About forty minutes after leaving Odose, the train arrived in Fukaura. This port town looked like the fishing villages near the shore in Chiba. With unassuming and gentle expressions on their faces, in less flattering terms, not too bright and cunning expressions, they welcome visitors with silence. After all, they exhibit total indifference to travelers. I would never say this atmosphere in Fukaura is a shortcoming. Without those expressions, I think living in this world is sometimes too much for people. Their expressions may be those of mature adults. Their confidence is submerged deep inside.
There is none of the childish, futile resistance seen in the northern part of Tsugaru. North Tsugaru seems half-cooked and not fully cooked like this place. Ah, that's it. I understand when I compare the two. The truth is people living in the interior of Tsugaru do not have confidence in their history. It's all gone. Thus, they recklessly stand up to a constant stream of insults from others like "This is going to be vulgar" and must assume an insolent attitude. That evolves into the rebellious, stubborn, and unyielding nature of the Tsugaru native and may shape his sorrowful, lonely fate. People of Tsugaru, raise your heads! Were you the people unafraid to affirm the pent-up force emerging just before the Renaissance in this land? When the glory of Japanese civilization shrinks and comes to an end, will the largely unfinished land of Tsugaru somehow become the hope of Japan? Those were my thoughts one night but I soon awkwardly stretched my shoulders. Confidence instigated by others is pointless. I don't know, but shouldn't one act, believe, and persevere for a time?
Today, the population of Fukaura is about five thousand and is the port on the southern edge of the west coast of old Tsugaru. During the Edo period, Fukaura was placed under the magistrate of the four bays with Aomori, Ajigasawa, and Jusan, and was one of the most important ports of the Tsugaru clan. The tranquil, small bay with deep waters formed between the hills is a scenic spot on the coast equal to the strange rock formations of Azuma Beach, Benten-jima Island, and Yukiai-zaki.
The town was quiet. Large, nice-looking diving suits hung upside down in the gardens to dry. I felt a deep calm with some element of despair. I walked straight down the road to the Deva gate of the Engaku-ji Temple just outside of town. The Physician of Souls shrine is designated a national treasure. I entered and thought about going home from Fukaura.
This perfect town left the traveler feeling lonely again. I went down to the beach, sat on a rock, and puzzled over what to do now. The sun was still high in the sky. Out of the blue, thoughts of my child in our thatched hut in Tokyo came to mind. I would have preferred not having those thoughts but my child's face targeted a void in my heart and leaped into my breast. I stood and headed to the post office. I bought a postcard and wrote a short update to the home I left in Tokyo. The child had whooping cough. And her mother would soon give birth to a second child. Unable to bear my feelings, I randomly entered an inn, was led to a dirty room, and while removing my gaiters, I asked for sake. Faster than I expected, a tray and sake arrived. The promptness brought me a bit of relief. Although the room was dirty, the tray was piled with sea bream and abalone prepared in various ways. The sea bream and abalone appeared to be specialty products of this port. I drank two bottles of sake, but it was still too early to sleep.
Since coming to Tsugaru, others have treated me to meals. I had the trifling thought, Today is the one time I've drunk a lot of sake through my own efforts. I caught the young twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl who brought me the tray and asked if there was any more sake. She said, "No." Then I asked if there was another place to drink, she promptly said, "Yes." I was relieved and asked for directions to this drinking establishment. I went. It was a surprisingly tidy, little restaurant. I was escorted to a ten-tatami room overlooking the sea on the second floor. I sat cross-legged at the Tsugaru-nuri lacquered tray and said, "Sake. Sake." Only sake immediately appeared. I was grateful. The food took time, and the guest waited alone. A fortyish granny with missing front teeth quickly appeared carrying only a sake bottle. I thought I would ask her to tell me a Fukaura legend.
"What are the famous spots in Fukaura?"
"Did you visit Kannon-san?"
"Kannon-san? Oh, if by Kannon-san you mean the Engaku-ji Temple then yes."
I believed I could listen to some ancient story from this granny. However, a fat young woman appeared in this parlor and curiously made a joke. Given no choice, I thought, as a man, I should be direct.
I asked, "Would you please go downstairs?"
I'm giving advice to the reader. A man goes to a restaurant and must be forthright when speaking. I've had bitter experiences. When this young woman swelled up and stood, the old woman also stood and they left together. One being expelled from the room and the other sitting quietly wouldn't be unjust even from the perspective of love and justice between friends. I drank the sake alone in the huge room and gazed at the fire of the lighthouse in Port Fukaura. My melancholy only deepened and I returned to the inn.
The following morning, while I wondered if I would eat breakfast feeling lonesome, the proprietor came carrying a tray and a small dish.
"Are you Tsushima-san?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. I had written my pen name Dazai in the register.
"All right. I thought you looked familiar. I was a classmate in middle school of your brother Eiji. I didn't know the name Dazai you wrote
