Lemon 檸檬 In my free time, I’ve been working on a translation of a Japanese short story by Motojiro Kajii from 1929. This is one of my favourite short stories that I read while in Japan so I thought I’d give translating it a shot since there's no easily accessible English translation of it out there.
Lemon
Motojirō Kajii
A bizarre, ominous lump was continuously pressing down on me. You could say it was a restless impatience or a kind of disgust. Or like when you drink every day and eventually a time comes where you’ve gotten used to hangovers. That time had finally come – and it was not going to go well. I'm not talking about the build-up of mucus in my lungs or my neurasthenia. Nor am I talking about the loans that breathed down my neck. No, what was about to turn bad was this bizarre and ominous lump.
Now, even the most beautiful music that had once filled me with such joy and the most beautiful passages of poetry were unbearable. Even when I specifically went out to hear the phonographs plays, after the first two or three measures, I suddenly got the urge to stand up and leave. For some reason, I couldn’t bear to stay any longer. So in the end, I began to wander endlessly from place to place.
I remember at the time, for some reason being drawn in by this ugly, yet still so beautiful, thing. There was something about this area, which even from afar would seem dilapidated. More than it’s main streets, which even for this place were cold and unfriendly, I much preferred the odd familiarity of the backstreets – with it’s hanging dirty laundry, piled up mounds of junk and dishevelled rooms which looked down on you from above. With a lingering feeling of erosion caused by wind and the rain, this area would too eventually be turned into mud – the collapsing mud walls, the slumping houses. The only things in this area which had any life left were the plants. At times there were wonderful sunflowers and blossoming canna flowers.
Sometimes, while I wondered these streets, I would try to imagine I wasn’t in Kyoto, but Saitama or Nagasaki, somewhere hundreds of miles away from here. I wanted to get out of Kyoto. Leave it for somewhere where nobody knew me. When I got there, my first order of business would be to rest. A single room in a crowded inn. A clean futon. A perfumed mosquito net and a well-fitting yukata. In such a place I would lay my head and just sleep, without any intruding thoughts, just sleep, for an entire month. I wished this place would turn into such a town.
As this hallucination of mine grew more and more vivid, I let go and let my imagination flow endlessly. There was nothing left but the overlapping of my hallucinations and the dilapidated city around me. And so, I played with losing myself in this reality.
Recently, I’ve also come to be quite fond of those so-called firework things. The fireworks with cheap red, blue, yellow and purple paint. The bundles of differently stripped fireworks. The ones with names like the falling star of Chusanji Temple, flower wars and withering pampas. Then there were the rat firecrackers, all tightly rolled up and stuffed one by one into boxes. Such things aroused a strange excitement in me.
On top of that, there were the Nankindama marbles and the colourful glass Ohajiki marbles which held images of red snapper and flowers. Something that brought me much joy was seeing what they would feel like to lick. I wonder if there are other things in this world that could even come close to the faint and cool taste of those glass marbles. When I was young I would often be scolded by my mother and father for putting them in my mouth. It may be because those memories from a younger time live on within the now old and sunken man that is myself, but that same faintly refreshing, almost poetic flavour playfully lingers on my tongue when I taste them again.
As you could have probably guessed, money was something I did not have. However, when I would begin to feel the slightest anything towards such things, that, which was the only thing that could comfort me, was a little bit of gaudy extravagance.
Extravagance, which to me was things for two or three Zeni. Beautiful things -– the ones that touched even my soulless self. Such things would naturally console and warm my heart.
Before my life had come undone, one of my favourite places was Maruzen. The red and yellow eau de Cologne and Eau De Quinine hair tonic. The stylish and elegant amber and jade glass perfume bottles with their French Rococo styled designs. Pipes and swords and soaps and cigarettes. There were many times I spent a good short hour admiring such things. Once I eventually enjoyed the extravagance of purchasing a top of the line pencil. However, even at the time, this place had already become nothing more than depressing to me. Books, students, check out counters, all of which seemed to me like ghosts of debt collection.
One morning - at the time, I had been living by hopping from one friend's house to the next –– but, when my friends would leave for school, I would be left, alone, in the middle of the emptiness they left behind them. And again, I would have to start wondering. Something was pressing me, urging me to move forward. And from city block to city block, I walked, through the dingy back alleyways, pausing in front of cheap candy stores and gazing at the dried shrimp, yuba tofu and dried codfish of the grocer. Eventually, I worked my way down Teramachi street, towards Nijō, and stopped at a fruit shop. I would like to take a moment here to introduce this fruit shop. Out of all the many places I know, this fruit shop is my absolute favourite. Although it was not the finest store, you were able to brazenly feel the inherent beauty that comes with a fruit shop. I remember the fruits being lined up on a steep, sloping shelf. The shelf itself was made from an old, black lacquered board. The fruits were all lined up as if their colour and size had been solidified by something reminiscent of the flow of some beautiful piece of music played at allegro which turns the audience to stone like the mask of Gorgon. As you went further and further into the back, there were, of course, vegetables piled sky high too. In fact, the beauty of, for instance, their carrot leaves, was magnificent. Then there were the water soaked beans and the corms of arrowheads.
The houses in that area were the most beautiful at night. Teramachi street was a lively boulevard as a whole. It may not have been as busy as Tokyo or Osaka, but the lights from the storefronts flooded into the streets. However, for some reason, the area in front of the fruit shop remained curiously dark. Because one side of the boulevard was at a corner with the dark Nijo-Dori, it was only natural that it too would be dark, but for the next house over, it wasn't as plainly obvious as to why, for a house in Teramachi street, it was so dark. However, if that house hadn't been so dark, I don't think it would have lured me in as it did. Another thing was the eaves, which jutted out from the shop. They hang like a cap sitting low over one's eyes. It's not really an epithet, but they were enough to make you think, 'Oh! The eaves on that shop are hanging awfully low'. It's because of this that the area above the eaves too was stooped in a deep darkness. And because the surroundings were so dark, the dazzling brilliance of the few lights which rained down light at the front of the store could not be taken away by anyone. It was free to illuminate as beautifully as it pleased. Even in this boulevard of Teramachi street, it was rare for a view to enchant me as much as the one from the fruit shop did, with its unobstructed view into the second floor window of the neighbourhood locksmith and the naked street lamp which stood in the slender, spiralling road, drilling it's way into your eyes.
On that day, before I knew it, I had brought some there. That is to say, there was a very curious lemon on sale. Lemons were just one of the many things they had mountains of. But, although it wasn't a dump of a place, it wasn't more than just an ordinary greengrocer, so I had never seen such a thing like it before. I fell in love with this lemon. It's unembellished yellow colour as if a tube of Lemon Yellow paint had been squeezed out and dried and it's solid oval shape. I eventually decided to buy one of the lemons. I wonder where I went to after that. For a long time, I just walked the streets. I felt like from the moment I held the lemon, the ominous lump that had been continuously pressing down on my chest had loosened its grip on me. Standing on the street, I was in complete bliss. The fact that that melancholy which had been so persistent had just been drowned out by a single lemon – or at least the suspicion of such a thing – was a paradoxical truth. What a mysterious creature the heart can be.
The coldness of that lemon was unbelievably pleasing. At the time, I had poor lungs and had a constant fever. In fact, I tried to show my friends just how feverish I was by grasping their hands and without fail, my palms were always hotter than theirs. It was probably because of my fever, but the chill of their hands which seeped deep into my body felt pleasingly refreshing.
Again and again, I brought the fruit to my nose and inhaled its scent. The place it originally came from, California, began to fill my imagination. The words ‘an acrid odour’, which I learnt in the classical Chinese text ‘Baikansha-no-gen’, came to mind. And as I took in this scent and filled my lungs as they had never been filled before, blood began to rush to my face and through my body. It was as if a new found energy had been awoken inside me...
I thought it strange that in reality such a simple coolness, texture, scent and appearance had been such to my liking as to make me think that, for a great amount of time, I had in fact been searching for it. But, that's because that's how I was back then.
With a spring in my step and a kind of pride for these streets, I walked, thinking of the poets of days past, who swaggered down the same streets in their beautiful robes.
To see the different ways the colour would reflect off them, I began placing the lemon on top of my dirty handkerchief and then on my cloak. As I did, I thought,
‘Yeah, this is it, this weight is exactly it’-
The haughty and absurd idea that such a weight had constantly been avoiding my grasp and that it was undoubtedly the conversion of everything good and everything beautiful into a single weight, filled my mind. Whatever it was, I was in a state of bliss.
I wonder where I was walking? I eventually found myself stopped in front of Maruzen. Maruzen, which I normally tried to avoid as much as possible, now seemed so much more welcoming.
I thought, ‘just for once, let's give have a quick look’ and threw myself into the store.
But what happened? The feelings of happiness that filled my heart gradually began to disappear. My heart did not go for the perfume bottles or the pipes. A melancholic feeling came rushing over me, I think maybe the fatigue from walking around so much might have finally caught up to me. I went over to the bookshelf stacked with art books. ‘It always takes so much energy to pull out even just one of these clunking art books’ I thought. One by one, I began pulling out each one. Then I began opening them. But it stopped at that. The desire to turn the pages just never came. Then, the curse inside me reached out and pulled out the next volume. The result was the same. Still, I wouldn’t have felt better until I tried at least once.
I couldn't bear it anymore and I put it down somewhere else. I was no longer able to even put it back where it belonged. Over and over, I repeated this.
Finally, because even the bulky, chrome-yellow book which I would usually have had such a fondness for had become unbearable now, I had to leave it alone. What a curse. A lingering exhaustion was left in the muscles of my hands. I had become depressed and stood there gazing at the pile of books I had just pulled out.
I wondered what had happened to those books which had once enticed me so.
In the past, the strangely out of place feeling I got when looking around at my everyday surroundings after passing my eyes over each and every page of a book was something that I loved and savoured so...
‘Oh, that's right’... That's when I remembered the lemon. ‘If just once I try out the colours of the mountain of disarranged books with this lemon… That's it’
With that, the light excitement I felt earlier returned. I picked up all the books that were within arms reach, smashed them down hurriedly and hastily built them up again. I pulled out new books, added them to the pile and then removed them again. That's when the bizarre, fantastical castle I had built up began to turn shades of red and blue.
Finally, it was finished. And while restraining my fluttering heart, I set the lemon at the very top of that dreadful castle's wall. And it was magnificent.
As I passed my gaze over it all, the lemon seemed to be quietly absorbing the cluttered gradients of colours into its spindle-shaped body with a clear, carried sound of a crashing gong. I felt like the dusty air in Maruzen had gone strangely tense around the lemon. For a while, I just gazed at it.
Suddenly, a second idea came to me. This curious new plot gripped my heart.
-’I should leave it as it is and get out of here as if nothing's happened’-
I felt strangely tickled by this. ‘Should I leave now? Yes, I should leave’.
That strangely ticklish feeling brought a smile to my face as I took back to the streets. ‘How great would it be if in ten minutes from now Maruzen was destroyed in a massive explosion… with those shelves full of art at the centre… and what if the mysterious perpetrator, who set the awesome, sparkling golden bomb, was none other than me?’
I eagerly pursued this daydream. ‘If that happened, that stinking Maruzen would be left in a million pieces’.
With that, I began my way down to Kyogoku, where its moving billboards filled the streets with a mystically odd charm.
檸檬
梶井基次郎
えたいの知れない不吉な塊が私の心を始終圧えつけていた。焦躁と言おうか、嫌悪と言おうか――酒を飲んだあとに宿酔いがあるように、酒を毎日飲んでいると宿酔に相当した時期がやって来る。それが来たのだ。これはちょっといけなかった。結果した肺尖カタルや神経衰弱がいけないのではない。また背を焼くような借金などがいけないのではない。いけないのはその不吉な塊だ。以前私を喜ばせたどんな美しい音楽も、どんな美しい詩の一節も辛抱がならなくなった。蓄音器を聴かせてもらいにわざわざ出かけて行っても、最初の二三小節で不意に立ち上がってしまいたくなる。何かが私を居た堪らずさせるのだ。それで始終私は街から街を浮浪し続けていた。
何故なぜだかその頃私は見すぼらしくて美しいものに強くひきつけられたのを覚えている。風景にしても壊れかかった街だとか、その街にしてもよそよそしい表通りよりもどこか親しみのある、汚い洗濯物が干してあったりがらくたが転がしてあったりむさくるしい部屋が覗いていたりする裏通りが好きであった。雨や風が蝕ばんでやがて土に帰ってしまう、と言ったような趣きのある街で、土塀が崩れていたり家並が傾きかかっていたり――勢いのいいのは植物だけで、時とするとびっくりさせるような向日葵があったりカンナが咲いていたりする。
時どき私はそんな路を歩きながら、ふと、そこが京都ではなくて京都から何百里も離れた仙台とか長崎とか――そのような市へ今自分が来ているのだ――という錯覚を起こそうと努める。私は、できることなら京都から逃げ出して誰一人知らないような市へ行ってしまいたかった。第一に安静。がらんとした旅館の一室。清浄な蒲団。匂いのいい蚊帳と糊のよくきいた浴衣。そこで一月ほど何も思わず横になりたい。希がわくはここがいつの間にかその市になっているのだったら。――錯覚がようやく成功しはじめると私はそれからそれへ想像の絵具を塗りつけてゆく。なんのことはない、私の錯覚と壊れかかった街との二重写しである。そして私はその中に現実の私自身を見失うのを楽しんだ。
私はまたあの花火というやつが好きになった。花火そのものは第二段として、あの安っぽい絵具で赤や紫や黄や青や、さまざまの縞模様を持った花火の束、中山寺の星下り、花合戦、枯れすすき。それから鼠花火というのは一つずつ輪になっていて箱に詰めてある。そんなものが変に私の心を唆った。
それからまた、びいどろという色硝子で鯛や花を打ち出してあるおはじきが好きになったし、南京玉が好きになった。またそれを嘗めてみるのが私にとってなんともいえない享楽だったのだ。あのびいどろの味ほど幽かな涼しい味があるものか。私は幼い時よくそれを口に入れては父母に叱られたものだが、その幼時のあまい記憶が大きくなって落ち魄ぶれた私に蘇がえってくる故だろうか、まったくあの味には幽かな爽やかななんとなく詩美と言ったような味覚が漂って来る。
察しはつくだろうが私にはまるで金がなかった。とは言えそんなものを見て少しでも心の動きかけた時の私自身を慰めるためには贅沢ということが必要であった。二銭や三銭のもの――と言って贅沢なもの。美しいもの――と言って無気力な私の触角にむしろ媚て来るもの。――そう言ったものが自然私を慰めるのだ。
生活がまだ蝕ばまれていなかった以前私の好きであった所は、たとえば丸善であった。赤や黄のオードコロンやオードキニン。洒落れた切子細工や典雅なロココ趣味の浮模様を持った琥珀色や翡翠色の香水壜。煙管、小刀、石鹸、煙草。私はそんなものを見るのに小一時間も費すことがあった。そして結局一等いい鉛筆を一本買うくらいの贅沢をするのだった。しかしここももうその頃の私にとっては重くるしい場所に過ぎなかった。書籍、学生、勘定台、これらはみな借金取りの亡霊のように私には見えるのだった。
ある朝――その頃私は甲の友達から乙の友達へというふうに友達の下宿を転々として暮らしていたのだが――友達が学校へ出てしまったあとの空虚な空気のなかにぽつねんと一人取り残された。私はまたそこから彷徨さまよい出なければならなかった。何かが私を追いたてる。そして街から街へ、先に言ったような裏通りを歩いたり、駄菓子屋の前で立ち留どまったり、乾物屋の乾蝦ほしえびや棒鱈ぼうだらや湯葉ゆばを眺めたり、とうとう私は二条の方へ寺町を下さがり、そこの果物屋で足を留とめた。ここでちょっとその果物屋を紹介したいのだが、その果物屋は私の知っていた範囲で最も好きな店であった。そこは決して立派な店ではなかったのだが、果物屋固有の美しさが最も露骨に感ぜられた。果物はかなり勾配の急な台の上に並べてあって、その台というのも古びた黒い漆塗うるしぬりの板だったように思える。何か華やかな美しい音楽の快速調アッレグロの流れが、見る人を石に化したというゴルゴンの鬼面――的なものを差しつけられて、あんな色彩やあんなヴォリウムに凝こり固まったというふうに果物は並んでいる。青物もやはり奥へゆけばゆくほど堆うず高く積まれている。――実際あそこの人参葉にんじんばの美しさなどは素晴すばらしかった。それから水に漬つけてある豆だとか慈姑くわいだとか。
またそこの家の美しいのは夜だった。寺町通はいったいに賑にぎやかな通りで――と言って感じは東京や大阪よりはずっと澄んでいるが――飾窓の光がおびただしく街路へ流れ出ている。それがどうしたわけかその店頭の周囲だけが妙に暗いのだ。もともと片方は暗い二条通に接している街角になっているので、暗いのは当然であったが、その隣家が寺町通にある家にもかかわらず暗かったのが瞭然はっきりしない。しかしその家が暗くなかったら、あんなにも私を誘惑するには至らなかったと思う。もう一つはその家の打ち出した廂ひさしなのだが、その廂が眼深まぶかに冠った帽子の廂のように――これは形容というよりも、「おや、あそこの店は帽子の廂をやけに下げているぞ」と思わせるほどなので、廂の上はこれも真暗なのだ。そう周囲が真暗なため、店頭に点つけられた幾つもの電燈が驟雨しゅううのように浴びせかける絢爛けんらんは、周囲の何者にも奪われることなく、ほしいままにも美しい眺めが照らし出されているのだ。裸の電燈が細長い螺旋棒らせんぼうをきりきり眼の中へ刺し込んでくる往来に立って、また近所にある鎰屋かぎやの二階の硝子ガラス窓をすかして眺めたこの果物店の眺めほど、その時どきの私を興がらせたものは寺町の中でも稀まれだった。
その日私はいつになくその店で買物をした。というのはその店には珍しい檸檬れもんが出ていたのだ。檸檬などごくありふれている。がその店というのも見すぼらしくはないまでもただあたりまえの八百屋に過ぎなかったので、それまであまり見かけたことはなかった。いったい私はあの檸檬が好きだ。レモンエロウの絵具をチューブから搾り出して固めたようなあの単純な色も、それからあの丈たけの詰まった紡錘形の恰好かっこうも。――結局私はそれを一つだけ買うことにした。それからの私はどこへどう歩いたのだろう。私は長い間街を歩いていた。始終私の心を圧えつけていた不吉な塊がそれを握った瞬間からいくらか弛ゆるんで来たとみえて、私は街の上で非常に幸福であった。あんなに執拗しつこかった憂鬱が、そんなものの一顆いっかで紛らされる――あるいは不審なことが、逆説的なほんとうであった。それにしても心というやつはなんという不可思議なやつだろう。
その檸檬の冷たさはたとえようもなくよかった。その頃私は肺尖はいせんを悪くしていていつも身体に熱が出た。事実友達の誰彼だれかれに私の熱を見せびらかすために手の握り合いなどをしてみるのだが、私の掌が誰のよりも熱かった。その熱い故せいだったのだろう、握っている掌から身内に浸み透ってゆくようなその冷たさは快いものだった。
私は何度も何度もその果実を鼻に持っていっては嗅かいでみた。それの産地だというカリフォルニヤが想像に上って来る。漢文で習った「売柑者之言」の中に書いてあった「鼻を撲うつ」という言葉が断きれぎれに浮かんで来る。そしてふかぶかと胸一杯に匂やかな空気を吸い込めば、ついぞ胸一杯に呼吸したことのなかった私の身体や顔には温い血のほとぼりが昇って来てなんだか身内に元気が目覚めて来たのだった。……
実際あんな単純な冷覚や触覚や嗅覚や視覚が、ずっと昔からこればかり探していたのだと言いたくなったほど私にしっくりしたなんて私は不思議に思える――それがあの頃のことなんだから。
私はもう往来を軽やかな昂奮に弾んで、一種誇りかな気持さえ感じながら、美的装束をして街を歩かっぽした詩人のことなど思い浮かべては歩いていた。汚れた手拭の上へ載せてみたりマントの上へあてがってみたりして色の反映を量はかったり、またこんなことを思ったり、
――つまりはこの重さなんだな。――
その重さこそ常つねづね尋ねあぐんでいたもので、疑いもなくこの重さはすべての善いものすべての美しいものを重量に換算して来た重さであるとか、思いあがった諧謔心かいぎゃくしんからそんな馬鹿げたことを考えてみたり――なにがさて私は幸福だったのだ。
どこをどう歩いたのだろう、私が最後に立ったのは丸善の前だった。平常あんなに避けていた丸善がその時の私にはやすやすと入れるように思えた。
「今日は一ひとつ入ってみてやろう」そして私はずかずか入って行った。
しかしどうしたことだろう、私の心を充たしていた幸福な感情はだんだん逃げていった。香水の壜にも煙管きせるにも私の心はのしかかってはゆかなかった。憂鬱が立て罩こめて来る、私は歩き廻った疲労が出て来たのだと思った。私は画本の棚の前へ行ってみた。画集の重たいのを取り出すのさえ常に増して力が要るな！ と思った。しかし私は一冊ずつ抜き出してはみる、そして開けてはみるのだが、克明にはぐってゆく気持はさらに湧いて来ない。しかも呪われたことにはまた次の一冊を引き出して来る。それも同じことだ。それでいて一度バラバラとやってみなくては気が済まないのだ。それ以上は堪たまらなくなってそこへ置いてしまう。以前の位置へ戻すことさえできない。私は幾度もそれを繰り返した。とうとうおしまいには日頃から大好きだったアングルの橙色だいだいろの重い本までなおいっそうの堪たえがたさのために置いてしまった。――なんという呪われたことだ。手の筋肉に疲労が残っている。私は憂鬱になってしまって、自分が抜いたまま積み重ねた本の群を眺めていた。
以前にはあんなに私をひきつけた画本がどうしたことだろう。一枚一枚に眼を晒さらし終わって後、さてあまりに尋常な周囲を見廻すときのあの変にそぐわない気持を、私は以前には好んで味わっていたものであった。……
「あ、そうだそうだ」その時私は袂たもとの中の檸檬れもんを憶い出した。本の色彩をゴチャゴチャに積みあげて、一度この檸檬で試してみたら。「そうだ」
私にまた先ほどの軽やかな昂奮が帰って来た。私は手当たり次第に積みあげ、また慌あわただしく潰し、また慌しく築きあげた。新しく引き抜いてつけ加えたり、取り去ったりした。奇怪な幻想的な城が、そのたびに赤くなったり青くなったりした。
やっとそれはでき上がった。そして軽く跳りあがる心を制しながら、その城壁の頂きに恐る恐る檸檬れもんを据えつけた。そしてそれは上出来だった。
見わたすと、その檸檬の色彩はガチャガチャした色の階調をひっそりと紡錘形の身体の中へ吸収してしまって、カーンと冴えかえっていた。私は埃ほこりっぽい丸善の中の空気が、その檸檬の周囲だけ変に緊張しているような気がした。私はしばらくそれを眺めていた。
不意に第二のアイディアが起こった。その奇妙なたくらみはむしろ私をぎょっとさせた。
――それをそのままにしておいて私は、なに喰くわぬ顔をして外へ出る。――
私は変にくすぐったい気持がした。「出て行こうかなあ。そうだ出て行こう」そして私はすたすた出て行った。
変にくすぐったい気持が街の上の私を微笑ほほえませた。丸善の棚へ黄金色に輝く恐ろしい爆弾を仕掛けて来た奇怪な悪漢が私で、もう十分後にはあの丸善が美術の棚を中心として大爆発をするのだったらどんなにおもしろいだろう。
私はこの想像を熱心に追求した。「そうしたらあの気詰まりな丸善も粉葉こっぱみじんだろう」
そして私は活動写真の看板画が奇体な趣きで街を彩いろどっている京極を下って行った。
