Chapter 15: 5.2

The new semester began with a career consultation.

 

The homeroom teacher, Sumida-sensei, was in charge of social studies. He was a tall and lanky man with a square face, he was known for wearing his favorite brown jacket all year round. He also wore square glasses, so his overall features were square. Students in the class had a habit of pointing at random buildings and saying it was his face. 

 

He crinkled his squinty eyes.

 

“Yakumo–, are you really up to it?” he asked, probably in concern of my grades.

 

I thought for a moment.“No, I don’t”

 

He blinked repeatedly. “But, this is a preparatory school…”

 

“I know, Sensei. I just can’t bring myself to study seriously.”

 

“Are you not well–?” he drawled.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Then… you should go to counseling—. You have potential, you know–?” he said lazily.

 

“Can I not?”

 

“That or a parent meeting, Yakumo-kun–”

 

A parent meeting was what I needed to avoid at all costs.

 

Like that I booked counseling through the school. I wanted to be cured of this phantom pain, of course, but that was rather impossible, and this trip to the psychiatrist would soon be a waste of time. Alas, anything but the parent meeting.

 

The doctor seemed to be a competent one.

 

I stifled my embarrassment and told him about my particular phantom limb pain.

 

“After the quake, the pain had magnified and stayed with me since. There’s no sense of reality to my life, as if I’m living in a mirage. Well written fiction novels, interesting games, music and art were only things that had a resemblance of reality.”

 

The doctor scratched his cheeks, asking for the nurse’s help with his eyes.

 

“Like the ‘Tote Kankan’ story?”

 

“‘Tote kankan’?”

 

“By Osamu Dazai. The main character was a soldier. He heard a hammering sound when he knew Japan accepted the Potsdam Declaration and surrendered. Since then, he would hear that hammering sound, totekankan, everytime he tried to do something. With the sound, he would lost all the motivation to do it—”

[TN: Rule no.1: don’t question Japanese onomatopoeia. Toka tonton doesn’t sound like a hammer at all, I know]

 

 His fingers ran the keyboard.

 

“Ah, not ‘tote kankan’, but ‘Toka Tonton’. Sorry, I got it wrong”

 

He slid the notebook screen to me. I read Aozora Bunko’s Toka Tonton on the screen. It was a short story in the style of a letter sent to the author by a man who was troubled by the hammering toka tonton.

 

[Please tell me. What is this sound? And how do I get rid of it?]

 

[Matthew 10:28 “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell”] replied the author, [If you can feel a bolt from the heart at the words of Jesus, your auditory hallucinations should cease. I will write again soon.]

 

“What does that mean?”

 

The doctor scratched his cheek harder.”Honestly? I don’t know.”

 

“So he lost the illusion of Japan as a mighty empire, and found out his emperor is a mere man, not god. Then at his lowest, the author cited the words of the enemy nation’s god? Is he ridiculing the soldier?”

 

“What, are you criticizing Osamu Dazai?”

 

“My point is that he really did that?”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, lad, but aren’t you reading too much into it? Don’t take it too seriously.”

 

“Doctor, I’m actually suffering. If it is your family that suffered an incurable disease, would you be serious?”

 

The doctor became silent, his face gradually turning blue.

 

“You mentioned Toka Tonton because of the similarity between the surrender and the earthquake, but our cases are entirely different. The soldier lost the illusion of the Japan Empire he believed in. He was unable to adapt to everyday life after the defeat. Meanwhile, I had believed in nothing from the start. My everyday life is no different from the one before.”

 

He held up his hand, as if to say, “I’ve had enough of this.”

 

“Alright, alright, you got PTSD from the earthquake. I’ll prescribe some medicine. Be sure to take them.”

 

“Sir, I’ve been like this since when I was two, it just got worse after the earthquake.”

 

“Argh! I’m sick of this! Cut me some slack!” He threw his hands up. “I shouldn’t have become a psychiatrist!

 

You are reading story I Want to be Your Tears at novel35.com

He sat down on the round hospital chair, elbows on knees, face in hands. He was crying hard.

 

“You! All of you! You’re all nuts! I’ve had enough! You crazy punks! Don’t ever come here again! Why wouldn’t a normal person come here!” 

[TN: The doctor had a breakdown…]

 

The nurse standing behind brushed the doctor’s back soothingly. She looked at me apologetically. “He’s stressed. One of the patients committed suicide a while ago, he hasn’t been well since.”

 

I was a little stunned.

 

“Shouldn’t he go see the doctor?”

 

“He’s the doctor.”

 

I left the doctor’s office and went to the hospital pharmacy to pick up some antidepressants.

 

Before I headed home, I went around to the examination room to check on the doctor out of curiosity. He was looking at me through the window, looking dreary and forlorn, like a shadow cut from his physical form with a butter knife.

 

“Take care,” he said. The words hit me like a pang. 

 

“Likewise,” I returned.

 

I bowed and left the hospital. I think he sent me off with his glance all the way.

 

　　　４

 

Surprisingly, the antidepressants worked remarkably well.

 

The constant pain numbed. The normal world shimmered before my eyes like a mirage. For some reason, I felt nostalgic. The medication made it difficult to read, so I changed from reading to listening to music in the meantime. The pills also suppressed my discernment, which meant I had got to enjoy any music without as much as noticing its flaws.

 

I wondered which would be happier, those who had an ear for listening, or those who did not.

 

Although in the end, the antidepressants did not save me. When the pill ran out, a tide of loneliness washed over, as if I had eaten all the delicious soda pop. I never went to the hospital again.

 

Meanwhile, Yuzuki appeared to have developed a liking to Chopin’s piano in particular.

 

Chopin was a Polish-born composer of the Romantic era. He was gifted from an early age and composed his Polonaise in G minor at the age of seven. He suffered from tuberculosis throughout his life, and lost his sister to the same disease at the age of seventeen.

 

On November 2, 1830, at the age of twenty, already a successful performer and composer, he decided to leave his homeland, partly due to the deteriorating domestic situation. At the time, Poland was divided into three parts, one ruled by Russia, another Austria, and the last by Prussia. An independence movement was underway during that time.

 

[I feel like I’m setting off for my death]

 

One of the letters sent to his friends mention this. It was an ominous promotion turned true. He left for Vienna, Austria, carrying the ring he had exchanged with Konstanzia Gładkowska and a silver cup filled with the soil of his homeland.

 

On November 29, 1830, the November Uprising took place. Armed citizens drove the Russian army north of Warsaw. Chopin, a patriot, intended to join the revolution, but his friend wrote to him:

 

[You would serve the country better with your music]

 

Chopin abided and remained in Vienna.

 

In Vienna, however, the November Uprising led to a rising tide of anti-Polish sentiment, and Chopin was treated coldly. In the end, Chopin left Vienna without much success.

 

In Stuttgart, Germany, he learned that the revolutionary forces in Warsaw had been crushed by the Russian army. He must have been tormented by crippling worry for his family and friends back in the country. Chopin fell into a stage of grief.

 

In the end, Chopin could never set foot on the soil of his hometown again, just as he had foreseen before his departure.

 

Perhaps I could see why Yuzuki was so devoted to Chopin.

 

The sorrow of not being able to return to their hometown, the inexplicable rage from seeing their sacred hometown molested. Maybe she saw herself in Chopin. Yuzuki was at her best when performing his songs.

 

In a letter to Teitus on December 25, 1831, Chopin revealed his inner feelings.

 

[ I am superficially cheerful] he wrote [Especially my friends (by friends, I mean Polish people). But inside, I am always tormented by something. Be it anticipation, anxiety, dreams—or insomnia, depression, indifference, —the desire for life or desire for death in the next moment. It is like a pleasant peace, paralyzing and hazy, but sometimes it brings back distinct memories and makes me uneasy. It is a horrible jumble of feelings—sour, bitter, salty, and above all, terribly confusing.]

 

Wasn’t that how I was feeling? Maybe it was the feeling we shared. I read that there was a Polish word for it—”zal”. It was said to be a word of unique meaning that could be either translated as “dreadful resignation”, “deep resentment”, “violent revolt”, or “grief at loss of what should have been”… In short, a profound sense of loss accompanying hatred, grief, and helplessness that stuns a person and leaves him helpless.

 

Perhaps “zal” was the fitting word for the victims of the earthquake, after all. 

 

Same as the protagonist of the Toka Tonton, the loss of Japan Empire, the helplessness he felt, hatred at nothing in particular.

 

And if so, why then, did “zal” make Chopin and Yuzuki’s piano sound so beautiful?

 

Schumann is said to have described Chopin’s work as “Cannons buried in flowers.” He was probably referring to the passionate pathos, of the rebellious spirit that lurked beneath the seemingly gaily and graceful music.

 

Most people were drawn to the pretty flowers, but the true essence lay in the cannons that Chopin had hidden. Cannons could never gain popularity with the masses, but one hidden in a flower bouquet could. This was where beauty was born.

 

It reminded me of the countless offerings of flowers to the dead. The way people placed the beautiful flowers in front of graves. And the way Chopin wrapped the terrible weapons with beautiful flowers.

 

Weren’t those hands of hope, of prayer?

 

Not the steadfast prayer to God or higher being, but gentler, quiet hands that played the piano in hope for the better…

 

[TN: An interesting note is that, while there’s no direct reference, “Toka Tonton” sounded awfully similar to the verse “Tokoton yareton” from the Imperial Japan March “Miyasan Miyasan”]

You can find story with these keywords: I Want to be Your Tears, Read I Want to be Your Tears, I Want to be Your Tears novel, I Want to be Your Tears book, I Want to be Your Tears story, I Want to be Your Tears full, I Want to be Your Tears Latest Chapter