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The Day I Picked Up Dazai Side - B: Part 2/2

Part 1 here This is my personal translation of pages 36-63 of the movie benefit book that was given out in the second week of the BSD Beast movie (I bought it off eBay). Please be aware it also contains my own notes of things I have had to look up, explanations for my choices and some some personal commentary which is italicised in smaller text and brackets preceeded with TN (Translation Note).

The Translation is now complete

Also please be aware my Japanese is self taught from textbooks, online lessons, apps, dictionaries and just looking stuff up online. As well as things I have picked from asking other people who know Japanese. I do not claim this to be a perfect or accurate translation, just my understanding.I’m aware it is quite literal and kind of clunky. I plan to do a more natural rewrite of the whole thing once finished.

Lastly, if you would like to read Popopretty’s translation you can find it here. And I am extremely grateful to them for translating it so quickly after it first came out so we could read it then. It’s a lot of work, so please always kindly support their efforts.

I opened my eyes, becoming aware of an uncomfortable feeling I couldn’t put into words. (TN: a physical unease/discomfort like I could not say)

I found myself to be in a temporary single cell for the sake of confining prisoners of war. It seems it might originally have been a simple nap room in a bunker facility to protect against aerial bombing. The room is approximately as spacious as one in a hotel, a rusty bed frame is fixed in place at the end of the room. The entrance door had been replaced with an iron door that had fresh welding marks, hanging from the doorknob was a thick chain like those used for boat anchors and an enormous lock. Black power lines are around the many hooks that line the walls and continue on to a dull electric light from a warship in the back. That is the only light source. There is no good air conditioning so the air in the room is impure. I am restrained near the centre of that room. There is no noise except the dreary buzzing sound of the light. The somber time passed in front of me with a disconsolate expression.

Eventually I worked out why I felt uncomfortable. (TN: Odasaku literally says he realised the true identity of his uncomfortable feeling) It was too quiet. It has been nearly two hours now and I can’t hear the footsteps or voices of anyone. Also now I can no longer sense the hostile or conciliatory presence of someone that came from here when I arrived. I stood up and put my ear to the entrance door. There still wasn’t a sign of anyone.

So I was forced to realise a certain fact. (TN: more literally Odasaku says that whether he wanted to or not he became aware of the nature of a certain fact) Because of that I became confused. I wonder how I should interpret this.

The door lock was out of place. When I poked the chain, it made a jarring sound as it fell. As did the lock holding it to the door. I turned and pushed the doorknob, it slowly opened making a creaking sound as if the iron protested. I was absorbed in thought for a while. Just because the door is open doesn’t mean I have to leave the room. I am able to wait here also. But in that case, for what reason am I waiting? The next opportunity for myself to get beat up? Or for the opportunity to give a speech to the people who kidnapped and tied me up, showing appreciation for their efforts? In the end I decided to leave. Both my wrists are still in handcuffs however, it’s not an obstacle to movement.

The underground bunker is long, intricate, similar to being inside the body of an unnamed creature in the depths of the earth. I made progress fumbling along the dimly lit passageway. Sometimes black bugs would suddenly run away near my hands. The sound of water dropping can be heard coming from somewhere. A faint draught blows through the shelter. It was cold, damp and had a depressing smell, like someone exhaling. I thought I might get lost but such a thing never happens. Because I discovered a sign. It was a huge arrow painted messily on the floor at a turning point. (TN: the kanji is for a turning point/forked road/parting of ways/crossroad.) I went up to it and checked it out by touching it with my hand. Blood. Someone, in blood, had drawn an arrow so big it couldn’t be missed. The blood is still wet. Not much time has passed.

I looked beyond that point, and immediately understood the meaning of the arrow. Someone is collapsed there. It’s likely that person is no longer alive, I thought whilst rushing over. He has fallen on his side. Even before I got close, I realised that both his hands had been destroyed into shreds. (TN: literally it says “destruction to pieces/into shreds”) The skin is peeling, exposing the flesh. From elbow to hand, the skin on the palm side and back of the hand side is torn up like it was put between something. However with the exception of that, the lateral of the arm is practically uninjured. What the hell kind of attack inflicts damage to result in this kind of condition?

Both feet had huge holes that went through the shoes. The hole reached up to the sole, and bleeding continued from there faintly. I was shocked. A dead body doesn’t usually bleed. Bleeding means he is still living. I rolled him onto his back (TN: literally it says ‘I rolled him to point upwards’) I recognised that face. If I’m not mistaken, it was one of the police officers who raided my house, the younger officer. That is who has collapsed.

“Wake up. Who did this?”

I tapped his cheek, the young police officer slightly opened his eyes. The police officer’s face was deathly pale (TN: literally it says his face turned pale like the blood had no interest or he became pale without blood. Other dictionary options included ghostly and white as chalk. Deathly pale seemed like the most natural English equivalent), eventually his blurry gaze focused. That line of sight caught me. Still it took several seconds until his mind came to accept what he was seeing.

“Stop!”

All of a sudden the police officer thrust me away and rolled backwards. While breathing short and fast he frantically tries to escape on limbs that cannot move as he likes.

“Hey, wait”

“Don’t come near me! Don’t, please!” (TN: or “Stay away! Stop, please!” he says 近づくな! やめてくれ、お願いだ! Don’t come near/stay away! やめて means stop an action/cease and the くれ after is less polite and makes it a command rather than a request but then after he is adding what most closely translates to a please but is a stressor for what it is he wants. So the stop/don’t is intended to be quite forceful but then given the state the cop is in it seems his tough front wavers and he is adding that he is serious about that request more politely. So more literally, “Don’t come near me. Do not do it (impolite), this is my request (polite) )

“Wait, calm down, I don’t intend to hurt you” I walk up to him and hold his shoulder. I brush off his arm that struggles in resistance, and look intently down into his eyes. “Who did this? I expected this to be your hideout. What about the others?” (TN: more literally, “the others of the same group as you, how are they?/ in what state are they?)

Thereupon the police officer was more or less able to recover his senses. His eyes gradually focused, and moved quickly side to side as he took in the situation around him.

“That guy…where is he? Isn’t he one of yours?”

“That guy?”

I followed the officers line of sight and looked around. But there wasn’t anyone. There was a large room for spare provisions. Originally it was a vast space for storing food and water to be used in evacuation, now nothing is stockpiled, it is empty and spacious. The pillars, too thick for one person to hold by themselves, line up at regularly spaced intervals as if they are inhuman soldiers from ancient times.

“He…he said. ‘There’s no escape’” the police officer said in an exaggerated flat voice like he was muttering incoherently from being delirious with a fever. “He also said. ‘if you don’t want me to kill everyone here, tell me the location of the picture’”

“Everyone?”

I looked around. There was no one in sight.

“Where are the others?”

The police officer shook his head as if frightened. And then pointed to the back of the room. I stood up and looked in that direction. It’s just a room. At the gloomy end there is an exit to a corridor which a darker darkness engulfs. I proceed that way. For some reason it is the case that I have a premonition. As I go forward into the corridor, I strike a match to drive away the dark. I understood what would be there, even before staring at the floor.

A man lies prostrate, as if drowning in a pool of blood. Both arms are feebly spread, as if he is comfortably lying relaxed atop a cloud, sinking in a blood pool. (TN: the first pool of blood is written 血だまり and the second is written 血のプール so pooled blood vs a swimming pool of blood) At the back of that, another person. This one’s body is bent into the character for nine, so that he has fallen down holding both hands. (TN: he could making the kanji shape 九 or just a 9. The description is vague as the body could be bent up/down/double. I would assume being in Japan it’s more likely to be the kanji shape) Also the darkness at the back of that, has the smell of even more blood.

I have a suspicion. (TN: have intuition/hunch/suspicion operate/come into play)

All the people in this secret hideout, well then aren’t they defeated?

I approached a person nearby and took their pulse. He isn’t dead, it very much didn’t appear that way to look at the amount of bleeding. There is faint breathing. I surveyed his body. The flesh of his whole body has been slashed dozens of times (TN: it actually says 何十 “several tens”) with a sharp edged tool. However, it has been done perpendicular to the blood vessels (TN: the kanji say “blood tube” and idk why I just love that). There is a relatively quick reduction in bleeding in the case of this cut direction. There has been careful choice of the bleeding sites, in order to also avoid arteries. It made me think of a painting by a first rate artist. Meticulous calculation to cause damage, but not lose life. He isn’t still alive, he has been kept alive. Top-notch work. A craftsman from a dark world, with a technique that differed from mine. (TN: the kanji is 技術 which can mean skill/technique/know-how/craft. Personally I think Oda would be commenting on the technique. He understands harming people in a way that means they don’t die, only he uses guns and here he is commenting on cuts. So it to me it must be about the same skill executed in a different way)

As a matter of course they should also have been prepared for violent attacks. That it was so easy for them to be devoured, and in addition inflicted with torture adjusted to not kill them, what the heck kind of person is able to do this? And what is the goal?

A moment ago the police officer was threatened “confess the picture’s location or everyone will die”. It means the purpose of torture official threatening him is the information I know about the “picture”. If that’s the case then they are a hostile opponent.

Suddenly I find myself feeling like a person who has lost their way on an extremely cold mountaintop dressed in underwear. I have nothing to protect myself, also I don’t know the way to flee. (TN: it more literally says I don’t have an understanding of the route I should take to scurry away. The explanations I found for the use of 逃げ帰るべき all pointed to it being related to escaping/running away as a loser) On the other side of white oblivion an unknown monster is lying in wait to tear this skin to shreds.

I hurried back. To ask the still conscious police officer how to escape this place. In that case, the torture official that is trying to target me might leave this place and overlook all the people here on the verge of death.

But before I could get back to the police officer, the whole tunnel shook. A crash and a thunderous roar. I had to place both hands on the walls to stand up straight. There is a cadence of concrete as fragments fall down and scatter as far as can be seen.

“It, begins” I heard a voice. It was the young police officer I first encountered. I turn in that direction. The police officer is trembling. His eyes have the conviction that the end of the world has come. I helped raise him up. He is similar to a sick person delirious with fever, not looking anywhere and rapidly talking on and on without pause.

“They’re coming, they’re coming. We are all going to be slaughtered. That guy is using fear. He’s using the power of imagination. No one can win against their own imagination. He is going to surround the exit and we are all going to die by burning.” (TN: the first definition the dictionary gave me before burning was cooking esp. stir frying and that made the sentence hilarious! He’s going to surround the exit and we all will die by stir frying”)

“Hey, pull yourself together.” (TN: DeepL suggested “get your shit together” which with my swearing Odasaku agenda is what I would choose)

The Police Officer looked at me. A profound vision of pallid terror expands from him towards me, to the extent that it seems as if it will infect me.

“That guy is Port Mafia”

Port Mafia.

I am not so ignorant of the ways of the world that I do not understand the significance of those words. In this town’s dark places they appear like the night wind. (TN: there is a poem by Eugene Field called ‘The Night Wind’ which lends itself well to a description of the Port Mafia. No idea if it’s intentional or not by Asagiri but it’s kinda cool) To the ends of the earth they chase you in the darkness, to sink their fangs into your windpipe and tear it away. The Apostles of death that cannot by any means be opposed by a living person. That is coming here.

Bombing sounds again. The spacious room shakes like the internal organs of a giant convulsing creature, and thin cracks run across the wall. There is seemingly less time to leave than I guessed.

“So in other words it’s like this” I said facing the police officer. “This place will soon be surrounded, and the Port Mafia will carry out a massacre. But if I confess the picture’s location, everyone will be spared.”

“I think it looks that way,” said the pale looking police officer.

“He doesn’t seem to want to take someone’s life. As far as he is concerned our lives have no more value than weeds. ー Please, help me. (TN: he says 頼む - please、助けてくれ。Help me. The くれ is informal and considered rude, it makes it a command rather than a request but is also used when speaking to someone of lower status. So I think it seems that the police officer knows he needs Oda’s help but is letting him know he still thinks lowly of him and that Oda should help because he is inferior to him and therefore obliged to help someone above him.)

I will leave the organisation now, no matter how much profit there is from crime, a world with that kind of monster in it, I don’t want to be in it anymore. So help me, I don’t want to die yet.” (TN: 助けてくれ again. You know given the circumstance the cop finds himself in I can’t help but feel he should really be being more polite to Odasaku. You want this guy you kidnapped and pissed off to help you? Maybe be nicer and less selfish? Just a thought.)

I looked at that young policeman. He was scared out of his wits (TN: literally frightened from the depths of his mind). Fear had wrapped up his personality and hidden it, and changed a mature man into nothing more than a life form that could only tremble. On the other side of the light in those eyes, I saw that man. The person causing fear. The Port Mafia Devil (TN: Oda calls him the Port Mafia akuma. And here I was thinking that was just a word Miraculous Ladybug made up for the show)

He is using fear as a string to puppet the young police officer and talk to me.

Hand over the picture.

“I refuse,” and I was talking. “ First, I don’t like the way that guy tries to make others do what he wants with violence. Second, that picture isn’t mine. It is someone else’s. It’s not okay for me to use it as I please, for the fee of buying a life. Thirdly, that picture doesn’t have much value. Not even fifty thousand, let alone five hundred ーmillion. I don’t think we will be let go by those guys, even if I hand over the picture”

“But! If you don’t hand over the picture, soon a massacreー”

“Fourth,” I said, interrupting the police officer. “Even in this situation I won’t be killed. As for why, because I am the only one aware of the picture’s location. The Port Mafia might surround this place and massacre the people inside. They cannot help but to leave me the only one alive. Since inside my head is the only place the information is. However, suppose I tell you now the whereabouts of the picture, well then I am not the only person aware of that secret, the value of my life decreases. If that happens, whether or not the mafia lets me live will depend on luck.”

“Wha…what the hell are you saying!” The man’s voice is nearly a scream.

“In that case, I? What will become of us!”

“You are criminals,” I said in a subdued voice. “Even if you are swallowed whole by a more evil crime syndicate, that is natural providence.”

“You bastard….!” (TN: he says 貴様 - kisama, which originally was an honorific of respect but over time become the rudest address of ‘you‘ possible. Typically between males to express hostility and anger. Other alternatives given include ‘you son of a bitch’ ‘you fucker’ and ‘you asshole’)

The fallen down police officer quickly produced a hidden handgun. And pointed it at me. I took a step back, watching the gun. A black 9mm caliber automatic pistol. The muzzle is firmly fixed pointing at me. The benefit of an automatic pistol is it’s not necessary to cock it. Firing a shot wouldn’t be a problem, even with injury to both arms.

“Didn’t you listen to me talk?” I said whilst raising both hands. “If I die the information is lost. So there isn’t any sense in threatening me with a gun.”

“Oh, that’s right. That’s why you can say things like that from a superior standpoint.”

In the young police officer’s eyes was a look of frenzy like he had taken to being possessed.

“You think yourself to be the only one in a safety zone. I don’t like that. In comparison to me? I will certainly die. It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t say. That being the case I will shoot you here and die feeling a little better. How about it, even with things like this, can you speak with superiority?”

I said nothing as I looked down at the man. I looked down at the screaming plea of a person that wishes to live, that desperateness. He really would shoot me. Without a doubt. It was absolutely certain, just the same as that dawn always comes if you wait.

“Hurry up, talk.”

“Alright,” I heard myself saying. “If you are that determined I cannot not talk. Even if you know I don’t think anything will change. ー That picture’s owner is a wealthy man I killed seven years ago. It was my last job.”

And then I begin to tell bit by bit. (TN: he says he begins to talk 途切れ途切れ which means break/interruption or intermittently. So he talks and pauses, talks and interrupts himself, so is speaking in broken sentences or with a lot of starting and stopping.)

I killed that wealthy man, because it was just a job. I wasn’t aware what kind of person he was or the reason for killing him. I just aimed at his head and squeezed the trigger. That’s all.

It seems the purpose of the person's murder request was that “picture”. I didn’t know about that until much later. My task was only to kill the wealthy man. I don’t know which different professionals had the work of dealing with the later transporting of it. They did their jobs. I did mine. And then as I was going home after the job was finished, I casually noticed a novel on top of the desk and left the wealthy man’s house holding it. That’s the way it is, the first trigger is always a trivial thing.

That novel was a catalyst, it raised all sorts of things, because of it I eventually stopped killing. Since then, I have not killed even one person.

One day after two years had passed, I was suddenly struck with an idea, it came into my mind that I should go and return the novel. The reasoning did not have a significant motive. It wasn’t from feelings of guilt or even from a moral sense. It was simply because in doing so I thought I might directly confront issues from that novel. I had already bought myself the book with cash on hand.

In the mansion formerly owned by the wealthy man, a son lived alone. He was seventeen years old. So far as I heard later on, he was not the real son, the wealthy man took him in when he lost his parents in an underworld dispute. He was an orphan. I think there was something wrong with me at that time. To consider meeting the son.

Creep into the house secretly, just leave the book and return home, that I should have done, and for me it would have been as simple as bending my finger. And yet for all that I stood before the son and introduced myself. “I am the criminal that killed your father.”

How much the son was in a fit of anger? A description to match it is impossible. His anger was a justifiable thing. For a second time his family had been killed by the underworld. He hit me, hurled things everywhere, and threw as much verbal abuse at me as possible. The attacks were easy to avoid, only the verbal abuse was unavoidable. I explained the circumstances of the murder at the time he sat down exhausted from his outburst. Thereupon he demanded compensation. Compensation for his father, and a rental fee for the book taken without permission.

“Recover that painting”

(TN: here the son says 絵画 which is literally brushstroke picture ergo a painting but at other points it is referred to as “絵” which is picture/painting/drawing/sketch which is why I have called “the picture” to differentiate between when the different kanji is used.)

There was no reason I should undertake this. First I don’t know where the picture is now. Most likely it is far away on the other side of the ocean, having been bought by a similarly wealthy person. For the time being I wasn’t equipped with any idea of where to investigate or make contact, it would take a long time and a lot of bother, furthermore it meant no profit for the work. If it wasn’t for the book, I never would have thought of accepting it.

As it was, my prediction was right on the money. (TN: he says 結論から云って、私の予想は中っていた。The first part literally translates to ‘speaking from conclusion’ then for 中っていた the dictionary gave the idiom ‘right on the money. Apparently the history of the idiom comes from 1940s USA and is often associated with gambling, notably horse racing and making the correct bet. Given all of the western associations with Odasaku and that in the Beast Manga we see him at horse races this seems like a fitting expression he would use.)

It was long, bothersome, unprofitable work. Also I would like to say, it was very dangerous work. Because I had to enter into a Private Military Company of nearly one hundred and fifty armed soldiers and in a rain of gunfire carry out the painting without killing anyone. If I was asked to do it again, I would absolutely refuse. Regarding trouble in my life almost all of it I invite upon myself.

When I brought back the picture, the millionaire’s son just looked at it and said nothing. Thirty minutes passed and little by little he talked about it. The reason he wanted to get the picture back. That picture was used as a “wager”. (TN: literally object/target belonging to a bet)

His Father wished for the son to surpass him as a shrewd businessman. And if by no later than eighteen he could earn ten million yen, he promised to transfer ownership of that painting. “Ridiculous parent” he said. (TN: he says 莫迦 for Baka stupid/foolish/ridiculous. The dictionary says that form is Ateji which means phonetic. Those kanji make the sounds ba and ka even though written they don’t look like 馬鹿 which is usually used for Baka)

The painting was sullied to begin with from being obtained illegally. Did he really think the son would frantically strive because he wanted something like that? But he did strive. Of the ten million, he had already from his own efforts earned close to 80%. He said. “I didn’t make the effort because I wanted the picture.” One year remained until the promised age of eighteen.

“Until then I need you to take care of this painting” the young man requested of me.

The picture had a contrivance. In special paint that could be seen when it was exposed to ultraviolet light, it covered a space about one quarter of the painting, was written

“You are my pride”

If they see this, art lovers around the world will be so angry as to faint. Doing graffiti like this, puts an end to the five hundred million value it as much as vanishes. The man is very annoying even after his death. But in all likelihood, I think that annoyance is the reason the wealthy man did such a thing.

I guess he might have wanted to say “I don’t care even if that painting’s value is reduced to zero, as that’s all the value you have”. Or it is for that reason he took the trouble to become connected to trading an illegal painting. Of course, the truth will not become known now. Because I killed the father.

In accordance with the request, I have the painting in safekeeping. I put it in a storage box, and put it away in a dark, cool, breezy place. Under the floor of my house, in the location at the foot of my bed.

The painting no longer has any artistic value. Even storing it safely doesn’t make much sense. However it has value to that young man. To a son whose father was murdered. That painting is a memento of his father, the father’s last will and testament, in a sense it is the father himself.

Even now I am protecting the painting.

Not for the sake of atoning for my sins. I am not that kind of laudable person. It’s just that various things came together and stacked up so I simply decided to do it.

“And once I have decided a thing, no matter who asks I will not change my mind.” I said whilst turning to walk to the police officer. “Is it understood, Mister Bandage?”

“What?”

Quicker than the police officer could react, I quickly snatched the pistol from his hand. Because the police officer couldn’t stand and had both arms injured, he did not have the strength to take it back. I brought the pistol near to my face and said.

“This isn’t a gun” I declared “it’s a listening device. You’re listening there, aren’t you? This situation was anticipated, it feels like you constructed this state of affairs so I would tell the location of the pictures and you would intercept with this gun.”

“The gun….is a listening device?” The police officer said dumbfounded. He wasn’t told.

“From the beginning I thought it was strange that this was an automatic pistol.” I said as I surveyed the pistol. When my house was broken into, he was carrying the revolver style gun the municipal city police use. A different type. Perhaps you used this automatic pistol for the sake of threatening the police officer? Also one more thing, when it comes to the fundamentals of threats, the person making the threat ought to contact me. And yet here there are only injured people. So in this way I theorised ー you manufactured a situation intended to make the police officer threaten me in order to hear the location of the picture without being seen here. If that’s the case, a listening device must be somewhere.”

Unsurprisingly, the pistol doesn’t reply. It is only quiet, heavy and cold. But simply by existing there the gun radiates into the surroundings a distinctive presence. I continued talking into the gun.

“It’s loaded. Probably blanks.” I pointed the gun at the ceiling and fired a shot. A gunshot sound resounded, a flash of light cut through the darkness, but that was all. The ceiling did not have a bullet hole.

“That was a great performance. Did you collapse in front of my house having calculated up until this point? If so, it’s admirable. All right, I’ve told you everything about the picture. So as you promised, break the siege. (TN: more literally it says do the undoing of the siege as you owe) Or else let everybody march in here for a fun killing spree. Either one is fine with me.”

As I was saying this, I inspected the particulars of the gun. A former tool of my trade. I know the weight balance like I know myself. (TN: alternatively ‘the weight balance is set in my mind like my fingers’. So he knows it like the back of his hand? 指 means finger but the dictionary also says it can be used as stressor or for emphasis)

The weight is slightly off on the handgrip. I push the magazine release button and the magazine drops into my hand. The polymer plastic material used for the side of the magazine is cut away, a black rectangle component has been embedded there. The listening device.

I held up the magazine like a microphone, and I said into the listening device.

“Sound three blasts within ten seconds, afterwards immediately disappear. If that doesn’t happen, I will regard it as a breakdown of negotiations and I’m coming to get you.”

I threw away the listening device and counted to ten in my head. At between around eight and nine a succession of impacts shook the underground. Exactly three. After the blasts which sounded like distant thunder, it stopped as if interrupted. Afterwards nothing but silence was left. The silence is deafening. (TN: literally, ‘the extent of the sound of silence hurts my ears’)

“That is the end” I took a breath and began to walk. “As I leave I will call the police. The real ones. Everybody will be arrested though, but at least they will receive medical care. Unlike with the Mafia.

“W...wait” the police officer said in a stiff voice. “Why did….you? You said yourself you're the only person to escape harm. Also the gun I threatened you with, you knew it wasn’t usable. Is it possible…you…saved me, saved us? Why?”

Regarding the answer to that, it was simple. But I was in no mood to answer. What would change even if I answered. I was empty. Exhausted, injured, betrayed by others, others I had betrayed.

“I was thirsty,” I muttered. “I’m going home”

The other person said something, but I didn’t listen to it and just kept walking.

* * *

The glow of the gas lamps illuminated the profile of the people coming out the ticket gate. The countless blue stars of the city are scattered across the night like a thin sheet. (TN: ‘To count the extent of the stars is not possible’ and ‘they are across the sky like a membrane’ but I dunno that doesn’t sound so nice)

Surrounding the train station is the night sky, the night skyline, and a crowd of taciturn people walking the road home. There are no explosions, shootings, or bargaining for life. It was a simple scene, the end of a routine that begins and finishes mechanically.

Dazai Osamu and Oda Sakunosuke were at that same train station. Separately.

Oda was exhausted, while protecting his aching back, he left the station a part of the walking crowd.

Dazai was in darkness away from the street lamps in front of the station, he stood by and watched Oda’s figure, one with the dark night. Oda walked along the station platform, exited the ticket gate and set forth towards the night of the city. After breaking free from the underground bunker, Oda walked across a mountain to a nearby community, whereupon he negotiated riding along with a farmer on an agriculture vehicle. After that he changed to a bus and then a train until he reached the station nearest his home. By the time he arrived, it had become completely dark.

Oda walked with an exhausted expression on his face, whilst rubbing his shoulders and cracking his neck. The people passing by Oda sometimes looked at him with a look of discernment as a strange foreign contaminant, it being the case that his clothes were caked in mud and wrinkled. But nobody started talking to him. In the city such a thing is not done by someone.

Oda took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth whilst walking out the train station ticket barrier and under a streetlight. Then he motions as if searching his jacket. He must be searching for a light. (TN: it is the kanji for fire/flame but I’ve never heard anyone ask for a fire for their cigarette they ask for a light)

“Here you are”

Suddenly he heard a voice from behind and Oda turned around. He noticed before him a lit match. Also a hand clutching it.

Oda for an instant stares in puzzlement, but right away puts his cigarette he holds in mouth on top of the flame. He closed his eyes, breathed in the smoke, exhaled it into the dark night, and then looked at the other person.

“Hello. You look in a terrible state. Are you okay?”

It was Dazai.

Dazai was calmly standing half blended into the dark night with a vague smile on his face. (TN: literally ‘a smile on his face that was there but not’ or ‘showing a smile that makes you wonder if there is one there’)

“…it’s of no concern” Oda said, as he looked through the smoke at the other person. “I fell over for a moment”

“These matches, they are yours right? I saw them dropped at the ticket barrier.”

Oda looked at the matches Dazai was holding. The matches were white with black sides and the symbol of a bar stamped on the top. The ones he usually carries around with him for sure.

“Yeah” Oda said, looking at the matches. And then he watched the other person in silence for several seconds after which he asked with a blank expression.

“Have I met you somewhere?”

(TN: Dazai addresses Oda with 貴方 - anata for you and Oda replies with あんな. You can read here about the meaning of the different pronouns if you want. As with many Japanese honorifics and pronouns it adds a nuance to their interaction that can’t really be translated)

Dazai smiled non-distinctively “no, it’s the first time”

Dazai’s bandages, which had hidden and concealed his face the whole time, are now not there. Pulled down over his eyes a flat cap hides his head and eyes, a black Inverness coat hides his body shape and injuries. Regarding the voice, Oda had not heard Dazai talking, not even once.

“Is that so?” And Oda said taking the matches and turning his back on Dazai.

“Thanks, for the matches. Well, goodnight.”

Oda had walked several steps when Dazai called out to his back.

“Hey it appears like you were involved in quite a troublesome matter”

Oda stopped in his tracks and turned slowly. “What?”

“Well er, because you appear quite tired. Your complexion is awful. …..Also that on your hands and clothes, it’s too dark to see well, it’s not just mud, it’s also blood isn’t it?”

Oda examined both of his hands. Sure enough, still left on his wrist and cuffs, was blood that incidentally arrived from helping wake up the collapsed police officer.

“Oh, well there was somewhat of a situation” Oda said whilst checking the smell of his hands. “It’s not my blood. But it’s true, I was involved in a troublesome matter. An important thing was stolen. A thing I was continuously protecting.”

“If it was stolen” Dazai smiled feebly. “At least it can’t be stolen from you again so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Oda looked at him for a moment. As if somehow searching for an answer there.

“That may be true,” Oda said. (TN: he says そうかもしれない which is equivalent to sayings like ‘you could say that’ ‘that may be true’ ‘that might be the case’)

“I can’t forgive the guy who stole it though” (TN: Oda says 奴 for guy/bloke/him. The dictionary says it’s a derogatory term. It can also be used to mean ‘bastard’. I like the idea of Oda saying he can’t forgive the bastard who stole it.)

Dazai slowly gave a deep nod. In order to hide his facial expression.

Oda for a while was watching the other person’s facial expression, but eventually turned his back.

“The matches, thanks for the help. Bye then”

As he began to walk away Dazai quickly said to his back.

“If in the future you are troubled by something”

Oda turned around. “Huh?”

“You can turn to Yokohama’s Armed Detective Agency for help. They are bound to take on the settlement of a troublesome matter there. Most importantly it’s a place that does the work without fail. In past times I have also been assisted by them.”

“Is that so?” Oda paused a little to ponder and said. “If that’s the case I will. Thank you kindly. You’re a good person.”

Dazai’s expression twisted.

As if he was no longer able to breathe, he opened his mouth to talk and closed it again.

Supposing now he explained everything, just about everything would become as it was originally. The two of them together can go to the bar, and raise a glass. Just like that night. (TN: In describing them going to the bar together Asagiri uses 揃って which means a full set/complete/pair/to be equal. So more literally the sentence is ‘Two people a complete set go bar,’ and at the bar they will do ‘kanpai’ which is cheers/toast/‘ritual in which drink is taken’)

“Odasaー”

At the moment Dazai instinctively said that name, a train passed by. Right behind Dazai and his friend, a special express train passed through the station tearing to pieces the stillness of the night. Light and dark alternate striking the street, the thunderous roar of metal dispels the silence of the surroundings. Oda narrowed his eyes.

The train was long, and the sound was similar to drawn out sorrow. Dazai looked down so that no one would see his appearance, his face distorted in grief. The long thunderous roar was like a promise of a prolonged time of heartlessness from the future six years. (TN: it is 無情 which mean cold hearted/cruel/heartlessness/ruthless)

The train passed.

Oda looked around and tried again to hear the other person’s remark.

Now there was no one there.

Oda blinked his eyes in bewilderment as he looked at the surroundings. And then he shakes his head in order to deny the thinking inside his brain, and leaves with an expression appearing resigned.

Nothing but the silent, cold night breeze passes through the space where no one is as if trying to fill up the emptiness.

No one says anything.

The painting was stored by the Port Mafia for one year, after that it was returned to the owner, the millionaire’s son. The son, after a few years of it being in his possession, anonymously donated it to a certain art gallery. In that way Dazai achieved his objective. To get the information about the location of the painting from Oda without contacting him or letting his face be remembered. In doing so, he made sure Oda was never again targeted by crime syndicates ー that was Dazai’s objective.

There was one more objective. Induce hatred in Oda for the Port Mafia. That way he doesn’t join the Port Mafia and will be able to avoid the death that awaits. (TN: he will be able to avoid the death to come at a future date)

That objective was reached. Oda connects to the Armed Detective Agency and not the Port Mafia, two years later it is arranged that he becomes a member of the detective agency.

And finally, a further two years after that, Oda meets Dazai one more time.

At the counter of a bar, with the heartbreaking melody of a farewell song.

There Oda turns his gun towards Dazai, and Dazai says his final goodbye.

The last goodbye of his life.

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