I am a writer in Tokyo

Chapter 19 You call this a casual writing?

When they got home, Oshima and Kazuya didn't bother to drink the water, so they took out the manuscript, bound it, and prepared to read it.

Before entering the house, he specially blew the wind outside for a while, in order to sober up and clear his mind.

Before, Bei Daoju only used a few words to tease all the editors. This is great, the whole book is here, and it seems to be stuffed all over, extremely sufficient.

This time, Kitajima Koma wrote a summary at the beginning.

It's coming, it's a familiar smell again.

Oshima Kazuya also had goosebumps all over his body, he couldn't get enough of these few words, and he was completely thinking about those plots these days.

Kitajima Koma's handwriting is still beautiful.

The story begins with the train heading for Snow Country. The twilight scenery passing by outside the window, reflecting the eyes of the girl reflected on the glass, is confusing.

Dao Cun, a researcher of dance art, went to the snow-capped mountain village of Beiguo three times, and fell into love entanglement with the local geisha Komako and the girl Ye Zi who met by chance. The falling snow covered up all love and futility...

"Love and futility?"

"So, is everything illusory?"

The snowflakes outside the window were hit by the wind on the window, basically it was the knocking sound of Didi Tata.

I don't know if it's the wind leaking from the windows or the airflow caused by turning the pages, which can always stir up a gust of cold wind.

It seems that at this time, the word "Snow Country" caused the temperature of the whole room to drop quite a bit.

Perhaps after being punctured, the word futility runs through the entire book, and is firmly locked in Oshima Kazuya's mind.

It is a kind of hazy beauty, but no matter how beautiful things are, they are always illusory.

Yes, all in vain.

It was at this time that Kazuya Oshima really saw Kitajima Koma's writing skills and his terrifying conception.

After reading it, it was late at night.

The snowflakes outside the window had already covered half of the grille of the window, and there seemed to be frozen ice flakes on the glass, shining halos under the lights inside the house.

Oshima Kazuya sighed, no matter how much he rubbed his brows, he still couldn't break free from the illusion constructed by Kitajima Koma, so he shook his head wryly smiling and cursed the damn Tokyo people.

It was the first time to scold myself like that.

Oshima Kazu also smiled wryly.

As Kou said, it is really futile.

He sighed, thought for a long time, and finally decided to write something.

Otherwise, the goosebumps all over his body would not go away at all.

"In the eyes of Tokyo native Shimamura, life is futile.

Bird-chasing is nothing more than the vain frolic of children, as moths struggle vainly in their matting.

It is futile for Juzi to write reading notes and diaries. It is even more futile to run around various banquets every night, accompany wine and perform. Even her persistent love is beautiful, fleeting and futile.Everything, like a male who died of illness, will eventually disappear into nothingness.

Shimamura looks down on everything in Snow Country from the perspective of a bystander, not only from space, but also from time.

Komako's true love cannot leave real traces like a piece of crepe. Even though the crepe used for clothing has the shortest lifespan among handicrafts, as long as it is kept properly, crepes that are 50 years old or older can still be worn on the body. fade.And this clinging feeling of a person does not last as long as crepe...'

The pessimistic Shimamura saw "the unrestrained enthusiasm bursting out of Komako, and felt very pitiful..."

Indeed, anyone would feel sad and moved when he thinks that the fresh life will be destroyed forever. "

Oshima Kazuya also took a long breath. He felt a little depressed and had to write:

But Komako treats life with a completely different attitude.She has a stubbornness that she knows is futile.

"Even the laundry is neatly folded..."

"If you don't arrange your daily life properly, you can't be at ease..."

"Although I know that it will be messed up if I clean it up, I have to take care of it, otherwise I can't worry..."

She tried her best to pursue the beauty of life, and every time she saw Shimamura, she had to change into a different banquet dress.

"Although the wardrobe at home is old, it is made of high-quality straight-grain paulownia..."

"The red lacquer sewing box is shiny and luxurious..."

"She has taken notes on the novels she has read since she was 16 years old, so there are already ten volumes in the miscellaneous notebook..."

She kept a diary, "Recording everything truthfully without any concealment, even I feel ashamed to read it."

Juzi's desire for love is as vigorous and upright as Bamao, regardless of it.

"No. I don't do such pathetic things.

I don't write letters that don't matter to your wife.

What a pathetic thing to do!I don't have to worry about anyone and lie! "

"I can do whatever I like, people who are dying, can you still control them?"

But such a tenacious love cannot be carried by Shimamura's soul.

What Shimamura loves is not the hot life that is within reach. On the contrary, what he yearns for is the illusory beauty reflected on the glass window of the train, the Western dance that he has never seen before, and the mysterious and indifferent leaves.

He can only admire the vigorous and straight Bamao as a sentimental flower from a distance, but once he is close at hand, it will only surprise him.

Troubled by the meaninglessness of life, he gradually becomes depressed and turns to the unreal, and only the distant, mysterious world can arouse his interest.

He was immersed in sentimentality, even though he had just seen the mountains in early summer...

Shimamura has a careless and born attitude. He floats on the surface of life, seemingly free and easy, but he is not suppressing and distorting the instinct of life.

From the very beginning, he wanted to ask Ju Zi for sex, but he went around and asked Ju Zi to help him find a geisha, saying, "I want to make friends with you for nothing, so I won't ask you for sex."

Juzi believed his explanation, "the voice was full of sincere feelings", but Shimamura felt "a little guilty" for cheating her so easily.

Juzi complained to Shimamura more than once: "That's what's wrong with you, that's what's wrong with you!"

What's wrong?

It was he who lied to his life instinct!

The futility in Dao Cun's eyes is exactly the meaning of Ju Zi's life.

Yes, man is mortal!It is true that life is a tragedy, so it must be played vigorously, gorgeously and beautifully.

She persisted in practicing the shamisen in a remote valley. Although she was a geisha in a mountain village, she played it as well as an actor on the Tokyo stage.

"She always takes the canyon of nature as her audience, and practices playing alone. Over time, her plucking is naturally powerful. This kind of loneliness dispels sorrow and contains a kind of bold will."

Where is the power of plucking, it is clearly her exuberant life instinct shouting and roaring to the world.

Although she is a woman, her tenacious vitality surpasses Shimamura as a man.

Two people with very different souls fall in love, and the ending is set.

Although Dao Cun is moved by Ju Zi's love time and time again, he cannot concentrate on his feelings like Ju Zi.

"Shimamura knows everything about Komako, but Komako doesn't seem to know Shimamura at all.

The empty echo of Komako hitting the wall, Shimamura sounded like snowflakes falling in his heart.

Of course, it is impossible for Shimamura to be so bohemian forever.

Shimamura felt that going back this time, it would be impossible to come to this hot spring bath again for the time being. "

The difference between the souls of the two is most prominent in the part where Komako plays the shamisen for Shimamura.

Shimamura, who can show a man's shameless face when courting prostitutes, shows a weak side in front of music, an art that shows the soul, and can hardly bear Komako's enthusiasm.

"Suddenly, goose bumps appeared on Shimamura's cheeks, and a chill pierced his heart.

His empty mind was filled with the sound of the shamisen.

Rather than saying that he was completely surprised, it would be better to say that he was completely conquered...

He felt that he had no strength, so he happily threw himself into the torrent of Komako's artistic charm, letting it float and rush. "

"She gradually became fascinated, and her voice became high-pitched again.

Where does the plucked string sound go?
Shimamura was a little stunned, folded his arms as if to embolden himself, and lay down with his head resting on them..."

Komako's beauty is not in appearance, but in soul.

Because there is nothing uglier than repressed humanity.

……

When Oshima Kazuya stopped writing, the sky outside was almost turning white.

Then he looked at the densely packed handwriting on his own page.

I also thought of the sentence that Bei Daoju said to himself at that time: "I wrote something casually..."

and so.

You call this a casual writing? !
(End of this chapter)