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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side B (Final)

Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Final

This is the translation of the last part (from page 48 to 63) of Side B of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

I HIGHLY recommend you to read Side A first before moving on to this one more context, better understanding, and easier comparison between the two sides. You can find the link to the tag with all Side A translations I have done in my pinned post.

Please also carefully read the notes below before progressing. - This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

I killed that wealthy man, simply because it was a mission. I didn’t know why I was killing him, nor what kind of person he was. I just aimed for his head and pulled the trigger. That was it.

It seemed that the client who ordered the assassination was targeting that painting. I did not find out about it until much later. My job was only to kill the man. Carrying the painting out and cleaning up the aftermath was another professional’s job. They did their job. I did my job. And on my way back after the mission, I casually had my eye on a novel on the desk, so I took it and left the house.

It always starts with the little things.

That novel triggered a lot of things, and I eventually stopped killing. I have not killed a single person since then.

One day about two years after that day, I suddenly came up with an idea that I should go back and return that novel. There was no big reason for it. It was not out of sense of morality or guilt. It was simply because I thought if I did that, I would be able to face that novel directly. I already had another copy of the book that I bought by myself.

In the mansion that was once owed by the wealthy man lived a son of his. He was seventeen years old. I later heard that he was not his real son, but a boy who had lost his parents in an underworld conflict, that the man took in. An orphan.

I must have been out of my mind at that time. To think I would go and meet that son of his. I could have just sneaked into the house, put the book there and left, and it would have been as easy as bending a finger for me. But anyway, I ended up standing in front of the son and introducing myself. As “the person who killed your father.”

There was no word that could describe how angry the son was. He had all the rights to be angry. His family was killed by the underworld, twice. He was hitting me, throwing stuff at me, and attacking me with all sorts of insults. I could easily dodge all of his attacks, but there was no way to avoid the insults.

When he became exhausted from all the rampage and finally sat down, I explained to him about the killing. After that, he demanded a compensation. For his father’s life, and for the rental fee of that book I took without permission.

Bring that painting back, he said.

There was no reason for me to accept that request. First, I didn’t know where the painting was then. It must have been bought by yet another wealthy person far across the sea. I could find some clues if I looked, but that would mean a long, tedious and unprofitable job on top of that.

If it had not been for the book, I would not have accepted it.

As it turned out, my guess was correct. It was a long, tedious and unprofitable job. To add to that, it was a dangerous job. I had to get into a private military company (PMC) of nearly one hundred and fifty armed soldiers and carry the painting out under a rain of bullets, without killing anyone. If I were asked to do it again, I would absolutely refuse. Most of the troubles in my life were brought upon me by myself.

Standing in front of the painting that I brought back, the son of the wealthy man just looked at it in silence. After about thirty minutes, he started talking, little by little. About the reason he wanted the painting back. And how that painting was the object of a bet.

His father wanted his son to become a businessman that would surpass himself. So, he made a promise that if the son could make ten million yen by the time he turned eighteen, he would give him that painting.

“Stupid parents”, he said. In the first place, it was a dirty painting that had been obtained through illegal means. Did he really think that the son would try that hard to get his hand on such a thing?

But the son did try very hard. He managed to earn almost 80% of that ten million by himself. He did not try that hard because he wanted the painting, he said.

There was one year left till the promised eighteen.

That young man asked me to keep that painting for him until then.

The painting had a setup. It had been written on, by a special type of paint that would become visible when exposed to ultraviolet rays. The text covered an aera of about a quarter of the painting. And it said,

“You are my pride.”

If all the art lovers over the world saw that, they would just faint in anger. This kind of graffiti just blew away the whole five million yen worth of the painting. The man caused troubles even after his death. But perhaps, that wealthy man did it exactly because it was trouble.

He probably wanted to say that he wouldn’t care even if the painting’s value was to be reduced to zero, because his son was worth all that much. Or maybe that was why he went through the trouble of buying that painting illegally. Of course, the truth stayed unknown until now.

Because I killed the father.

I kept the painting as requested. I put it in a storage box and stored it in a dark, cool and windy place.

It is under the floor of my house, near the foot of my bed.

It is a painting that no longer has any artistic value. There is no point in preserving it with care.However, it has value to that young man. The son whose father was killed. That painting is the memento of his father, the will of his father, and in a sense, his father himself.

I am still protecting it now.

It is not to atone for my sin. I am not that kind of an admirable person. It is just because a lot of things piled up, that I decided to do so.

“And once I have made up my mind, I am not going to change it, no matter who asks me to.” I say as I walk toward the cop. “Got it? Bandaged man?”

“What?”

Before the cop can react, I quickly snatch the gun from his hand. The cop, whose arms have been injured and cannot even stand up, do not have the strength to steal it back. I bring the gun close to my face and say.

“This is not a gun.” I say. “This is a listening device. You are listening to us over there, right? You have anticipated this and created a situation for me to tell where the painting is, and tried to eavesdrop through this gun.”

“This gun … listening device?” The cop was stunned. So he did not know either.

“I found it odd from the beginning. That this was an automatic gun.” I say as I observe the gun. “When they stormed into my house, they were carrying the revolvers used by the city police. This is a different kind. Perhaps, this automatic pistol was the one you used when you threatened this guy? One more thing, if you want to threaten me, basically, you will have to come to me directly. But all I can see here are injured people. So, this is what I came up with: you, in order to find out where the painting is without showing up here, have created a situation for this cop to threaten me. If that is the case, then there must be a listening device somewhere.”

Of course, the gun does not answer me. It is just there, cold, heavy and quiet. But just by being there, that gun is radiating its unique presence to the surroundings. I continue to talk to the gun.

“This is loaded. But I guess it is just a blank, right?” I point the gun at the ceiling and fire a single shot. It makes an explosive sound and a flash of light cut through the darkness. But that is it. There is no bullet hole on the ceiling.

“That was quite a performance. Did you calculate everything up to this point, and collapse in front of my house on purpose? If so, that was impressive. Now, I have told you everything about the painting. Break the siege as you promised. Or you can let everyone in here and we can have a fun killing party. I am fine either way.”

As I am speaking, I check the gun more closely. Originally, it is my tool of trade. I know the balance of the weight like I know my fingers. The grip is a little heavy. I press the button to release the magazine, it drops into my hand. In the area near the grip screw, the polymer plastic material on the side of the magazine has been removed and a black rectangle part was embedded in it. That is the listening device.

I hold up the magazine like a microphone, and talk into the device. “Within ten seconds, you will make three blasts. After that, you will disappear immediately. If you don’t, I will consider that our negotiation has failed and I will come get you from here.”

I throw away the device and count to ten inside my head. Between eight and nine, a series of shocks shake up the underground basement. Exactly three times. The blasts sound like thunders from afar, and then the sound suddenly stops as if it has been chopped off. All that is left is silence. A silence that makes my ears ache.

“It is over.” I take a breath and walk away. “I will call the cops once I get out. The real ones, you know. All of you will be arrested, but at least you will be treated a little better. Compared to the Mafia.”

“Wa… wait a minute.” The cop says with a hard voice. “You…. Why? You said yourself that you alone could get away with this. You even knew that the gun I pointed at you couldn’t be used? Could it be that… you… you saved me? For what?”

The answer to that question is simple. But I don’t want to answer him. What is the point of answering anyway? I feel empty. I am tired, wounded, betrayed by people, and betraying people.”

“I am thirsty.” I say to myself. “I’m going home.”

The guy says something but I don’t hear it. I keep walking out of that place.

***

The light from the gas lamp illuminates the profiles of people walking through the ticket gate.

The blue stars of the city, of which there are only a few, are scattered in the night sky like a film.

The station is surrounded by the night sky, the night scenery, and a group of people walking home in silence. There is no explosion, no gun shot, no bargaining for your life here. It is the plain scene of the closing of a day like every day, which starts mechanically and ends mechanically.

Dazai Osamu and Oda Sakunosuke are there at that same station. In different places.

Oda is exhausted. Covering his aching back, he walks among the crowd rushing out of that station.

Dazai stands in the darkness, away from the street lights of the station front, watching Oda as he becomes one with the night.

Oda walks along the station platform, out of the ticket gate, and stesp into the night of the city. After getting out of the underground bunker, he crossed the mountain and walked over to a nearby village. He negotiated with the farmers there for them to give him a ride. He then got on buses and trains one after another, back to the nearest station to his home. When he arrives, it has become completely dark.

Oda rubs his own shoulders, and walks home with an exhausted face as he cracks his neck. His clothes are wrinkled and covered in mud. Sometimes, people passing by Oda look at him as if they are looking at a strange, foreign creature. But no one calls out to him. People in the city just don’t do that.

Oda gets through the ticket gate and walks under the street lights, as he takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth. Then he starts searching for something in his jacket. He is looking for a fire.

“Here you go.”

Suddenly, a voice comes from behind him. Oda turns around. In front of his eyes, there is a light from a match. And a hand holding it.

Oda is caught by surprise for a second, but he immediately places the cigarette in his mouth on that. He closes his eyes, breathes in the smoke, and breathes it out into the dark night. Then he looks at the person.

“Hi. What a look you’ve got there. Are you okay?”

That is Dazai.

Dazai, who has half melted into the dark, is standing there silently, smiling a smile that does not look like one.

“Nothing.” Oda says so as he looks at the other person through the smoke. “I just tripped.”

“This matchbox is yours, isn’t? I saw you drop it at the ticket gate.”

Oda looks at the matchbox Dazai is holding. It is black on the sides, white on top, and has a logo of a bar in front. It is clearly the one that Oda always carry with him.

“Yes.” Oda says, looking at the matchbox.

Then he observes the man. He stays silent for a few seconds before asking with a blank expression.

“Have I met you anywhere?”

Dazai smiles a smile of no personality. “No. This is the first time we met.”

The bandages that have covered most of Dazai’s face the whole time are no longer there. He is wearing a flat cap to cover his eyes, and a black inverness coat to hide his shape and his wounds. As for the voice, Oda has not heard Dazai speak even once.

“Is that so?” Oda says as he takes the matchbox from Dazai and turns his back on him. “Thanks for the match. Good night then.”

Oda is just taking a few steps when Dazai calls out to him from behind.

“Looks like you got into quite a bit of trouble.”

Oda stops and slowly turns around. “What?”

“Just… You seem so worn out. Your face looks so bad… Also, that thing on your hand and clothes, I can’t see very well in the dark, but it’s not just dirt. There is blood too, right?”

Oda looks at his own hands. It is true that there is still some blood from when he tried to help the injured cop on his wrists.

“Well, there was a bit of a situation.” Oda says, checking the smell on his hands. “It is not my blood. But it’s true that I got into some trouble. I got something important taken from me. Something I have always protected.”

“If it has been taken”, Dazai smiles helplessly, “then at least you don’t have to worry about it being taken anymore.”

Oda looks at the other for a while. As if he is trying to look for an answer there.

“Probably.” Oda says. “I can’t forgive the guy who took it, though.”

Dazai slowly nods. Trying to hide his expression.

Oda watches his expression for a moment but he finally turns away. “Thanks for the match. That was a big help. Bye then.”

Dazai looks at the back walking away from him and speaks quickly. “If you ever get into trouble in the future…”

Oda turns around, “Huh?”

“You can turn to The Armed Detective Agency in Yokohama for help. They will take on even the troublesome stuff. And they will get the job done without fail. I was helped by them in the past, too.”

“I see.” Oda says after he gives it a moment of thought. “I’ll do so then. That is very kind of you. You are a good guy.”

Dazai’s expression becomes distorted.

He opens his mouth, and closes it again, as if he can no longer breathe.

If he tells him everything now, maybe things will go back to how they were. The two of them will go to the bar together and have a toast. Just like that night.

“Odasa…”

Just as Dazai is about to say that name, a train passes by. The express train passing through that station cuts through the silence of the night, right next to where Dazai and Oda is.

The darkness and the light alternatively hit the road, and the roar of the steel blows away the silence of the whole surrounding. Oda narrows his eyes.

The train is long, and the sound it makes sounds like an extended sorrow. Dazai looks down so that no one can see him, his face twisted in grief. It is as if that long roar is promising him six long years of heartlessness to come.

The train finally passes through.

Oda looks around, trying to get what the other was saying again.

There is nobody there anymore.

Oda blinks his eyes, feeling confused. He looks around. Then he shakes his head as if to shake off all the thoughts, and walks away with a resigned expression.

Only the cold and quiet night breeze is left blowing through the space where no one remains, trying to fill up the emptiness.

Nobody says a word. The painting is kept by the Port Mafia for a year, before it is returned to its owner, the son of the wealthy man.

The son keeps it for a few years, and later donates it to a museum anonymously.

That way, Dazai has achieved his goal. Getting Oda to tell him where the painting is without facing him, nor having his face remembered. And by doing that, Oda will never be targeted by a criminal organization again. That is Dazai’s goal.

He has another goal.

To make Oda despise the Port Mafia. So that he will not join the Port Mafia, thus avoiding his coming death.

That goal is accomplished. Oda becomes involved with not the Port Mafia but the Armed Detective Agency, and joins the Agency two years later.

And then two years after that, Oda meets Dazai again one more time.

At the bar counter, in the sad melody of a parting song.

That is where Oda points his gun at Dazai, and Dazai says the last goodbye.

The last goodbye of his life.

The Day I Picked Up Dazai – Side Beast <The END>

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