Once in a Lifetime, part 6
Mask
Draft: this translation has not yet been checked against the original by a separate review.
- Written
- July 1920 (events of the winter of 1919–20 and the spring of 1920)
- Place
- Tokyo
- Language
- Japanese
- Kind of source
- literature
- Reading time
- 10 minutes
- Difficulty
- Accessible
- Intensity
- Low
In March, when hardly anyone in Tokyo still wore a mask, the narrator kept his on. When he spotted a stranger at a streetcar stop with a black cloth over his nose and mouth, he felt he had found a comrade.
Kikuchi Kan (1888–1948) was a novelist and playwright who had worked as a newspaper reporter; a few years after this sketch he founded the magazine Bungei shunjū. He published “Mask” in the July 1920 issue of Kaizō, a leading monthly, with the subtitle “From My Life.” It covers the winter of 1919–20, when the influenza pandemic struck Japan again, and the spring that followed.
The narrator knows what doctors and newspapers told him: daily death counts, advice on masks and gargling, and warnings that a weak heart could be fatal. He has no way to judge that advice himself, and he worries about every coughing visitor.
The sketch is told in the first person, and its details match Kikuchi’s own life. But it is a crafted piece of writing drawn from life, not a diary, and dates and figures may be shaped for the story.
Watch how his feelings about masks change with the weather and with what other people are doing, and how he explains, at the end, his anger at the young man.
The edited translation, in simplified modern English. Bracketed words were added for clarity; [...] marks a cut. Tap a note number to read the note.
I look plump, so other people think I am very robust. But I knew better than anyone that every one of my internal organs was weaker than most people’s.
Even a slight slope left me out of breath. So did a flight of stairs. When I was a newspaper reporter, I would run up the stairs of some big government office. Then, when I was shown into the room of the man I had come to see, I would still be panting so hard that sometimes I could not begin to speak right away.
My lungs were not very strong either. When I tried to take a deep breath, my chest would tighten after a certain point, and I could not breathe in any farther.
Besides a weak heart and weak lungs, I had damaged my stomach and bowels sometime last year. Not one of my organs was strong. And yet my body is plump. To an untrained eye I always look sturdy. I knew perfectly well that my insides were weak. But when people kept telling me, “You look so healthy, so healthy,” just hearing it gave me a kind of false confidence. It is like a plain woman who starts to think, “Maybe I’m not so bad after all,” when the people around her pay her a compliment.
I was really weak. Still, I felt safer back when I had that mistaken confidence in my health, which came from being told I looked healthy.
But at the end of last year I upset my stomach and bowels badly and went to see a doctor, and he gave me a rather harsh disillusionment.
The doctor was feeling my pulse.
“Why, there’s no pulse,” he said. “That can’t be right.” He tilted his head and seemed to be listening hard for something. No wonder he said so. At some point, I don’t know when, my pulse had grown faint. Even when I held my own wrist still for a long time, I could only just feel it, as if it were hardly there at all.
The doctor held my wrist in silence for a full minute. Then he said,
“Ah, it’s there, all right. But it’s unusually weak. Has a doctor ever told you anything about your heart?” His face had grown a little serious.
“No,” I answered. “But then, I haven’t seen a doctor for two or three years.”
Without a word, the doctor put his stethoscope to my chest. I felt uneasy, as if he were sniffing out the secret of my life that lay hidden there.
He moved the stethoscope again and again, exploring all around my heart from the outside, leaving no spot untried.
“I can’t be sure unless I examine you when your heart is racing. But it seems that the valves of your heart don’t close properly.”
“Is that an illness?” I asked.
“It is. Your heart is defective, you see, so nothing can be added to it or done about it. For one thing, it’s a place we can’t operate on.”
“Is my life in danger?” I asked timidly.
“No. You’ve lived this long with it, so you’ll be all right if you take good care of it. But your heart also seems a little enlarged on the right side. You mustn’t get too fat. If you get a fatty heart, it can just give out, like that.”
Not one thing the doctor said was good news. I had long been prepared for a weak heart, but I had not thought it was this weak.
“You must be careful. When there’s a fire, for instance, you mustn’t go running out. Not long ago, when there was a fire in Motomachi, a man’s heart failed at Suidōbashi,1 and he died. They called me, so I went and examined him. His heart was very weak, and yet it seems he had run all the way from his house, about ten chō [over half a mile]. If you’re not careful, you could drop dead any time, too. Above all, don’t get into quarrels and get excited. And fevers are dangerous. If you catch typhoid or influenza and run a fever of about 40 degrees [104°F] for three or four days, there’ll be no saving you.”
This doctor never offered comfort or glossed things over. But I wished he had said something more comforting, even if it was a lie. With the danger to my heart spelled out so bluntly, I felt a kind of bleak dreariness.
“Isn’t there something I can do to prevent it, some way of looking after myself?” I asked, looking for a last way out.
“No. Only, don’t eat fatty things. Avoid meat and oily fish as much as you can. Eat plain vegetables.”
“Oh dear,” I thought. Eating was just about my greatest pleasure, and for me a diet like that was deadly.
After that examination, I felt that my life was in danger every moment. Especially because, just around then, the influenza2 began to spread with terrible force. If the doctor was right, catching it would mean death for me. What was more, the doctors’ talks on the influenza that the newspapers printed again and again at that time kept repeating the same idea: a strong or a weak heart decided who lived and who died.
You could say I was terrified of the influenza. I wanted to protect myself as much as I could. I meant to do my very best not to catch it. People might laugh at me for a coward, but I could not bear the thought of catching it and dying.
I went out as little as possible. I kept my wife and the maid from going out as much as I could. Morning and evening I gargled with hydrogen peroxide. When I had to go out on business that could not be helped, I wore a mask stuffed with plenty of gauze.3 And I gargled carefully when I left and when I came home.
In this way I took every precaution. But visitors could not be helped. When someone came to see me who had only just got over a cold and was still coughing, my spirits sank. Once a friend’s fever kept rising while we talked, so I sent him home. Afterward word came that his fever had reached 40 degrees, and for two or three days I felt uneasy.
My hopes and fears rose and fell with the number of deaths printed in the newspaper every day. The number grew day by day until it reached 3,337. That was the highest. When it began to fall, little by little, I was relieved. But I stayed careful. Through all of February I hardly went out. My friends, and even my wife, laughed at my cowardice. I thought I might have a touch of hypochondria from neurasthenia.4 But my fear of the influenza was a real feeling that nothing could take my mind off.
In March, as the cold eased day by day, the threat of influenza slowly faded too. Hardly anyone wore a mask anymore. But I still did not take mine off.
“To have no fear of illness and run the risk of infection—that’s the courage of a savage. To fear illness and avoid every risk of infection is the courage of a civilized man. I know it looks odd to wear a mask when no one else does anymore. But I think that’s not cowardice. It’s the courage of a civilized man.”
That is how I explained myself to my friends. And in my heart, too, I partly believed it.
I did not give up my mask until near the end of March. By then the newspapers ran stories now and then saying the influenza had left the cities and gone off into remote mountain districts. But I still did not give up my mask. Hardly anyone else wore one by now. But once in a while, among the passengers waiting at a streetcar stop, I would find one person with nose and mouth covered by a black cloth. That made me feel very reassured. He seemed a kind of comrade, a kindred spirit. Each time I found someone like that, I was saved from the embarrassment of being the only one in a mask. I even felt a kind of pride, as if I were a true follower of hygiene, a civilized man who valued life to the utmost.
April came, then May. Even I no longer wore a mask. But around the turn from April to May, two or three newspapers ran stories saying the influenza had come back. I was sick of it. That even in April and May we were still not quite free of the threat of influenza was more unpleasant than I could stand.
Still, even I did not feel like putting on a mask again. In the daytime the early summer sun shone warm and full. Whatever excuse I had, I could hardly wear a mask now. The newspaper stories weighed on my mind, but the season itself was giving me courage.
It was the middle of May. A baseball team from Chicago5 had come, and games were being played at Waseda6 almost every day. That day the Imperial University7 was playing. For the first time in a long while, I felt like watching baseball. As a student I had been quite a fan, but in the last year or two I had hardly seen a game.
The weather was so clear you could call it perfect. The heights of Mejirodai,8 covered in fresh green leaves, were refreshing to see. I got off the streetcar at the last stop and took a back street toward the ballpark. I knew the area quite well. I was hurrying along the fence around the grounds toward the entrance when a young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four passed me. I happened to glance at his face from the side. To my surprise, he was wearing a black mask. When I saw it, I could not help feeling an unpleasant shock. At the same moment I felt plain hatred for him. Somehow he seemed thoroughly annoying. In that black mask jutting out from his face I even saw a nasty, monstrous ugliness.
The main reason he annoyed me must have been that, on such a fine day, he reminded me of the threat of influenza. Mixed in, too, was a selfish feeling. When I wore a mask, I had been glad to meet the rare person who wore one too; now that I had stopped, people in masks looked unpleasant to me. But beyond those feelings I sensed something more. Was my dislike of this man the resentment the weak feel toward the strong? Even I, who had been so eager to wear a mask, now felt too embarrassed to wear one, because of the season. And here he was, boldly and proudly wearing his mask, pushing his way into a place where thousands of people had gathered. Wasn’t that the attitude of a truly strong man? At any rate, I thought, this young man was bravely doing what I could not bring myself to do, because of the season and what people would think. I wondered whether I disliked him because I felt crushed by his courage.
Notes
- Districts of central Tokyo. back
- 流行性感冒 ryūkōsei kanbō, “epidemic cold,” the usual Japanese term then for influenza. The pandemic that began in 1918 struck Japan in more than one wave; here it is the winter of 1919–20. back
- Japanese health officials urged people to wear gauze masks and to gargle during the influenza epidemics. back
- Neurasthenia, “nervous exhaustion,” was a common diagnosis of the time for anxiety and fatigue. For “hypochondria” the text uses a Japanese word meaning “fear-of-illness disorder,” glossed with the European word. back
- Probably the University of Chicago team, which visited Japan as guests of Waseda University. back
- Waseda University, a private university in Tokyo with its own baseball ground. back
- Tokyo Imperial University, now the University of Tokyo. back
- A hilly district in northwest Tokyo, next to Waseda. back
見かけだけは肥って居るので、他人からは非常に頑健に思われながら、その癖内臓と云う内臓が人並以下に脆弱であることは、自分自身が一番よく知って居た。
Since I am fat in appearance only, though I was thought by others to be extremely robust, that, for all that, every one of my internal organs was more fragile than average, I myself knew best.
I look plump, so other people think I am very robust. But I knew better than anyone that every one of my internal organs was weaker than most people’s.
ちょっとした坂を上っても、息切れがした。階段を上っても息切れがした。新聞記者をして居たとき、諸官署などの大きい建物の階段を駈け上ると、目ざす人の部屋へ通されても、息がはずんで、急には話を切り出すことが、出来ないことなどもあった。
Even climbing a slight slope, I got out of breath. Climbing stairs, too, I got out of breath. When I was working as a newspaper reporter, when I ran up the stairs of large buildings such as government offices, even when I was shown into the room of the person I was aiming at, I was panting, and there were times I could not quickly bring up what I had to say.
Even a slight slope left me out of breath. So did a flight of stairs. When I was a newspaper reporter, I would run up the stairs of some big government office. Then, when I was shown into the room of the man I had come to see, I would still be panting so hard that sometimes I could not begin to speak right away.
肺の方も余り強くはなかった。深呼吸をする積りで、息を吸いかけても、ある程度迄吸うと、すぐ胸苦しくなって来て、それ以上はどうしても吸えなかった。
My lungs, too, were not very strong. Intending to take a deep breath, even when I began to breathe in, when I had breathed in to a certain degree, my chest soon became tight, and I could not by any means breathe in more than that.
My lungs were not very strong either. When I tried to take a deep breath, my chest would tighten after a certain point, and I could not breathe in any farther.
心臓と肺とが弱い上に、去年あたりから胃腸を害してしまった。内臓では、強いものは一つもなかった。その癖身体だけは、肥って居る。素人眼にはいつも頑健そうに見える。自分では内臓の弱いことを、万々承知して居ても、他人から、「丈夫そうだ〳〵。」と云われると、そう云われることから、一種ごまかしの自信を持ってしまう。器量の悪い女でも、周囲の者から何か云われると自分でも「満更ではないのか。」と思い出すように。
On top of the heart and lungs being weak, from around last year I damaged my stomach and intestines. Among the internal organs, there was not a single strong one. Yet my body alone is fat. To an amateur’s eye it always looks robust. Even though I myself knew full well that my organs were weak, when told by others, “You look healthy, healthy,” from being told so, I end up having a kind of sham confidence. Just as even a woman of poor looks, when something is said by those around her, starts to think herself, “Maybe I am not so bad after all.”
Besides a weak heart and weak lungs, I had damaged my stomach and bowels sometime last year. Not one of my organs was strong. And yet my body is plump. To an untrained eye I always look sturdy. I knew perfectly well that my insides were weak. But when people kept telling me, “You look so healthy, so healthy,” just hearing it gave me a kind of false confidence. It is like a plain woman who starts to think, “Maybe I’m not so bad after all,” when the people around her pay her a compliment.
本当には弱いのであるが「丈夫そうに見える。」と云う事から来る、間違った健康上の自信でもあった時の方がまだ頼もしかった。
Though I am really weak, the time when I had even a mistaken confidence about my health, coming from [being told] “You look healthy,” was still more reassuring.
I was really weak. Still, I felt safer back when I had that mistaken confidence in my health, which came from being told I looked healthy.
が、去年の暮、胃腸をヒドク壊して、医者に見て貰ったとき、その医者から、可なり烈しい幻滅を与えられてしまった。
But at the end of last year, when I badly damaged my stomach and intestines and had a doctor look at me, I was given quite a harsh disillusionment by that doctor.
But at the end of last year I upset my stomach and bowels badly and went to see a doctor, and he gave me a rather harsh disillusionment.
医者は、自分の脈を触って居たが、
The doctor was touching my pulse, but
The doctor was feeling my pulse.
「オヤ脈がありませんね。こんな筈はないんだが。」と、首を傾けながら、何かを聞き入るようにした。医者が、そう云うのも無理はなかった。自分の脈は、いつからと云うことなしに、微弱になってしまって居た。自分でじっと長い間抑えて居ても、あるかなきかの如く、ほのかに感ずるのに過ぎなかった。
“Oh, there’s no pulse. This shouldn’t be,” [he said], and tilting his head, he acted as if listening intently to something. It was no wonder the doctor said so. My pulse, without [my knowing] since when, had become faint. Even when I myself pressed it still for a long time, I only felt it faintly, as if it were there or not.
“Why, there’s no pulse,” he said. “That can’t be right.” He tilted his head and seemed to be listening hard for something. No wonder he said so. At some point, I don’t know when, my pulse had grown faint. Even when I held my own wrist still for a long time, I could only just feel it, as if it were hardly there at all.
医者は、自分の手を抑えたまゝ一分間もじっと黙って居た後、
The doctor, after staying still and silent for a whole minute while pressing my hand,
The doctor held my wrist in silence for a full minute. Then he said,
「あゝ、ある事はありますがね。珍しく弱いですね。今まで、心臓に就いて、医者に何か云われたことはありませんか。」と、ちょっと真面目な表情をした。
“Ah, there is one, there is. It’s unusually weak. Until now, have you never been told anything by a doctor about your heart?” [he said], and made a somewhat serious expression.
“Ah, it’s there, all right. But it’s unusually weak. Has a doctor ever told you anything about your heart?” His face had grown a little serious.
「ありません。もっとも、二三年来医者に診て貰ったこともありませんが。」と、自分は答えた。
“No. Though, I haven’t had a doctor examine me for the last two or three years either,” I answered.
“No,” I answered. “But then, I haven’t seen a doctor for two or three years.”
医者は、黙って聴診器を、胸部に当てがった。ちょうどそこに隠されて居る自分の生命の秘密を、嗅ぎ出されるかのように思われて気持が悪かった。
The doctor silently applied the stethoscope to my chest. It seemed as if the secret of my life hidden right there were being sniffed out, and I felt unpleasant.
Without a word, the doctor put his stethoscope to my chest. I felt uneasy, as if he were sniffing out the secret of my life that lay hidden there.
医者は、幾度も〳〵聴診器を当て直した。そして、心臓の周囲を、外から余すところのないように、探って居た。
The doctor reapplied the stethoscope again and again. And he was probing around the heart from outside so as to leave no place over.
He moved the stethoscope again and again, exploring all around my heart from the outside, leaving no spot untried.
「動悸が高ぶった時にでも見なければ、充分なことは分りませんが、どうも心臓の弁の併合が不完全なようです。」
“Unless I see it at a time when the heartbeat is raised, I can’t know fully, but it seems the closing of the heart’s valves is incomplete.”
“I can’t be sure unless I examine you when your heart is racing. But it seems that the valves of your heart don’t close properly.”
「それは病気ですか。」と、自分は訊いて見た。
“Is that an illness?” I tried asking.
“Is that an illness?” I asked.
「病気です。つまり心臓が欠けて居るのですから、もう継ぎ足すこともどうすることも出来ません。第一手術の出来ない所ですからね。」
“It is an illness. In short, since the heart is lacking, it can no longer be added to or anything. In the first place, it’s a place where an operation can’t be done.”
“It is. Your heart is defective, you see, so nothing can be added to it or done about it. For one thing, it’s a place we can’t operate on.”
「命に拘わるでしょうか。」自分は、オズ〳〵訊いて見た。
“Will it affect my life?” I timidly tried asking.
“Is my life in danger?” I asked timidly.
「いや、そうして生きて居られるのですから、大事にさえ使えば、大丈夫です。それに、心臓が少し右の方へ大きくなって居るようです。あまり肥るといけませんよ。脂肪心になると、ころりと衝心してしまいますよ。」
“No, since you are living like this, if only you use it carefully, you’re all right. Besides, your heart seems to have grown a little larger toward the right. It’s bad to get too fat. If it becomes a fatty heart, you’ll go into heart failure [shōshin] just like that.”
“No. You’ve lived this long with it, so you’ll be all right if you take good care of it. But your heart also seems a little enlarged on the right side. You mustn’t get too fat. If you get a fatty heart, it can just give out, like that.”
医者の云うことは、一つとしてよいことはなかった。心臓の弱いことは兼て、覚悟はして居たけれども、これほど弱いとまでは思わなかった。
Of the things the doctor said, not one was good. That my heart was weak I had long been prepared for, but I had not thought it was this weak.
Not one thing the doctor said was good news. I had long been prepared for a weak heart, but I had not thought it was this weak.
「用心しなければいけませんよ。火事の時なんか、駈け出したりなんかするといけません。この間も、元町に火事があった時、水道橋で衝心を起して死んだ男がありましたよ。呼びに来たから、行って診察しましたがね。非常に心臓が弱い癖に家から十町ばかりも駈け続けたらしいのですよ。貴君なんかも、用心をしないと、いつコロリと行くかも知れませんよ。第一喧嘩なんかをして興奮しては駄目ですよ。熱病も禁物ですね。チフスや流行性感冒に罹って、四十度位の熱が三四日も続けばもう助かりっこはありませんね。」
“You must be careful. At a fire and such, running out and so on is bad. The other day too, when there was a fire in Motomachi, there was a man who had heart failure at Suidōbashi and died. They came to call me, so I went and examined him. Though his heart was extremely weak, it seems he kept running about ten chō from his house. Someone like you too, if you aren’t careful, may go off just like that at any time. First of all, quarreling and getting excited is no good. Fevers are forbidden, too. If you catch typhoid or epidemic influenza and a fever of about forty degrees continues for three or four days, there’s no chance of being saved.”
“You must be careful. When there’s a fire, for instance, you mustn’t go running out. Not long ago, when there was a fire in Motomachi, a man’s heart failed at Suidōbashi, and he died. They called me, so I went and examined him. His heart was very weak, and yet it seems he had run all the way from his house, about ten chō [over half a mile]. If you’re not careful, you could drop dead any time, too. Above all, don’t get into quarrels and get excited. And fevers are dangerous. If you catch typhoid or influenza and run a fever of about 40 degrees [104°F] for three or four days, there’ll be no saving you.”
- Districts of central Tokyo.
この医者は、少しも気安めやごまかしを云わない医者だった。が、嘘でもいゝから、もっと気安めが云って欲しかった。これほど、自分の心臓の危険が、露骨に述べられると、自分は一種味気ない気持がした。
This doctor was a doctor who did not say any comforting words or evasions at all. But even if it was a lie, I wanted him to say more comforting words. When the danger of my heart was stated so bluntly, I had a kind of dreary feeling.
This doctor never offered comfort or glossed things over. But I wished he had said something more comforting, even if it was a lie. With the danger to my heart spelled out so bluntly, I felt a kind of bleak dreariness.
「何か予防法とか養生法とかはありませんかね。」と、自分が最後の逃げ路を求めると、
“Isn’t there some method of prevention or method of care?” when I sought a last escape route,
“Isn’t there something I can do to prevent it, some way of looking after myself?” I asked, looking for a last way out.
「ありません。たゞ、脂肪類を喰わないことですね。肉類や脂っこい魚などは、なるべく避けるのですね。淡泊な野菜を喰うのですね。」
“There isn’t. Only, not eating fatty kinds of things. Avoiding meats and oily fish and such as much as possible. Eating plain vegetables.”
“No. Only, don’t eat fatty things. Avoid meat and oily fish as much as you can. Eat plain vegetables.”
自分は「オヤ〳〵。」と思った。喰うことが、第一の楽しみと云ってもよい自分には、こうした養生法は、致命的なものだった。
I thought, “Oh dear, oh dear.” To me, for whom eating could be called the first pleasure, this kind of regimen was a deadly thing.
“Oh dear,” I thought. Eating was just about my greatest pleasure, and for me a diet like that was deadly.
こうした診察を受けて以来、生命の安全が刻々に脅かされて居るような気がした。殊に、ちょうどその頃から、流行性感冒が猛烈な勢で流行りかけて来た。医者の言葉に従えば、自分が流行性感冒に罹ることは、即ち死を意味して居た。その上、その頃新聞に頻々と載せられた感冒に就いての、医者の話の中などにも、心臓の強弱が、勝負の別れ目と云ったような、意味のことが、幾度も繰り返されて居た。
Since receiving this kind of examination, I felt as if the safety of my life were threatened moment by moment. Especially, just from around that time, epidemic influenza began to spread with fierce force. According to the doctor’s words, my catching epidemic influenza meant nothing less than death. Moreover, in the doctors’ talks about the influenza printed frequently in the newspapers at that time, things meaning that the strength or weakness of the heart was the dividing line of victory or defeat were repeated many times.
After that examination, I felt that my life was in danger every moment. Especially because, just around then, the influenza began to spread with terrible force. If the doctor was right, catching it would mean death for me. What was more, the doctors’ talks on the influenza that the newspapers printed again and again at that time kept repeating the same idea: a strong or a weak heart decided who lived and who died.
- 流行性感冒 ryūkōsei kanbō, “epidemic cold,” the usual Japanese term then for influenza. The pandemic that began in 1918 struck Japan in more than one wave; here it is the winter of 1919–20.
自分は感冒に対して、脅え切ってしまったと云ってもよかった。自分は出来るだけ予防したいと思った。最善の努力を払って、罹らないように、しようと思った。他人から、臆病と嗤われようが、罹って死んでは堪らないと思った。
It could be said that I had become thoroughly frightened of the influenza. I wanted to prevent it as much as possible. I meant to make my best efforts so as not to catch it. Even if laughed at as a coward by others, I thought it would be unbearable to catch it and die.
You could say I was terrified of the influenza. I wanted to protect myself as much as I could. I meant to do my very best not to catch it. People might laugh at me for a coward, but I could not bear the thought of catching it and dying.
自分は、極力外出しないようにした。妻も女中も、成るべく外出させないようにした。そして朝夕には過酸化水素水で、含嗽をした。止むを得ない用事で、外出するときには、ガーゼを沢山詰めたマスクを掛けた。そして、出る時と帰った時に叮嚀に含嗽をした。
I tried as hard as I could not to go out. I tried not to let my wife or the maid go out as much as possible. And morning and evening I gargled with hydrogen peroxide solution. When going out on unavoidable business, I put on a mask packed with a lot of gauze. And when leaving and when returning I gargled carefully.
I went out as little as possible. I kept my wife and the maid from going out as much as I could. Morning and evening I gargled with hydrogen peroxide. When I had to go out on business that could not be helped, I wore a mask stuffed with plenty of gauze. And I gargled carefully when I left and when I came home.
- Japanese health officials urged people to wear gauze masks and to gargle during the influenza epidemics.
それで、自分は万全を期した。が、来客のあるのは、仕方がなかった。風邪がやっと癒ったばかりで、まだ咳をして居る人の、訪問を受けたときなどは、自分の心持が暗くなった。自分と話して居た友人が、話して居る間に、段々熱が高くなったので、送り帰すと、その後から四十度の熱になったと云う報知を受けたときには、二三日は気味が悪かった。
So I took every precaution. But that there were visitors could not be helped. At times such as when I received a visit from a person who had only just recovered from a cold and was still coughing, my mood darkened. When a friend who was talking with me gradually got a higher fever while we talked, and I sent him home, and afterward received word that he had a fever of forty degrees, I felt uneasy for two or three days.
In this way I took every precaution. But visitors could not be helped. When someone came to see me who had only just got over a cold and was still coughing, my spirits sank. Once a friend’s fever kept rising while we talked, so I sent him home. Afterward word came that his fever had reached 40 degrees, and for two or three days I felt uneasy.
毎日の新聞に出る死亡者数の増減に依って、自分は一喜一憂した。日ごとに増して行って、三千三百三十七人まで行くと、それを最高の記録として、僅かばかりではあったが、段々減少し始めたときには、自分はホッとした。が、自重した。二月一杯は殆ど、外出しなかった。友人はもとより、妻までが、自分の臆病を笑った。自分も少し神経衰弱の恐病症に罹って居ると思った。が、感冒に対する自分の恐怖は、どうにもまぎらすことの出来ない実感だった。
According to the rise and fall of the number of deaths appearing in the daily newspaper, I alternated between joy and worry. When it increased day by day and went up to 3,337 people, and with that as the highest record, though only slightly, it began gradually to decrease, I felt relieved. But I was careful. Through the whole of February I hardly went out. Not to mention my friends, even my wife laughed at my cowardice. I myself thought I had caught a bit of the hypochondria of neurasthenia. But my fear of the influenza was a real feeling that could in no way be distracted.
My hopes and fears rose and fell with the number of deaths printed in the newspaper every day. The number grew day by day until it reached 3,337. That was the highest. When it began to fall, little by little, I was relieved. But I stayed careful. Through all of February I hardly went out. My friends, and even my wife, laughed at my cowardice. I thought I might have a touch of hypochondria from neurasthenia. But my fear of the influenza was a real feeling that nothing could take my mind off.
- Neurasthenia, “nervous exhaustion,” was a common diagnosis of the time for anxiety and fatigue. For “hypochondria” the text uses a Japanese word meaning “fear-of-illness disorder,” glossed with the European word.
三月に、入ってから、寒さが一日々々と、引いて行くに従って、感冒の脅威も段々衰えて行った。もうマスクを掛けて居る人は殆どなかった。が、自分はまだマスクを除けなかった。
After entering March, as the cold receded day by day, the threat of the influenza too gradually weakened. There were almost no people wearing masks anymore. But I still did not remove my mask.
In March, as the cold eased day by day, the threat of influenza slowly faded too. Hardly anyone wore a mask anymore. But I still did not take mine off.
「病気を怖れないで、伝染の危険を冒すなどと云うことは、それは野蛮人の勇気だよ。病気を怖れて伝染の危険を絶対に避けると云う方が、文明人としての勇気だよ。誰も、もうマスクを掛けて居ないときに、マスクを掛けて居るのは変なものだよ。が、それは臆病でなくして、文明人としての勇気だと思うよ。」
“Not fearing illness and running the risk of infection, that is the courage of a savage. Fearing illness and absolutely avoiding the risk of infection is the courage of a civilized man. Wearing a mask when no one is wearing a mask anymore is a strange thing. But I think it is not cowardice but courage as a civilized man.”
“To have no fear of illness and run the risk of infection—that’s the courage of a savage. To fear illness and avoid every risk of infection is the courage of a civilized man. I know it looks odd to wear a mask when no one else does anymore. But I think that’s not cowardice. It’s the courage of a civilized man.”
自分は、こんなことを云って友達に弁解した。又心の中でも、幾分かはそう信じて居た。
I made excuses to my friends saying such things. Also in my heart, to some extent, I believed so.
That is how I explained myself to my friends. And in my heart, too, I partly believed it.
三月の終頃まで、自分はマスクを捨てなかった。もう、流行性感冒は、都会の地を離れて、山間僻地へ行ったと云うような記事が、時々新聞に出た。が、自分はまだマスクを捨てなかった。もう殆ど誰も付けて居る人はなかった。が、偶に停留場で待ち合わして居る乗客の中に、一人位黒い布片で、鼻口を掩うて居る人を見出した。自分は、非常に頼もしい気がした。ある種の同志であり、知己であるような気がした。自分は、そう云う人を見付け出すごとに、自分一人マスクを付けて居ると云う、一種のてれくさゝから救われた。自分が、真の意味の衛生家であり、生命を極度に愛惜する点に於て一個の文明人であると云ったような、誇をさえ感じた。
Until around the end of March, I did not throw away my mask. Articles saying that epidemic influenza had already left the cities and gone to remote mountain places appeared in the newspapers from time to time. But I still did not throw away my mask. There was almost nobody wearing one anymore. But occasionally, among the passengers waiting at a [streetcar] stop, I found one person or so covering nose and mouth with a black piece of cloth. I felt very reassured. I felt as if he were a kind of comrade, an intimate friend. Each time I found such a person, I was saved from a kind of embarrassment at being the only one wearing a mask. I even felt pride, as if I were a hygienist in the true sense, and a civilized man in the point of cherishing life to the extreme.
I did not give up my mask until near the end of March. By then the newspapers ran stories now and then saying the influenza had left the cities and gone off into remote mountain districts. But I still did not give up my mask. Hardly anyone else wore one by now. But once in a while, among the passengers waiting at a streetcar stop, I would find one person with nose and mouth covered by a black cloth. That made me feel very reassured. He seemed a kind of comrade, a kindred spirit. Each time I found someone like that, I was saved from the embarrassment of being the only one in a mask. I even felt a kind of pride, as if I were a true follower of hygiene, a civilized man who valued life to the utmost.
四月となり、五月となった。遉の自分も、もうマスクを付けなかった。ところが、四月から五月に移る頃であった。また、流行性感冒が、ぶり返したと云う記事が二三の新聞に現われた。自分は、イヤになった。四月も五月もになって、まだ充分に感冒の脅威から、脱け切れないと云うことが、堪らなく不愉快だった。
It became April; it became May. Even I no longer wore a mask. However, it was around the time of moving from April to May. Again articles saying that epidemic influenza had come back appeared in two or three newspapers. I was disgusted. That even in April and in May I still could not get fully free of the threat of the influenza was unbearably unpleasant.
April came, then May. Even I no longer wore a mask. But around the turn from April to May, two or three newspapers ran stories saying the influenza had come back. I was sick of it. That even in April and May we were still not quite free of the threat of influenza was more unpleasant than I could stand.
が、遉の自分も、もうマスクを付ける気はしなかった。日中は、初夏の太陽が、一杯にポカポカと照して居る。どんな口実があるにしろ、マスクを付けられる義理ではなかった。新聞の記事が、心にかゝりながら、時候の力が、自分を勇気付けて呉れて居た。
But even I no longer felt like wearing a mask. In the daytime the early summer sun is shining warmly to the full. Whatever pretext there might be, it was not something that would allow me to wear a mask. While the newspaper articles weighed on my mind, the force of the season was encouraging me.
Still, even I did not feel like putting on a mask again. In the daytime the early summer sun shone warm and full. Whatever excuse I had, I could hardly wear a mask now. The newspaper stories weighed on my mind, but the season itself was giving me courage.
ちょうど五月の半であった。市俄古の野球団が来て、早稲田で仕合が、連日のように行われた。帝大の仕合がある日だった。自分も久し振りに、野球が見たい気になった。学生時代には、好球家の一人であった自分も、この一二年殆ど見て居なかったのである。
It was just the middle of May. A baseball team from Chicago had come, and games were held at Waseda almost day after day. It was the day of the Imperial University’s game. I too, for the first time in a long while, felt like seeing baseball. I, who had been one of the baseball lovers in my student days, had hardly seen any in these one or two years.
It was the middle of May. A baseball team from Chicago had come, and games were being played at Waseda almost every day. That day the Imperial University was playing. For the first time in a long while, I felt like watching baseball. As a student I had been quite a fan, but in the last year or two I had hardly seen a game.
- Probably the University of Chicago team, which visited Japan as guests of Waseda University.
- Waseda University, a private university in Tokyo with its own baseball ground.
- Tokyo Imperial University, now the University of Tokyo.
その日は快晴と云ってもよいほど、よく晴れて居た。青葉に掩われて居る目白台の高台が、見る目に爽やかだった。自分は、終点で電車を捨てると、裏道を運動場の方へ行った。此の辺の地理は可なりよく判って居た。自分が、ちょうど運動場の周囲の柵に沿うて、入場口の方へ急いで居たときだった。ふと、自分を追い越した二十三四ばかりの青年があった。自分はふと、その男の横顔を見た。見るとその男は思いがけなくも、黒いマスクを掛けて居るのだった。自分はそれを見たときに、ある不愉快な激動を受けずには居られなかった。それと同時に、その男に明かな憎悪を感じた。その男が、なんとなく小憎らしかった。その黒く突き出て居る黒いマスクから、いやな妖怪的な醜さをさえ感じた。
That day was so well cleared up that it could be called fine weather. The heights of Mejirodai covered with green leaves were refreshing to the eye. When I left the streetcar at the terminus, I went along a back street toward the athletic ground. I knew the geography of this area quite well. It was just when I was hurrying toward the entrance along the fence around the athletic ground. Suddenly there was a young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four who overtook me. I happened to look at the man’s profile. When I looked, that man was, unexpectedly, wearing a black mask. When I saw it, I could not but receive a certain unpleasant shock. At the same time, I felt clear hatred for that man. The man was somehow detestable. From that black mask sticking out blackly, I felt even a nasty, monster-like ugliness.
The weather was so clear you could call it perfect. The heights of Mejirodai, covered in fresh green leaves, were refreshing to see. I got off the streetcar at the last stop and took a back street toward the ballpark. I knew the area quite well. I was hurrying along the fence around the grounds toward the entrance when a young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four passed me. I happened to glance at his face from the side. To my surprise, he was wearing a black mask. When I saw it, I could not help feeling an unpleasant shock. At the same moment I felt plain hatred for him. Somehow he seemed thoroughly annoying. In that black mask jutting out from his face I even saw a nasty, monstrous ugliness.
- A hilly district in northwest Tokyo, next to Waseda.
此の男が、不快だった第一の原因は、こんなよい天気の日に、此の男に依って、感冒の脅威を想起させられた事に違なかった。それと同時に、自分が、マスクを付けて居るときは、偶にマスクを付けて居る人に、逢うことが嬉しかったのに、自分がそれを付けなくなると、マスクを付けて居る人が、不快に見えると云う自己本位的な心持も交って居た。が、そうした心持よりも、更にこんなことを感じた。自分がある男を、不快に思ったのは、強者に対する弱者の反感ではなかったか。あんなに、マスクを付けることに、熱心だった自分迄が、時候の手前、それを付けることが、どうにも気恥しくなって居る時に、勇敢に傲然とマスクを付けて、数千の人々の集まって居る所へ、押し出して行く態度は、可なり徹底した強者の態度ではあるまいか。とにかく自分が世間や時候の手前、やり兼ねて居ることを、此の青年は勇敢にやって居るのだと思った。此の男を不快に感じたのは、此の男のそうした勇気に、圧迫された心持ではないかと自分は思った。
The first cause of this man being unpleasant must have been that, on such a fine-weather day, I was made to recall the threat of the influenza by this man. At the same time, also mixed in was a self-centered feeling: though when I was wearing a mask I had been glad to meet people occasionally wearing a mask, when I stopped wearing it, people wearing a mask looked unpleasant. But more than those feelings, I felt something further. Was not my finding the man unpleasant the antipathy of the weak toward the strong? At a time when even I, who had been so eager about wearing a mask, had come to feel quite ashamed to wear it in view of the season, the attitude of bravely, haughtily wearing a mask and pushing out into a place where several thousand people had gathered — is it not quite a thoroughgoing attitude of a strong man? At any rate, I thought that this young man was bravely doing what I, in view of the world and the season, could not bring myself to do. I thought that my finding this man unpleasant was perhaps a feeling of being oppressed by this man’s courage.
The main reason he annoyed me must have been that, on such a fine day, he reminded me of the threat of influenza. Mixed in, too, was a selfish feeling. When I wore a mask, I had been glad to meet the rare person who wore one too; now that I had stopped, people in masks looked unpleasant to me. But beyond those feelings I sensed something more. Was my dislike of this man the resentment the weak feel toward the strong? Even I, who had been so eager to wear a mask, now felt too embarrassed to wear one, because of the season. And here he was, boldly and proudly wearing his mask, pushing his way into a place where thousands of people had gathered. Wasn’t that the attitude of a truly strong man? At any rate, I thought, this young man was bravely doing what I could not bring myself to do, because of the season and what people would think. I wondered whether I disliked him because I felt crushed by his courage.
New translation from the Japanese text of Kikuchi Kan’s collected works (Kikuchi Kan bungaku zenshū, vol. 3, Bungei Shunjū Shinsha, 1960), as transcribed by Aozora Bunko. That text uses modern kanji and kana; the first printing of 1920 has not yet been compared. The whole sketch is translated.
Ruby readings are left out of the original shown here and kept in the unit notes. A Celsius temperature and a Japanese distance are given their American equivalents in brackets.
- Original
- Text as printed in the named edition or on the object, read from page images. Edition: Kikuchi Kan, “Masuku,” in Kikuchi Kan bungaku zenshū 菊池寛文學全集, vol. 3 (Tokyo: Bungei Shunjū Shinsha, 1960), in modern kanji and kana. First published in Kaizō 改造, July 1920. Digital text: Aozora Bunko, card 60714 (XHTML file, created November 27, 2021), extracted by code; ruby readings removed and kept in the unit notes. Not yet collated with the 1920 printing.
- Transliterated
- Not yet available: no transliteration policy agreed for this language
- Close English
- Close translation drafted by Claude (Anthropic), kept as a working draft
- Simplified English
- Drafted by Claude (Anthropic) from the original. Not yet checked by a separate review.
- Editor’s review
- Not yet.
- Specialist review
- Not yet. Readings a specialist should confirm are listed for later review.
- Rights
- Original: public domain. Edition: public domain.
Sources for the notes
- Kikuchi Kan. “Masuku.” In Kikuchi Kan bungaku zenshū, vol. 3. Tokyo: Bungei Shunjū Shinsha, 1960. Aozora Bunko transcription, card 60714, with its bibliographical notes (first publication in Kaizō, July 1920, subtitled “Watashi no seikatsu kara”) and author record.