in a dark brown hifu coat, with a pale, well-ordered face, very like my mother; and the conductress, as if remembering to, suddenly came out with words that were neither explanation nor quite a private exclamation—everyone, Fuji is showing up well today, isn't it—whereupon a young salaried man with a rucksack, and a woman in the geisha style with her hair done up large and her mouth carefully hidden behind a handkerchief and silk about her, all twisted their bodies and thrust their heads out of the windows in unison, and, gazing as if for the first time at that unremarkable triangular mountain, let out foolish cries of admiration—oh, and my—so that the bus was in an uproar for a while. But my neighbor the old lady, perhaps because she had some deep grief in her breast, unlike the other sightseers gave Fuji not a single glance; on the contrary she gazed fixedly at the cliff along the mountain road, on the side opposite Fuji, and I found the sight of her so agreeable that my body went numb with it; and wanting to show that old woman my own lofty and nihilistic heart, which said that a mountain as vulgar as Fuji was not worth looking at, and wanting, without being asked, to make a show of sympathy that said I understand your suffering and your loneliness perfectly, I edged quietly closer as though presuming on her, and in the same posture as the old woman gazed vacantly at the cliff.
老婆も何かしら、私に安心してゐたところがあつたのだらう、ぼんやりひとこと、
The old woman too must have felt some kind of ease with me, for she said one word absently:
「おや、月見草。」
"Oh—an evening primrose."
さう言つて、細い指でもつて、路傍の一箇所をゆびさした。さつと、バスは過ぎてゆき、私の目には、いま、ちらとひとめ見た黄金色の月見草の花ひとつ、花弁もあざやかに消えず残つた。
Saying so, she pointed with a slender finger at a spot by the roadside. The bus swept past, and in my eyes that one golden evening-primrose flower, glimpsed for an instant, stayed on without fading, its petals vivid.
三七七八米の富士の山と、立派に相対峙し、みぢんもゆるがず、なんと言ふのか、金剛力草とでも言ひたいくらゐ、けなげにすつくと立つてゐたあの月見草は、よかつた。富士には、月見草がよく似合ふ。
Standing up squarely against the three-thousand-seven-hundred-and-seventy-eight-meter mountain of Fuji, not stirring in the least—gallantly upright, so that one wants to give it some name like adamant-strength grass—that evening primrose was good. Fuji—it is the evening primrose that goes with it.
十月のなかば過ぎても、私の仕事は遅々として進まぬ。人が恋しい。夕焼け赤き雁の腹雲、二階の廊下で、ひとり煙草を吸ひながら、わざと富士には目もくれず、それこそ血の滴るやうな真赤な山の紅葉を、凝視してゐた。茶店のまへの落葉を掃きあつめてゐる茶店のおかみさんに、声をかけた。
Even past the middle of October my work went slowly and did not advance. I longed for people. The sunset red on clouds like a wild goose's belly; alone in the second-floor corridor, smoking, deliberately not so much as glancing at Fuji, I stared at the crimson autumn leaves on the mountain, red as though blood were dripping from them. I called out to the mistress of the teahouse, who was sweeping up the fallen leaves in front of the shop.
「をばさん！ あしたは、天気がいいね。」
"Ma'am! Tomorrow's going to be fine, isn't it."
自分でも、びつくりするほど、うはずつて、歓声にも似た声であつた。をばさんは箒の手をやすめ、顔をあげて、不審げに眉をひそめ、
Even to myself it was startling—a strained voice, close to a cheer. The mistress rested her broom, raised her face, and knitted her brows doubtfully.
「あした、何かおありなさるの？」
"Have you something on tomorrow?"
さう聞かれて、私は窮した。
Asked that, I was stuck.
「なにもない。」
"Nothing at all."
おかみさんは笑ひ出した。
The mistress began to laugh.
「おさびしいのでせう。山へでもおのぼりになつたら？」
"You must be lonely. Why don't you climb a mountain or something?"
「山は、のぼつても、すぐまた降りなければいけないのだから、つまらない。どの山へのぼつても、おなじ富士山が見えるだけで、それを思ふと、気が重くなります。」
"Mountains are dull, because once you've climbed them you have to come straight down again. Whichever one you climb, all you see is the same Mount Fuji, and the thought of it weighs on me."
私の言葉が変だつたのだらう。をばさんはただ曖昧にうなづいただけで、また枯葉を掃いた。
My words must have been odd. The mistress only nodded vaguely and went back to sweeping the dead leaves.
ねるまへに、部屋のカーテンをそつとあけて硝子窓越しに富士を見る。月の在る夜は富士が青白く、水の精みたいな姿で立つてゐる。私は溜息をつく。ああ、富士が見える。星が大きい。あしたは、お天気だな、とそれだけが、幽かに生きてゐる喜びで、さうしてまた、そつとカーテンをしめて、そのまま寝るのであるが、あした、天気だからとて、別段この身には、なんといふこともないのに、と思へば、をかしく、ひとりで蒲団の中で苦笑するのだ。くるしいのである。仕事が、――純粋に運筆することの、その苦しさよりも、いや、運筆はかへつて私の楽しみでさへあるのだが、そのことではなく、私の世界観、芸術といふもの、あすの文学といふもの、謂はば、新しさといふもの、私はそれらに就いて、未だ愚図愚図、思ひ悩み、誇張ではなしに、身悶えしてゐた。
Before going to bed I would quietly part the curtain of my room and look at Fuji through the glass. On nights with a moon, Fuji stands pale blue, like a water spirit. I sigh. Ah, I can see Fuji. The stars are large. Tomorrow will be fine—that alone was a faintly living joy, and then I would quietly close the curtain again and go to bed as I was; and thinking that even if tomorrow were fine it made no particular difference to me, it struck me as funny, and I smiled wryly to myself under the quilt. I was suffering. Work—it was not the suffering of the sheer act of moving the pen; no, moving the pen is even a pleasure to me; not that, but my view of the world, the thing called art, the literature of tomorrow, what one might call newness—about all of that I was still dithering and fretting and, without exaggeration, writhing.
素朴な、自然のもの、従つて簡潔な鮮明なもの、そいつをさつと一挙動で掴まへて、そのままに紙にうつしとること、それより他には無いと思ひ、さう思ふときには、眼前の富士の姿も、別な意味をもつて目にうつる。この姿は、この表現は、結局、私の考へてゐる「単一表現」の美しさなのかも知れない、と少し富士に妥協しかけて、けれどもやはりどこかこの富士の、あまりにも棒状の素朴には閉口して居るところもあり、これがいいなら、ほていさまの置物だつていい筈だ、ほていさまの置物は、どうにも我慢できない、あんなもの、とても、いい表現とは思へない、この富士の姿も、やはりどこか間違つてゐる、これは違ふ、と再び思ひまどふのである。
Something plain and natural, and therefore concise and clear: to seize the thing in a single motion and set it down on paper just as it is—there is nothing else, I would think; and when I thought so, the shape of Fuji before my eyes took on a different meaning. This shape, this expression, may in the end be the beauty of what I think of as "single expression"—and I would begin to make a little peace with Fuji; but then again there was something in me that was put out by this Fuji's too rod-like plainness, and if that is good, then a Hotei figurine ought to be good too, and a Hotei figurine I simply cannot bear, that sort of thing I could never think a good expression; so this shape of Fuji must be wrong somewhere too, this is not it—and I would fall to wavering again.
朝に、夕に、富士を見ながら、陰欝な日を送つてゐた。十月の末に、麓の吉田のまちの、遊女の一団体が、御坂峠へ、おそらくは年に一度くらゐの開放の日なのであらう、自動車五台に分乗してやつて来た。私は二階から、その様を見てゐた。自動車からおろされて、色さまざまの遊女たちは、バスケットからぶちまけられた一群の伝書鳩のやうに、はじめは歩く方向を知らず、ただかたまつてうろうろして、沈黙のまま押し合ひ、へし合ひしてゐたが、やがてそろそろ、その異様の緊張がほどけて、てんでにぶらぶら歩きはじめた。茶店の店頭に並べられて在る絵葉書を、おとなしく選んでゐるもの、佇んで富士を眺めてゐるもの、暗く、わびしく、見ちや居れない風景であつた。二階のひとりの男の、いのち惜しまぬ共感も、これら遊女の幸福に関しては、なんの加へるところがない。私は、ただ、見てゐなければならぬのだ。苦しむものは苦しめ。落ちるものは落ちよ。私に関係したことではない。それが世の中だ。さう無理につめたく装ひ、かれらを見下ろしてゐるのだが、私は、かなり苦しかつた。
Morning and evening, looking at Fuji, I passed my gloomy days. At the end of October a party of prostitutes from the town of Yoshida at the foot of the mountain came up to Misaka Pass divided among five cars—it was, no doubt, their one day of release in the year. I watched from the second floor. Handed down out of the cars, the prostitutes in their various colors were like a flock of carrier pigeons tipped out of a basket: at first they did not know which way to walk, and only huddled together and milled about, pushing and jostling in silence; but presently that strange tension slackened and they began to stroll off in ones and twos. Some choosing picture postcards meekly from the rack in front of the teahouse, some standing still and gazing at Fuji—it was a dark, desolate scene, not to be looked at. The sympathy of one man on a second floor, though he grudge not his life for it, adds nothing to the happiness of these prostitutes. I have only to look on. Let those who suffer, suffer. Let those who fall, fall. It is nothing to do with me. That is the world. So I forced a cold air on myself and looked down at them; but I was in a good deal of pain.
富士にたのまう。突然それを思ひついた。おい、こいつらを、よろしく頼むぜ、そんな気持で振り仰げば、寒空のなか、のつそり突つ立つてゐる富士山、そのときの富士はまるで、どてら姿に、ふところ手して傲然とかまへてゐる大親分のやうにさへ見えたのであるが、私は、さう富士に頼んで、大いに安心し、気軽くなつて茶店の六歳の男の子と、ハチといふむく犬を連れ、その遊女の一団を見捨てて、峠のちかくのトンネルの方へ遊びに出掛けた。トンネルの入口のところで、三十歳くらゐの痩せた遊女が、ひとり、何かしらつまらぬ草花を、だまつて摘み集めてゐた。私たちが傍を通つても、ふりむきもせず熱心に草花をつんでゐる。この女のひとのことも、ついでに頼みます、とまた振り仰いで富士にお願ひして置いて、私は子供の手をひき、とつとと、トンネルの中にはひつて行つた。トンネルの冷い地下水を、頬に、首筋に、滴々と受けながら、おれの知つたことぢやない、とわざと大股に歩いてみた。
I will ask Fuji. The thought came to me suddenly. Here—look after this lot, will you. Looking up in that spirit, at Mount Fuji standing massively in the cold sky, Fuji at that moment looked to me for all the world like some great boss in a padded dotera with his hands in his breast, striking an arrogant pose; and having asked Fuji so, I was greatly reassured, and lightened, and taking the teahouse's six-year-old boy and the shaggy dog Hachi, I abandoned that party of prostitutes and went off toward the tunnel near the pass to amuse myself. At the mouth of the tunnel a thin prostitute of about thirty was alone, silently gathering some worthless little wildflowers. Even when we passed beside her she did not turn, but went on picking flowers intently. Look after this woman too, while you are about it—so I looked up and asked of Fuji again, and taking the child by the hand strode briskly into the tunnel. Taking the cold groundwater of the tunnel on my cheek and on the back of my neck, drop by drop, I walked with deliberately long strides: it is nothing to do with me.
そのころ、私の結婚の話も、一頓挫のかたちであつた。私のふるさとからは、全然、助力が来ないといふことが、はつきり判つてきたので、私は困つて了つた。せめて百円くらゐは、助力してもらへるだらうと、虫のいい、ひとりぎめをして、それでもつて、ささやかでも、厳粛な結婚式を挙げ、あとの、世帯を持つに当つての費用は、私の仕事でかせいで、しようと思つてゐた。けれども、二、三の手紙の往復に依り、うちから助力は、全く無いといふことが明らかになつて、私は、途方にくれてゐたのである。このうへは、縁談ことわられても仕方が無い、と覚悟をきめ、とにかく先方へ、事の次第を洗ひざらひ言つて見よう、と私は単身、峠を下り、甲府の娘さんのお家へお伺ひした。さいはひ娘さんも、家にゐた。私は客間に通され、娘さんと母堂と二人を前にして、悉皆の事情を告白した。ときどき演説口調になつて、閉口した。けれども、割に素直に語りつくしたやうに思はれた。娘さんは、落ちついて、
About that time my marriage talks, too, had come to a standstill. It had become clear that no help whatever would come from my family home, and I was at a loss. I had settled it with myself, self-servingly, that they would help me with at least a hundred yen or so, and had meant with that to hold a modest but solemn wedding, and to earn the rest, the cost of setting up house, by my own work. But two or three exchanges of letters made it plain that there would be no help at all from home, and I did not know what to do. There was nothing for it now but to be prepared for the match to be refused; at any rate I would go and tell the other side the whole of it, and so I went down the pass alone and called at the house of the young woman in Kofu. As luck would have it she was at home. I was shown into the parlor, and with the young woman and her mother before me, I confessed the entire situation. Now and then I fell into an oratorical tone, which mortified me. But I think I told it out fairly honestly. The young woman said calmly,
「それで、おうちでは、反対なのでございませうか。」と、首をかしげて私にたづねた。
"And is it that your family is opposed?"—and tilted her head to ask me.
「いいえ、反対といふのではなく、」私は右の手のひらを、そつと卓の上に押し当て、「おまへひとりで、やれ、といふ工合ひらしく思はれます。」
"No, it is not that they are opposed," and I pressed my right palm quietly on the table, "it seems to be more that they are saying, do it by yourself."
「結構でございます。」母堂は、品よく笑ひながら、「私たちも、ごらんのとほりお金持ではございませぬし、ことごとしい式などは、かへつて当惑するやうなもので、ただ、あなたおひとり、愛情と、職業に対する熱意さへ、お持ちならば、それで私たち、結構でございます。」
"That is quite all right." Her mother smiled graciously. "We are not wealthy either, as you can see, and an elaborate ceremony and so on would only be an embarrassment; if you alone have affection, and enthusiasm for your work, that is quite enough for us."
私は、お辞儀するのも忘れて、しばらく呆然と庭を眺めてゐた。眼の熱いのを意識した。この母に、孝行しようと思つた。
Forgetting even to bow, I gazed blankly at the garden for a while. I was conscious of the heat in my eyes. I resolved to be a good son to this mother.
かへりに、娘さんは、バスの発着所まで送つて来て呉れた。歩きながら、
On my way back, the young woman came with me as far as the bus stop. As we walked,
「どうです。もう少し交際してみますか？」
"Well? Shall we go on seeing each other a little longer?"
きざなことを言つたものである。
An affected thing to say.
「いいえ。もう、たくさん。」娘さんは、笑つてゐた。
"No. That is quite enough." The young woman was laughing.
「なにか、質問ありませんか？」いよいよ、ばかである。
"Any questions?" More idiotic still.
「ございます。」
"There is one."
私は何を聞かれても、ありのまま答へようと思つてゐた。
Whatever I was asked, I meant to answer just as it was.
「富士山には、もう雪が降つたでせうか。」
"Has snow fallen on Mount Fuji yet?"
私は、その質問に拍子抜けがした。
The question took the wind out of me.
「降りました。いただきのはうに、――」と言ひかけて、ふと前方を見ると、富士が見える。へんな気がした。
"It has. Toward the summit—" I began, and glancing ahead, there was Fuji in sight. It gave me a strange feeling.
「なあんだ。甲府からでも、富士が見えるぢやないか。ばかにしてゐやがる。」やくざな口調になつてしまつて、「いまのは、愚問です。ばかにしてゐやがる。」
"Well, I never. You can see Fuji from Kofu too. Making a fool of me." My tone turned rough. "That was a stupid question. Making a fool of me."
娘さんは、うつむいて、くすくす笑つて、
The young woman looked down and giggled.
「だつて、御坂峠にいらつしやるのですし、富士のことでもお聞きしなければ、わるいと思つて。」
"But you're staying at Misaka Pass, and I thought it would be wrong of me not to ask you about Fuji at least."
をかしな娘さんだと思つた。
A strange young woman, I thought.
甲府から帰つて来ると、やはり、呼吸ができないくらゐにひどく肩が凝つてゐるのを覚えた。
Coming back from Kofu, I found my shoulders so badly knotted that I could hardly breathe.
「いいねえ、をばさん。やつぱし御坂は、いいよ。自分のうちに帰つて来たやうな気さへするのだ。」
"It's good, ma'am. Misaka really is good after all. I even feel as though I've come home to my own house."
夕食後、おかみさんと、娘さんと、交る交る、私の肩をたたいてくれる。おかみさんの拳は固く、鋭い。娘さんのこぶしは柔かく、あまり効きめがない。もつと強く、もつと強くと私に言はれて、娘さんは薪を持ち出し、それでもつて私の肩をとんとん叩いた。それ程にしてもらはなければ、肩の凝りがとれないほど、私は甲府で緊張し、一心に努めたのである。
After supper the mistress and the girl took turns pounding my shoulders. The mistress's fist is hard and sharp. The girl's fist is soft and has little effect. Told by me to do it harder, harder, the girl fetched a stick of firewood and thumped my shoulders with that. That was how far it had to go before the stiffness would come out—so tense had I been in Kofu, so hard had I tried.
甲府へ行つて来て、二、三日、流石に私はぼんやりして、仕事する気も起らず、机のまへに坐つて、とりとめのない楽書をしながら、バットを七箱も八箱も吸ひ、また寝ころんで、金剛石も磨かずば、といふ唱歌を、繰り返し繰り返し歌つてみたりしてゐるばかりで、小説は、一枚も書きすすめることができなかつた。
For two or three days after going to Kofu I was, as one might expect, vacant; no urge to work came, and sitting at my desk I did nothing but scribble aimlessly, smoking seven or eight packets of Golden Bat, and lie down again and sing over and over the school song about how even a diamond, if it is not polished—and I could not push the novel forward by a single page.
「お客さん。甲府へ行つたら、わるくなつたわね。」
"Sir. You've got worse since you went to Kofu."
朝、私が机に頬杖つき、目をつぶつて、さまざまのことを考へてゐたら、私の背後で、床の間ふきながら、十五の娘さんは、しんからいまいましさうに、多少、とげとげしい口調で、さう言つた。私は、振りむきもせず、
One morning, as I sat with my chin on my hand at the desk and my eyes shut, thinking of one thing and another, the fifteen-year-old girl said this behind me while wiping the alcove, in a tone genuinely vexed and somewhat barbed. Without even turning round,
「さうかね。わるくなつたかね。」
"Is that so. Have I got worse."
娘さんは、拭き掃除の手を休めず、
The girl did not pause in her wiping.
「ああ、わるくなつた。この二、三日、ちつとも勉強すすまないぢやないの。あたしは毎朝、お客さんの書き散らした原稿用紙、番号順にそろへるのが、とつても、たのしい。たくさんお書きになつて居れば、うれしい。ゆうべもあたし、二階へそつと様子を見に来たの、知つてる？ お客さん、ふとん頭からかぶつて、寝てたぢやないか。」
"Yes, you've got worse. These two or three days you haven't got on with your work at all, have you. Every morning I so enjoy putting the manuscript pages you've scattered about back into their number order. When you've written a lot, I'm glad. Did you know I came up quietly last night to see how you were? You had the quilt pulled over your head, and you were asleep."
私は、ありがたい事だと思つた。大袈裟な言ひかたをすれば、これは人間の生き抜く努力に対しての、純粋な声援である。なんの報酬も考へてゐない。私は、娘さんを、美しいと思つた。
I thought it a thing to be grateful for. To put it grandly, this is pure encouragement given to a human being's struggle to live through. It thinks of no reward at all. I thought the girl beautiful.
十月末になると、山の紅葉も黒ずんで、汚くなり、とたんに一夜あらしがあつて、みるみる山は、真黒い冬木立に化してしまつた。遊覧の客も、いまはほとんど、数へるほどしかない。茶店もさびれて、ときたま、おかみさんが、六つになる男の子を連れて、峠のふもとの船津、吉田に買物をしに出かけて行つて、あとには娘さんひとり、遊覧の客もなし、一日中、私と娘さんと、ふたり切り、峠の上で、ひつそり暮すことがある。私が二階で退屈して、外をぶらぶら歩きまはり、茶店の背戸で、お洗濯してゐる娘さんの傍へ近寄り、
By the end of October the autumn leaves on the mountain had darkened and grown dingy, and then in a single night there was a storm, and before one's eyes the mountains changed into a stand of pitch-black winter trees. Sightseers by now were few enough to count. The teahouse too fell quiet, and now and then the mistress would take her six-year-old boy and go down to Funatsu or Yoshida at the foot of the pass to shop, leaving the girl alone; and with no sightseers, there were days when the girl and I, just the two of us, passed the whole day quietly at the top of the pass. Bored on the second floor, I would wander outside and go up beside the girl doing the washing at the back door of the teahouse, and
「退屈だね。」
"It's dull, isn't it,"
と大声で言つて、ふと笑ひかけたら、娘さんはうつむき、私はその顔を覗いてみて、はつと思つた。泣きべそかいてゐるのだ。あきらかに恐怖の情である。さうか、と苦が苦がしく私は、くるりと廻れ右して、落葉しきつめた細い山路を、まつたくいやな気持で、どんどん荒く歩きまはつた。
I said in a loud voice, and was about to smile, when the girl looked down; and peering into her face I caught my breath. She was on the verge of tears. It was plainly fear. I see, I thought bitterly, and turning right about I walked hard and fast along the narrow mountain path spread with fallen leaves, in a thoroughly wretched mood.
それからは、気をつけた。娘さんひとりきりのときには、なるべく二階の室から出ないやうにつとめた。茶店にお客でも来たときには、私がその娘さんを守る意味もあり、のしのし二階から降りていつて、茶店の一隅に腰をおろしゆつくりお茶を飲むのである。いつか花嫁姿のお客が、紋附を着た爺さんふたりに附き添はれて、自動車に乗つてやつて来て、この峠の茶屋でひと休みしたことがある。そのときも、娘さんひとりしか茶店にゐなかつた。私は、やはり二階から降りていつて、隅の椅子に腰をおろし、煙草をふかした。花嫁は裾模様の長い着物を着て、金襴の帯を背負ひ、角隠しつけて、堂々正式の礼装であつた。全く異様のお客様だつたので、娘さんもどうあしらひしていいのかわからず、花嫁さんと、二人の老人にお茶をついでやつただけで、私の背後にひつそり隠れるやうに立つたまま、だまつて花嫁のさまを見てゐた。一生にいちどの晴の日に、――峠の向ふ側から、反対側の船津か、吉田のまちへ嫁入りするのであらうが、その途中、この峠の頂上で一休みして、富士を眺めるといふことは、はたで見てゐても、くすぐつたい程、ロマンチックで、そのうちに花嫁は、そつと茶店から出て、茶店のまへの崖のふちに立ち、ゆつくり富士を眺めた。脚をＸ形に組んで立つてゐて、大胆なポオズであつた。余裕のあるひとだな、となほも花嫁を、富士と花嫁を、私は観賞してゐたのであるが、間もなく花嫁は、富士に向つて、大きな欠伸をした。
After that I was careful. When the girl was alone I tried as far as possible not to leave my room on the second floor. When a customer came to the teahouse, partly to protect the girl, I would come clumping down from upstairs, sit myself in a corner of the shop, and drink my tea at leisure. Once a bride in her wedding clothes came by car, attended by two old men in crested formal dress, and stopped to rest at this teahouse on the pass. That time too there was no one in the shop but the girl. I came down from the second floor as usual, sat in a corner chair, and smoked. The bride wore a long kimono patterned at the hem, with a brocade sash on her back and a bridal hood: full, formal ceremonial dress. It was such an extraordinary sort of customer that the girl had no idea how to deal with her, and having merely poured tea for the bride and the two old men, she stood quietly as if hiding behind me, silently watching the bride. On the one great day of a lifetime—she was no doubt going from the far side of the pass to be married into Funatsu or the town of Yoshida on the other side, and to stop on the way at the summit of this pass for a rest and look at Fuji was, even to a bystander, romantic enough to be ticklish; and presently the bride came quietly out of the teahouse, stood at the edge of the cliff in front of it, and gazed at Fuji at her leisure. She stood with her legs crossed in an X, a bold pose. There's a woman with room to spare, I thought, and went on admiring the bride, Fuji and the bride; and before long the bride, facing Fuji, gave an enormous yawn.
「あら！」
"Oh!"
と背後で、小さい叫びを挙げた。娘さんも、素早くその欠伸を見つけたらしいのである。やがて花嫁の一行は、待たせて置いた自動車に乗り、峠を降りていつたが、あとで花嫁さんは、さんざんだつた。
—a small cry went up behind me. The girl too had evidently been quick to spot that yawn. Presently the bride's party got into the car that had been kept waiting and went down the pass; and afterward the bride came in for a fearful drubbing.
「馴れてゐやがる。あいつは、きつと二度目、いや、三度目くらゐだよ。おむこさんが、峠の下で待つてゐるだらうに、自動車から降りて、富士を眺めるなんて、はじめてのお嫁だつたら、そんな太いこと、できるわけがない。」
"She's used to it. That one's certainly on her second—no, more like her third. With the bridegroom waiting at the bottom of the pass, to get out of the car and gaze at Fuji—a first-time bride could never do anything so brazen."
「欠伸したのよ。」娘さんも、力こめて賛意を表した。「あんな大きい口あけて欠伸して、図々しいのね。お客さん、あんなお嫁さんもらつちや、いけない。」
"She yawned." The girl added her agreement with force. "Opening her mouth that wide and yawning—how shameless. Sir, you mustn't take a bride like that."
私は年甲斐もなく、顔を赤くした。私の結婚の話も、だんだん好転していつて、或る先輩に、すべてお世話になつてしまつた。結婚式も、ほんの身内の二、三のひとにだけ立ち会つてもらつて、まづしくとも厳粛に、その先輩の宅で、していただけるやうになつて、私は人の情に、少年の如く感奮してゐた。
Old as I was, I blushed. My own marriage talks gradually took a turn for the better, and a senior colleague of mine took the whole thing in hand for me. It was arranged that the wedding too would be held at that senior's house, with only two or three of the immediate family present, poor but solemn; and I was moved by people's kindness like a boy.
十一月にはひると、もはや御坂の寒気、堪へがたくなつた。茶店では、ストオヴを備へた。
Once November came, the cold at Misaka grew unbearable. The teahouse set up a stove.
「お客さん、二階はお寒いでせう。お仕事のときは、ストオヴの傍でなさつたら。」と、おかみさんは言ふのであるが、私は、人の見てゐるまへでは、仕事のできないたちなので、それは断つた。おかみさんは心配して、峠の麓の吉田へ行き、炬燵をひとつ買つて来た。私は二階の部屋でそれにもぐつて、この茶店の人たちの親切には、しんからお礼を言ひたく思つて、けれども、もはやその全容の三分の二ほど、雪をかぶつた富士の姿を眺め、また近くの山々の、蕭条たる冬木立に接しては、これ以上、この峠で、皮膚を刺す寒気に辛抱してゐることも無意味に思はれ、山を下ることに決意した。山を下る、その前日、私は、どてらを二枚かさねて着て、茶店の椅子に腰かけて、熱い番茶を啜つてゐたら、冬の外套着た、タイピストでもあらうか、若い知的の娘さんがふたり、トンネルの方から、何かきやつきやつ笑ひながら歩いて来て、ふと眼前に真白い富士を見つけ、打たれたやうに立ち止り、それから、ひそひそ相談の様子で、そのうちのひとり、眼鏡かけた、色の白い子が、にこにこ笑ひながら、私のはうへやつて来た。
"Sir, the second floor must be cold. Why not work beside the stove?" said the mistress, but I am the sort who cannot work in front of people, and I declined. The mistress, worrying about it, went down to Yoshida at the foot of the pass and bought a kotatsu. I burrowed into it in my second-floor room, and wanted from the bottom of my heart to thank the people of this teahouse; but looking now at the shape of Fuji, some two-thirds of its whole face covered with snow, and seeing the bleak winter stands of the mountains nearby, it seemed pointless to endure this skin-pricking cold on the pass any longer, and I decided to go down from the mountain. The day before I went down, I was wearing two doteras one over the other, sitting on a chair in the teahouse and sipping hot coarse tea, when two young intellectual girls—typists, perhaps—in winter overcoats came walking from the direction of the tunnel, laughing away about something, and suddenly caught sight of the pure white Fuji before them, stopped as though struck, and then, after what looked like a whispered consultation, one of them, a pale girl in spectacles, came over toward me smiling.
「相すみません。シャッタア切つて下さいな。」
"Excuse me. Would you press the shutter for us?"
私は、へどもどした。私は機械のことには、あまり明るくないのだし、写真の趣味は皆無であり、しかも、どてらを二枚もかさねて着てゐて、茶店の人たちさへ、山賊みたいだ、といつて笑つてゐるやうな、そんなむさくるしい姿でもあり、多分は東京の、そんな華やかな娘さんから、はいからの用事を頼まれて、内心ひどく狼狽したのである。けれども、また思ひ直し、こんな姿はしてゐても、やはり、見る人が見れば、どこかしら、きやしやな俤もあり、写真のシャッタアくらゐ器用に手さばき出来るほどの男に見えるのかも知れない、などと少し浮き浮きした気持も手伝ひ、私は平静を装ひ、娘さんの差し出すカメラを受け取り、何気なささうな口調で、シャッタアの切りかたを鳥渡たづねてみてから、わななきわななき、レンズをのぞいた。まんなかに大きい富士、その下に小さい、罌粟の花ふたつ。ふたり揃ひの赤い外套を着てゐるのである。ふたりは、ひしと抱き合ふやうに寄り添ひ、屹つとまじめな顔になつた。私は、をかしくてならない。カメラ持つ手がふるへて、どうにもならぬ。笑ひをこらへて、レンズをのぞけば、罌粟の花、いよいよ澄まして、固くなつてゐる。どうにも狙ひがつけにくく、私は、ふたりの姿をレンズから追放して、ただ富士山だけを、レンズ一ぱいにキャッチして、富士山、さやうなら、お世話になりました。パチリ。
I was flustered. I am not at all knowledgeable about machines, I have no interest whatever in photography, and moreover I had on two doteras one over the other, so squalid a figure that even the teahouse people laughed and said I looked like a mountain bandit; and to be asked so stylish a favor by such elegant young women, from Tokyo no doubt, threw me inwardly into great confusion. But then I thought better of it: even dressed like this, perhaps to an eye that sees, there is still something slender about me somewhere, and I may look like a man deft enough at least to work a camera shutter—and with a little of that buoyancy helping me, I put on an air of calm, took the camera the girl held out, asked in an offhand tone just how the shutter was released, and then, trembling and trembling, looked through the lens. In the middle, a great Fuji; below it, two small poppies. They were wearing matching red overcoats. The two of them pressed close together as if in an embrace, and set their faces resolutely straight. I could not help finding it funny. My hands on the camera shook, and there was nothing to be done. Holding back my laughter, when I looked through the lens the poppies had composed themselves further still and gone rigid. It was hopeless to take aim, so I banished the pair from the lens and caught only Mount Fuji, filling the lens with it—Mount Fuji, goodbye, and thank you for everything. Click.
「はい、うつりました。」
"There, I've taken it."
「ありがたう。」
"Thank you."
ふたり声をそろへてお礼を言ふ。うちへ帰つて現像してみた時には驚くだらう。富士山だけが大きく写つてゐて、ふたりの姿はどこにも見えない。
The two of them thanked me in chorus. They will be astonished when they get home and develop it. Only Mount Fuji, taken large, and not a sign of either of them anywhere.
その翌る日に、山を下りた。まづ、甲府の安宿に一泊して、そのあくる朝、安宿の廊下の汚い欄干によりかかり、富士を見ると、甲府の富士は、山々のうしろから、三分の一ほど顔を出してゐる。酸漿に似てゐた。
The next day I went down from the mountain. First I stayed a night at a cheap inn in Kofu, and the next morning, leaning on the dirty railing of the inn's corridor, I looked at Fuji: the Fuji of Kofu shows about a third of its face from behind the mountains. It was like a Chinese-lantern plant.
（昭和十四年二月―三月）
(February–March 1939)