Japanese Modern Women's Literature Collection (Works Volume)

Author: (Japanese) Mizuta Muneko, edited by Chen Hui et al.
Translator: Chen Hui, Wu Xiaoli
Country:
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-01-01
Features: In our story, even if the name of the protagonist is revealed, it is unlikely that many people know it. The female protagonist of this story has few confidants in society and is, in various senses, a lonely and pitiful figure. To ask why? There are many reasons, but it holds little significance to this story. However, we have heard a few small rumors. It is said that when our female protagonist was born, the god of social connections and the god of friendship among humans made a mistake in the prescription. Another theory is that our female protagonist was born at an inauspicious moment, precisely during a brief nap when all the gods had fallen asleep. There is also a rumor, which carries a certain degree of plausibility, that at the time of her birth, a particular ideology was prevalent in the land of the gods, and it is possible that fragments of this ideology suddenly entered a corner of her mind or heart. The rumor, which loves to offer small explanations, continues to tell us that this ideology, named something or other, is either very peaceful and calm or wildly restless. In any case, the truth of the divine realm is beyond our grasp, so let the gods handle it! This protagonist may have been influenced by the gentle fragments of the gods' ideology, thus detesting noisy and restless places, such as crowded areas; of course, it is also possible that she was stimulated by the restless thoughts of the gods, causing her to lose her hearing. Thus, our well-explaining guest slightly raised their voice and finally concluded: The deaf are naturally not good at socializing! They are prone to eccentric personalities! They belong to the category of people who avoid society! This view, which loves to offer small explanations, seems to have only revealed half the truth, so what about the other half? We will still leave it in the five-mile fog of the divine realm! We dimly feel that the female protagonist of this story is probably a quite eccentric person. Therefore, we must also treat her with great caution. We plan to follow her quietly to avoid her figure disappearing from our sight.
At the beginning of this story, it is plagued by various rumors. We have also heard some rumors about medicine. It is said that the female protagonist of the story has been taking a brown-colored powder for a long time. There are differing opinions about the color of the powder, and we do not know which one to adopt. Some say it is not brown but rather a yellowish hue, while others say it is a fine white crystalline substance. Some say that the brownish surface is actually the color of the glass bottle, and the ingredients inside are definitely poison. Others say that it looks slightly yellow, which is the color of soft rice paper. In the end, such matters can only be left to the gods who handle tedious affairs, with no other solution. However, as descendants of humans on earth, we can only hope that the gods who manage the colors of medicine will become increasingly sensitive and that all our sensory organs will function actively and widely. Regardless of the color, it is undeniable that our female protagonist has been taking some kind of powder for a long time. However, regarding the effects of this powder, it seems that we still cannot report it accurately.
As mentioned earlier, the female protagonist of this story may have lost her hearing due to the influence of turbulent thoughts around her. Therefore, some say that she started taking this powder to relieve the caused by her hearing. Others say that she took it to further become deaf. No matter how, it is a kind of spiritual anesthetic, which is definitely a morally questionable product and something that people with healthy thoughts and sound minds should not use!
Next, regarding the side effects of the powder, we have also heard some rumors. It is said that after the powder acts on the cerebellum or capillaries of a person, they will exhibit the following reactions: a constant feeling of sunlight being too bright or a dislike for crowded places, which results in long-term users gradually hating going out during the day. Only when the dazzling sunlight disappears from the ground can they return to normal psychological states and dare to step out of their rented second-floor rooms. It is said that long-term users of this powder often live on the second floor. Then, what do they do after leaving their rooms? We have heard many rumors about their misdeeds. The poisoned users of the drug leave the easily attainable tasks undone and instead dream of pursuing the boundless horizon, even though they are surrounded by a vibrant world. According to their own arbitrary understanding, they first feel fear and distance themselves from it, then mock it, and finally believe that the world of the cinema screen and the library table is the most comfortable place. Although it is caused by the drug, how severe are the side effects! When we first heard this rumor, we sighed deeply and whispered, "This must be a medicine invented by demons." Born into the human world but looking down on it, distancing themselves from it—what a serious act of blasphemy! If these long-term users never stop taking this demonic invention, a giant whip will soon grow from the center of the earth to whip their hearts.
Whatever the case, at least we must save the female protagonist of this story from her addiction to the powder. However, despite our wishes, we never met her again in the following days. Lately, it seems she has set a rather grand goal and is actively visiting the library every day.
On March 9, 1945 (Showa 20), there was an air raid. The sky over Gunma Prefecture was clear, and planes taking off near Toda flew into the sky with the north wind. I, a rural intellectual, left Mount Akagi early in the morning. The snow in the valley was as hard as ice. I left from the Uemon Station, took the Ashio Line at Kaminokamo Station, and then transferred to the Nihonmatsu Line at Station before getting off at Takasaki Station to transfer to the Shinetsu Line for Tokyo Ueno. Around 4:30 in the afternoon, although the sky was still bright, the dusty roofs of the textile industry town and the shadows of the pine and cypress trees had already dimmed early. The waiting room was filled with large pieces of luggage, and passengers with backpacks and carrying vegetables were noisy and chaotic. I wanted to see the big clock in front of the station, but as I was about to leave the waiting room, a group of police officers with collars tied under their hats walked across the overpass and came to the platform where I was. Among them were a chief of police wearing a steel helmet and white gloves and a chief of police. The chief of police was discussing something with the station staff who came with him, and later, the chief of police said something, and they made a decision based on his idea. The station staff went back to the overpass and brought back a white chalk line from the office. He pushed the passengers aside and began drawing a white line from somewhere on the ground. On the mixed Nihonmatsu Line train, a box of nails injured my foot, so I had to stand with that foot curled in front of the steps. The station staff also came to me and, with a high-handed attitude, pushed the crowd aside and drew a white line.
At this time, trains were often delayed, and passengers had long become accustomed to the high-handed attitude of the station staff, quietly moving to the side and idly looking around, waiting for something to happen. Soon, a train covered in dirty snow entered the station. The black-clad police officers, who had been gathered together, had unknowingly dispersed and were standing at the two exits of the carriage I wanted to take, which was marked with a white chalk line. The carriage was empty, and I was about to get on when I was stopped by the police. It turned out that the carriage was not empty; there was a refined and elegant young naval officer sitting inside, with his attendant sitting opposite him. This was Prince Takamatsu—the younger brother of the Emperor, with a high nose bridge as his most distinctive feature. I had met a character who only appeared in newspapers in real life. I stared intently at this handsome young man, and an inexplicable excitement surged in my heart. A natural impulse urged me to shout loudly, "The prince himself is sitting in this carriage—it's true!" However, neither I nor anyone else had the leisure for such thoughts. If I didn't rush onto this train, I might have to wait for several more hours. I hurriedly ran toward the middle of the carriage, but the moment I saw the prince, my thoughts were affected, and my actions were delayed. Even so, I still had to get on. I peered into the crowded interior of the carriage while standing behind the bustling crowd.
After seeing the previous carriage, I looked at this chaotic one and felt a strong sense of aversion. That carriage was clean and tidy, with beautiful blue cushions, but this one? Broken windows, doors nailed with white boards, crying children, an old lady sitting on the luggage, a small five-drawer cabinet wrapped in a bundle, and a broom sticking out of the luggage. A military police officer appeared on the platform and shouted at the window, saying there were still empty spaces in the middle of the carriage, but no passengers paid any attention. I gave up and ran to the back of the carriage. There were no ordinary passengers there, only a corporal-like officer swaying his head slightly and counting the people. A line of soldiers in dirty white uniforms came out of the carriage one after another, slung with blankets, covered in filth almost peelable, and emitting an unbearable stench from the ranks. I stood on tiptoe, focused solely on the carriage exit, wondering what was happening. It was too shocking—my calf muscles suddenly cramped. Upon closer inspection, the soldiers getting off were blind. They stretched out trembling hands with unusual gestures to touch the person in front of them. They were extremely tired, with pale faces, tears streaming from their dim eyes, long hair, and ages ranging from about thirty to fifty.
Looking closer, every fifth person at the end of the line was not blind. They wore coffee-colored military uniforms that were slightly different from Japanese military uniforms, and each held a stick. They occasionally reminded the blind soldiers in front and behind them and peered at the movements of the lead soldier. I judged them to be guards. The stick-wielding soldiers shouted, "Quickly! Quickly!" and prodded the blind soldiers in front of them with their sticks. Since they were speaking Chinese, I thought they were all Chinese. They were not only dirty but also gave the impression of being different from the Japanese in appearance. The soldiers getting off formed four columns on the platform, numbering about five hundred. I stared again, and they looked as if they were blinded by the sun, with their eyes half-closed and tears streaming down their dirty faces. They were indeed blind. A Japanese officer with a sword at his waist walked out from one of the waiting rooms, and the healthy-eyed guards saluted together. The officer walked past the corporal who was busy counting the people and asked, "What about the next batch?" The corporal replied, "Ah, the next batch arrives at ×:××." Almost all the passengers' eyes glowed with strong sympathy. They seemed to be silently asking what was happening, and one old woman tightly clutched a handkerchief, crying while watching.
It was clear that neither the commander nor the corporal wanted the passengers to see them. However, since it would take a long time for all the blind soldiers to get off the train, the train could not leave. A fence also gathered a group of people to watch the scene, and the crowd grew larger. Soon, the people at the front of the line began to grope their way up the stairs, and the train moved slowly. I finally managed to step onto the platform of a carriage. The carriage behind was empty and had been used to transport the blind soldiers. I was in a position where I could hear the police officers whispering. About four or five people away stood a man in an iron hat, who said, "They may have been used in poison gas experiments, and they are still conducting explosion experiments in factories." A man who looked like a attendanted, "It's impossible to conduct poison gas experiments on Japanese soil." Hearing this, I asked a rural woman around forty years old beside me, "Where did these soldiers get on the train?" She replied casually, "Oh, probably from the Toji area." I muttered to myself, "Then they must have come from the direction of Nagoya." However, this alone was not enough to draw any conclusions.
The passengers quickly forgot the tragic scene and began various conversations. The newly acquainted old woman, like an old friend, said to me, "I come from Echigo, and I'm taking my daughter to the military supply factory in Chiba Prefecture." She said her daughter was a member of the Women's Volunteer Corps and had a tumor on her neck, so she couldn't go with the others and had to go with her now. Due to the difficulty in buying train tickets, if she couldn't go, she would stay and then queue up to buy tickets. She had struggled to get here, and the journey had been extremely difficult. I wased by her indifferent attitude toward the Chinese soldiers earlier, but now, hearing her speak like this, I felt that her actions were also out of necessity. The Japanese were all busy and had no time to reflect on such events.
The train left a station, and I wanted to find a place to sit, so I walked into the carriage that had been transporting the Chinese soldiers, but the stench was too strong, and I immediately returned. Soon, the conductor at the back of the train squeezed through the crowd and announced, "The next station is Kamihohara. The next station is Kamihohara." At this moment, the afterglow of the setting sun made the western window glow like fire. The dying red sun cast a mysterious light as it descended. Upon closer inspection, the carriage that the Chinese soldiers had occupied had somehow detached from the train, and the carriage I was in became the last one. Only then did I remember, "Oh, the prince was in the front carriage." However, I was already too exhausted to tell anyone about it.
After the war, I asked a businessman at Takasaki Station whether he had seen that group of Chinese soldiers take the train to somewhere else from there. They said they had never seen them again. I thought they might never return to their hometowns.