A Story by Dazai Osamu
Everyday English New Course 3 (Heisei 2) pg. 84-90
| A Story by Dazai Osamu | |
|---|---|
| ? | |
| Details | |
| Word count | 512 |
| Book | Everyday English |
| Grade | 3 |
| Year | 1990 |
It was thirty years ago. I was twenty, and my sister was eighteen. Mother was dead, and we were living alone with Father in a small town in Shimane.
My sister was seriously ill in bed. The doctor said that she had only one hundred days to live. We could do nothing for her. But even though death was so near, she looked very cheerful.
Three days before her death, I happened to find a bundle of letters in her desk. The letters were all from a poor poet named M.T. They were love letters. I read them one after another. I was shocked when I came to the last letter. M.T. wrote, "I have learned of your illness. I am sorry, but perhaps we should say good-bye and never see each other again...."
In fact, there were no more letters.
I felt so sad that I did not know what to do. At last I sat down to write a letter in the name of M.T.:
Dear -----,
I am very sorry that I left you. I left you, not because I no longer loved you, but because I felt I couldn't do anything for you. I am only a poor poet. However, now I think I was wrong. I hope I didn't break your heart. It was selfish of me to leave you in such a way.
I want to do something for you. I'll write a poem every day and send it to you. I'll also whistle your favourite melody outside the window of your room at six o'clock every evening. This is all I can do for you now. I hope we'll be able to get married someday.
M.T.
I had planned to write the poem myself and whistle the melody myself every evening. I put the letter at the head of my sister's bed while she was sleeping. When she awoke, she read it, and told me something surprising.
"Thank you very much. You wrote this letter, didn't you? I know you did. Please don't worry about the love between M.T. and me. You don't have to. There is no such man as M.T. I wrote these love letters to myself because I was lonely. In fact, I don't have a boyfriend. I have never had one. Please don't laugh at me. You see, I wanted to be loved. I want to love and be loved. I want to live so much."
I was filled with pity and sadness. We fell into each other's arms. As we were holding each other in tears, suddenly we heard a faint whistle from outside. We listened and found, to our surprise, that it was that very melody. It was just six o'clock!
Then I believed that it was God's doing. Now I suspect, after thirty years, that the person who whistled the melody outside was Father. I want to ask him, "Did you hear us from another room? Were you the one who did it?" But who knows? I can't ask him now because he has been dead for fifteen years.
