Yasukichi had had enough of signs, enough of warnings; he walked towards the one shop which at least seemed to be open, a shop he had known for a long while, that overpowering bright red TOBACCO sign hanging down from its eaves as always. Yasukichi paused under the eaves, before the window of the shop, smiling at the familiar model of the battleship Mikasa, its Rising Sun flag hoisted, enclosed in a bottle of Curaçao, displayed among the adverts for condensed milk, then went inside, inside the familiar, welcoming shop; the coloured glass above the shop door cast its customary green light over the stucco walls and myriad goods of the store: the Kamakura hams still dangling from the rafters above, the poster for Kinsen Cider still hanging over the door to the back, just as they had always done; the tins of English cocoa, the boxes of American raisins all neatly arranged on the shelves as usual; the Yamatoni beef, the Scottish whisky, the Manila cigars and the Egyptian cigarettes, all were as they always were, all as it always was, familiar and comforting, welcoming.
Yasukichi picked up a large box of his usual matches; he loved the design of this box so much that he had often been tempted to frame its trademark. But as he looked down at the sailboat on the choppy sea now, he was reminded again of the wooden tally he’d stumbled, almost tripped over, the man buried at sea, lost to the sea, and again he felt inundated, again overwhelmed, drowning on dry land, drowning in this store. His palms sweating, Yasukichi put the box back on the shelf, wiped his palms on his handkerchief, then walked over to the woman sat at the counter.
Yasukichi had known the woman since the first day he had come into the shop, the same day he had started to teach at the Naval Academy, eight years ago now. In fact, if he was honest, with her hair done up in a Western style, with her pale cat-like face, she had been the initial, real reason he had become such a frequent, regular customer. But today, sitting at the counter as she always did, reading a newspaper as she usually did, the woman seemed somehow changed, in some way different, not the same, no longer the same.
‘Excuse me,’ said Yasukichi. ‘I wonder if you have any other matches, other than Ship, perhaps a box of Swan Vesta?’
The woman did not look up at Yasukichi, appeared not to even hear him, but then she got up from her seat and walked into the back of the store.
How strange, thought Yasukichi, but he stayed where he was, waiting for her to return, glancing at the abacus standing on its end, looking down at the newspaper spread over the counter, its characters all upside down.
A few moments later, the woman returned from the back of the store, holding a box in her hand. But still she did not look at Yasukichi, not even to glance his way. The woman sat back down in her seat, opened up the box, took out a caramel, unwrapped its paper, put the sweet in her mouth, and then picked up the newspaper, now holding up its front page, its photograph and headline staring Yasukichi in the face –
RYŪNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA, RENOWNED AUTHOR, COMMITS SUICIDE AT TABATA HOME
Yasukichi tried to cry out, to protest, ‘Mada-dayo! Not yet—’
The woman looked up from the newspaper, over the counter, down to the floor. She put down the paper, got up from her seat, came out from behind the counter and picked up a box of matches that must have somehow fallen to the floor. The woman put the box back on the shelf, then returned to her seat and the newspaper, and turned the page.
After Words
Bibliography
The twelve tales which form this novel are inspired and informed by the stories, essays and letters of Ryūnosuke Akutagawa himself, incidents from his own life, and the memories and writings of people around him.
I have included a complete list of all the sources used in the writing of this novel but, for anyone who has not read Akutagawa, I would begin with:
Rashōmon and Seventeen Other Stories, trans. Jay Rubin (Penguin, 2006).
Kappa, trans. Geoffrey Bownas (Tuttle, 1971; Peter Owen, 2009).
Both books also include very useful biographical information.
Many of the stories of Akutagawa have been widely translated, over many years, though most collections are now out of print:
Akutagawa and Dazai: Instances of Literary Adaptation, trans. James O’Brien (Center for Asian Studies, Arizona State University, 1988; Kurodahan Press, 2004).
The Beautiful and the Grotesque, originally published under the title Exotic Japanese Stories, trans. Takashi Kojima and John McVittie (Liverlight, 1964 and 2010).
‘A Bizarre Reunion’, trans. Steven P. Venti, in Kaiki: Uncanny Tales from Japan, Volume 3: Tales of the Metropolis (Kurodahan Press, 2012).
Cogwheels and Other Stories, trans. Howard Norman (Mosaic Press, 1982, 2015).
‘The Death Register’, trans. Lawrence Rogers, in Tokyo Stories: A Literary Stroll, ed. Lawrence Rogers (University of California Press, 2002).
The Essential Akutagawa, ed. Seiji M. Lippit (Marsilio, 1999).
Die Fluten des Sumida, trans. Armin Stein (IUDICIUM Verlag, 2010).
A Fool’s Life, trans. Will Petersen (Grossman Publishers, 1970).
A Fool’s Life, trans. Anthony Barnett and Naoko Toraiwa (Allardyce, Barnett, 2007).
‘General Kim’, trans. Jay Rubin, in Monkey Business Vol. 3 (Villagebooks, 2013).
Hell Screen and Other Stories, trans. W. H. H. Norman (Hokuseido, 1948).
Hell Screen, Cogwheels, A Fool’s Life, trans. Takashi Kojima, Cid Corman, Susumu Kamaike and Will Petersen, with a foreword by Jorge Luis Borges and introduction by Kazuya Sakai (Eridanos Press, 1987).
Japanese Short Stories, trans. Takashi Kojima (Liverlight, 1961).
Kappa, trans. Seiichi Shiojiri (Akitaya, 1947, and Hokuseido, 1951).
Kirishitan Stories by Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, trans. Yoshiko and Andrew Dykstra, in Japanese Religions, Vol. 31 (2006).
Mandarins, trans. Charles de Wolf (Archipelago, 2010).
‘The Mirage’, trans. Beongcheon Yu, in Chicago Review, XVIII, No. 2 (1965).
Rashōmon and Other Stories, trans. Takashi Kojima (Liverlight, 1952).
Rashōmon and Other Stories, trans. Glenn W. Shaw (Hara Shobo, 1964).
The Spider’s Thread and Other Stories, trans. Dorothy Britton (Kodansha International, 1987).
Tales Grotesque and
