Oh, so there's also a town here. The young me felt like I was looking at a dream and a deep sigh escaped. I sensed the hidden pool that often appears in the verses of the Man'yoshu. Why did I feel I understood Hirosaki and Tsugaru at that moment? I thought Hirosaki was no ordinary town as long as this town existed. The reader may not understand my conceited conclusion. Hirosaki Castle is a rare, famous castle because of this hidden pool. And now I have no choice but to push through.
When the flowers on the many branches open near the hidden pool, and the castle tower with white walls stands silently, the castle is, without a doubt, a famous castle of this world. For all eternity, the hot springs beside the famous castle may never lose their rustic, simple character. In today's words, I could try optimistic outlook as my parting words to my beloved Hirosaki Castle. Come to think of it, similar to the grueling task of describing my relatives, describing the heart of my hometown is no easy task.
I don't know whether to praise or to criticize. In this introduction to Tsugaru, as I developed the memories of my youth about Kanagi, Goshogawara, Aomori, Hirosaki, Asamushi, and Owani, my jumbled words are a collection of blasphemous criticisms by someone who doesn't know his place. As expected, I puzzled over how to accurately tell the stories of these six towns and, naturally, became depressed. I may spew violent words that deserve capital punishment.
These six towns were most dear to me in my past, fashioned my personality, and determined my destiny. On the other hand, I may have blind spots regarding them. I realized I am in no way the best person to tell the stories of these towns. In the main story, I will try to avoid writing about these six towns and write about other towns in Tsugaru.
Finally, I can return to the opening paragraph of this introduction with "I spent three weeks one spring touring the Tsugaru Peninsula at the northern end of Honshu." By taking this trip, I saw other towns and villages of Tsugaru for the first time in my life. Until then, I knew nothing about any towns other than the six I mentioned. In grammar school, I went on several field trips near Kanagi. Today, those fond memories are lost to me.
During midsummer vacations while in middle school, I lay on a couch in the Western-style room on the second floor of my house and guzzle cider as I randomly read my way through my older brothers' book collections and never went on any trips. During my vacations while in high school, I always visited the home in Tokyo of my next oldest brother (he was studying sculpture, but died at twenty-seven years old). When I graduated from high school, I went to college in Tokyo. For the next ten years, I never returned to my hometown; therefore, I must say this trip to Tsugaru was a momentous event.
I want to avoid having the know-it-all opinions resembling an expert about the topology, geology, astronomy, politics, history, education, and hygiene of the towns and villages I saw on this trip. I say this, but in the end, I have an embarrassingly thin veneer of one night of study. Those of you interested in these topics should pay close attention to specialists in those fields. I have another specialty. For the time being, the world may call that subject love. This subject researches the touching of the heart of one person to the heart of another. On this trip, my investigation will focus on this subject. Regardless of the perspective taken in this investigation, if I'm able to convey life today in Tsugaru to the reader, I probably won't receive a passing grade as a record of the culture and geography of Tsugaru during the Showa era but will have found success.
Chapter One
The Pilgrimage
"Now, why are you going on this trip?"
"I'm having problems."
"As usual, I can't believe you're having problems, even a little."
"Masaoka Shiki, thirty-six; Ozaki Koyo, thirty-seven; Saito Ryoku, thirty-eight; Kunikida Doppo, thirty-eight; Nagatsuka Takashi, thirty-seven; Akutagawa Ryunosuke, thirty-six; Kamura Isota, thirty-seven."
"What's your point?"
"They died at those ages. They dropped dead one after another. I'm creeping toward that age. To a writer, this is the most important age."
"So what's bothering you?"
"What are you saying? Stop joking. You're supposed to have a little understanding. I will say no more. If I speak, I will be showing off. Anyway, I'm going on this trip."
Aging well may be to blame or my belief that explaining my feelings was smug, but I didn't want to say anything (also because it's mostly trite literary flashiness).
A while ago, a friendly editor at a publishing house asked me to write about Tsugaru. While I'm alive, I want to explore each corner of the region of my birth and, one spring, left Tokyo looking like a beggar.
This event occurred in the middle of May. Describing myself as a beggar may be subjective. However, I am being objective when I say I did not look very stylish. I don't own one business suit. I only wear the work clothes of a laborer. And these clothes weren't made by a tailor on special order. These clothes are baffling, unfamiliar work clothes resembling jackets and pants made from scraps of cotton cloth laying around and dyed dark blue by someone in the house. Right after dying, the cloth was supposed to be dark blue, but after I wore them once or twice, they faded into a strange color resembling purple.
With the exception of a stunning woman, purple Western-style clothes are not flattering. I added green gaiters made of a
