In addition to the artificial lily, the Collected Poems of Toson, and the photo of Raphael’s Madonna, O-Kimi’s second-floor room contains all the kitchen tools she needs to survive without eating out. In other words, these kitchen tools symbolize the harsh reality of her life in Tokyo. Yet even a desolate life can reveal a world of beauty when viewed through a mist of tears. O-Kimi would take refuge in the tears of artistic ecstasy to escape the persecution of everyday life. In such tears she need not think about her 6-yen monthly rent or the 70 sen it cost for a measure of rice. Carmen has no electric bill to worry her; she only has to keep her castanets clicking. Namiko does suffer as she lies dying of tuberculosis, deprived of her beloved husband by her cruel mother-in-law, but she never has to scrape up money for her medicine. In a word, tears like this light a modest lamp of human love amid the gathering dusk of human suffering. Ah yes, I imagine O-Kimi all alone at night when the sounds of Tokyo have faded away, raising her tear-moistened eyes toward the dim electric lamp, dreaming dreams of the oleanders of Corboda and the sea breeze of Namiko’s Zushi, and then – damn it, “meanness” is the least of my sins! If I’m not careful, I could just as easily be swept away by sentimalisme as O-Kimi! And this is me talking, the fellow the critics are always blaming for having too little heart and too much intellect.
- Green Onions, Ryunosuke Akutagawa
Oh, this damp day.