The Asia-Pacific Journal | Japan Focus Volume 13 | Issue 4 | Number 1 | Article ID 4256 | Jan 26, 2015

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'Life's First Night' and the Treatment of Hansen's Disease inJapan 「いのちの初夜」　ハンセン病は日本でいかに扱われてきたか

A Translation and Introduction to Hōjō Tamio's Novella by Kathryn M. Tanaka

Introduction

In July 2014, the front page of the MainichiShinbun featured a small picture of a youngman in glasses with the headline, "Today'sFaces." A blurb below the photo declared, "Thereal name of the early Showa author HōjōTamio, who had Hansen's Disease and lived alife under quarantine, will be made public in abooklet to be published next month."1 Thearticle then revealed that Hōjō Tamio, theauthor of the novella "Life's First Night," wasborn Shichijō Kōji and raised in Anan-shi, onthe island of Shikoku in Tokushima prefecture.2

Requests had been made in the past forShichijō Kōji's family to acknowledge him asthe author Hōjō, but these requests had beenrefused. The reason for coming out now,according to Shichijō Hiroshi, the grandson ofHōjō's younger half-sister, was because "hiswas an existence hidden by history, but timesaren't like that now."3 A recent sign at anexhibition of Hōjō's life and work, "Hōjō Tamio-Inochi wo mitsumeta sakka" (Hōjō Tamio-Anauthor who studied life") held at the TokushimaPrefectural Literary and Calligraphic Museumstated that his name had not been revealedbefore because of discrimination andprejudice.4 Hōjō's family stated in the Mainichiarticle and the Tokushima exhibit that theyhoped the restoration of his real name wouldhelp to diminish the continuing prejudice anddiscrimination against survivors of theHansen's Disease.5

Hōjō is famous for writing fictionalizedaccounts of the experience of Hansen's Disease

and life under quarantine during the latter halfof the 1930s. Such works were based upon hisexperience of the illness and quarantine at apublic hospital in Tokyo (opened in 1909), atthe time known as Zensei Byōin (ZenseiHospital, known today as Tama Zensho-en afterthe name changed in 1941), where he livedfrom 1934 until his death in 1937. At the timehe was diagnosed, Hansen's Disease was anincurable, highly stigmatized, and fearedillness. Quarantine was often for life.

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Hojo Tamio as painted by Tojo Koichi,1936. Image courtesy of the NationalHansen's Disease Museum.

Hōjō Tamio, or Shichijō Kōji, was his parents'second son, born in 1914 in Seoul, Korea,where his father was serving as a non-commissioned officer in the Japanese army.6

His mother died soon after Hōjō's birth,whereupon Hōjō and his older brother weresent to live with their maternal grandparents inAnan. There, he grew up in a relatively well-to-do farming household, and although he hatedschool, he graduated from elementary schooland then secondary school.

In his youth Hōjō was a student and factoryworker and these experiences had a subtle butsignificant impact on his later writings whileunder quarantine especially in terms of hissympathy toward Marxist realism as a means ofreflecting the experience of marginalizedpeoples. Upon graduation from secondaryschool in 1929 at the age of fifteen he went toTokyo, where he worked as a laborer at theHitachi factory in Kameido during the day andcommuted to evening classes at what is nowHosei University. During this time he began tostudy Marxism and became sympathetic to themovement. The year before Hōjō arrived inTokyo, the infamous March Fifteenth Incidentoccurred.7 On March 15, 1928, over onethousand communists and leftist sympathizerswere arrested, hundreds were tortured andinterrogated, and over five hundred wereordered to stand trial. As a result of thepersecution, several proletarian groups mergedinto the Nippona Artista Proleta Federacio(NAPF, Zen-nihon musansha geijutsu unmei)and began the publication of a literarymagazine, Senki (Battleflag). Hōjō was nodoubt aware of the March Fifteenth Incidentand most likely read Battleflag before hearrived in Tokyo.8 Certainly, after his arrival inTokyo, he became more interested in leftwingpolitical movements. Indeed, on the first

anniversary of the March Fifteenth Incident,Hōjō took part in demonstrations protestingpolice action against leftists.9

The first signs of Hōjō's illness appeared inMarch of 1930. At that time he first "becameaware of a numb sensation in his calf."10

Despite the strange symptoms, Hōjō stayed inTokyo unti l the fal l of 1931, when hisgrandparents summoned him home because hisolder brother was dying of tuberculosis. Backin Shikoku, despite his declining health, Hōjōbecame seriously engaged in writing fiction. InJune of 1932, at age eighteen, he wrote a letterto Hayama Yoshiki (1894-1945), a well-knownproletarian writer living in Gifu. In the letter,Hōjō declared himself an aspiring author.

Buoyed by an encouraging response fromHayama, Hōjō and four or five of his friendsstarted a writing group. Together theypublished a single issue of a coterie magazinewith proletarian leanings that they calledKuroshio (Black Current).11 In its inauguralissue, Hōjō published a short story entitled"Sadisuto to ari" ("The Sadist and the Ant"), butbecause the work was published before Hōjō'shospitalization and because he assumed a penname, the piece has never been made public. Infact, no copy is known to exist, although Hōjō'sfriend Mitsuoka Ryōji claims Hōjō once showedhim a copy of the magazine in ZenseiHospital.12 The magazine was banned after oneissue due to its leftist content and no attemptsto revive it were made.13 At the very least,Hōjō's activities in Tokyo and the writing hewas interested in before his hospitalizationdemonstrate sympathy to the proletarianmovement and its literature. Indeed, the laterworks that made him famous, such as "Life'sFirst Night," drew in part on proletarianliterary philosophy, in particular on theories ofrealism in proletarian novels.14

While Hōjō continued to write, after the deathof his eldest brother in 1932, his family'sexpectations for him changed. The same year

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his brother passed away, he married a sixteen-year old girl from a family related to hisgrandmother. They l ived with Hōjō'sgrandparents until, just four months after hismarriage, when Hōjō was officially diagnosedwith Hansen's Disease.15 Upon his diagnosis,his life quickly changed; he and his wife weredivorced, and although he tried treatment athome for six months it was unsuccessful, andhe began making preparations to enter ZenseiHospital. On May 18, 1934, Hōjō was admitted.

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Patients working the fields and theirharvest, Zensei Hospital, 1930. Imagecourtesy of the National Hansen's DiseaseMuseum

At the time of Hōjō's admittance to ZenseiHospital, two separate laws had alreadytargeted Hansen's Disease. The first nationalmeasure directly addressing Hansen's Diseaseprevention was passed by the Diet in 1907, andit was concerned with the hospitalization of

itinerant patients. The main object of the lawwas to quarantine those without families orhomes, particularly those whose only supportwas to beg for alms at temples and shrines. Toaccommodate such sufferers, the law called forthe establishment of five leprosaria, each runby a group of prefectures and open to patientsfrom those prefectures. On September 28,1909, one of these hospitals, Zensei Hospital,was opened. The law was revised andstrengthened in 1931 as the "LeprosyPrevention Law," which mandated that allpersons diagnosed with Hansen's Disease bequarantined for life, regardless of their familycircumstances, although it was unevenlyapplied. 16

Once Hōjō entered the institution he began touse literature as a way to interrogate theemotional and physical boundaries between thehospital and the outside world. Hōjō's "Life'sFirst Night," in particular, reveals theunwillingness many relatively healthy patientsfelt to fully integrate into hospital life; it revealsthe divides between the seriously ill andhealthier patients within the hospital. In Tokyo,the hospital was designed as a self-containedvillage unto itself, in which strict spatialboundaries separated patients from staff.17 Onthe patient side of the hospital, healthiersufferers did much of the physical labor in theinstitution, such as farming, caring forlivestock, and nursing those who were seriouslyill.

In addition to divisions within the hospital, theboundary between the hospital and the worldoutside it was also very clearly marked. Thephysical demarcation of hospital grounds fromthe rest of the community underwent severalstages at the Tokyo hospital. When theinstitution was opened, its borders weremarked by an earthen mound and a moat dugby the first patients.18 This was replaced by awooden fence in 1922, and finally by a hedge ofdense and thorny holly bushes in 1929.19

Towering seven or eight feet high, the holly

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bushes clearly divided the patient residentsfrom the staff and the surrounding farmland.

Since physical boundaries, such as the hollyhedges, were not necessarily sufficient toprevent patients from sneaking out or runningaway: to further discourage escape, uponadmission all money was confiscated andreplaced with a special hospital currency. Afterpossessions were taken for disinfection andinspection and money confiscated, patientswere then provided standard-issue hospitalkimonos: a plain, striped cotton garment thatmarked them clearly as patients in thehospital.20 When working amongst the patients,nurses and doctors dressed in head-to-toewhite protective robes, complete with hats,gloves, and face masks. Thus, the boundariesbetween the sick and the healthy werereinforced through every aspect of daily life inthe hospital, from landscape to clothing.21

Holly hedge marking the perimeters of thehospital, c. 1935. Image courtesy of theNational Hansen's Disease Museum

Indeed, as Hōjō makes clear in "Life's FirstNight," the issuance of clothing and theentrance to the hospital were designed to berites of mortification22, marking a clearseverance with society. Arai Yuki has argued inhis groundbreaking study of patient writingthat Hōjō's desire to distinguish himself fromthe rest of the patient population not onlystems from his wish to be considered a seriousauthor and member of the intelligentsia, butalso from his fear of the seriously ill.23 In fact,Hōjō's work depicts the fissures within thepatient community, exploring gender divides,the tensions between the seriously ill and

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relatively healthy, and madness within thehospital. Hōjō's work was groundbreakingprecisely because it questioned the notion of ahomogenous patient body and a hospital withimpenetrable boundaries. The boundaries inHōjō's works are porous and the divisionsbetween patients in constant fluctuation.

Hōjō's social status also helped him obtainlodgings that would allow him to retain amodicum of his individuality rather than beinginscribed with an anonymous patient status.Not long after admittance, he moved into aroom in the "Chichibu House," which was builtby corporate donations for patients who coulda f f o r d t o p a y f o r s l i g h t l y b e t t e raccommodations.24 Although the hospitals wereopen to all people diagnosed with Hansen'sDisease by the time Hōjō was admitted, muchof the patient population were still vagrantsufferers and relied on the state to supply theirdaily necessities. At the same time, after 1931,a small but increasing number of patients camefrom families who could afford to pay for dailyluxuries within the hospital, such as betterfood, and the privilege of wearing their ownclothing rather than hospital-issued garments.

Dormitories, such as the Chichibu House, hadthe advantage of lodging only five men to atwelve-mat room, rather than the typical eightadults per room.25 The corner of the hospital inwhich these wealthier patients lived was calledthe "Yamanote" by the other patients, referringto the high-end Tokyo neighborhood of thesame name, indicating the visible elite status ofthe residents of that area within the hospital.Yet, even in such wealthier areas, patients stillhad to endure what Saeki, a character in "Life'sFirst Night," calls "kyōdō seikatsu," or grouplife.26 Still, both Hōjō's living arrangements andhis literary talent marked him as part of aprivileged group within the hospital, and hisdifferentiation from the majority of the patientpopulation is underscored in his literature.27

The doctor who admitted Hōjō was Igarashi

Masako, one of the several doctors who bothtreated Hansen's Disease and publishedpoetry.28 She encouraged Hōjō to get involvedin literature within the hospital community, andhe began to work at Yamazakura (MountainCherry Blossoms), the official magazine ofZensei Hospital that began publication in 1919.From its inception, it was affiliated with theinstitution and received the support ofHansen's Disease relief organizations. It gavepatients a space to publish some of their ownwriting, and the earliest issues of Yamazakurafeatured short vignettes, poetry, a column ofchildren's writing, articles by staff, and newsabout goings-on in the hospital, such as visitsby charitable groups. As the patient populationgrew, the magazine became longer and itspages more varied: short comedic sketches,short stories, serialized pieces, eventranslations of foreign literature and anEsperanto co lumn appeared . In theOctober/November issue of 1928, Yamazakurabegan publishing with a printing press ratherthan distributing handwritten, mimeographedcopies. By 1932, an annual literary issue waspublished, which solicited patient writing fromthe hospitals not only in Japan but also incolonies of the Japanese empire abroad.Prominent medical and literary figures werechosen as "judges" for these special numbers,and they selected the top three submissions incategories such as "short stories," "haiku," and"poetry," among others.

While many of the different magazinesassociated with each hospital published patientwriting, in the 1930s Zensei Hospital becamethe center of a genre that came to be known as"leprosy literature," in part because of theannual literary issue of its magazine, but alsobecause of the presence and work of Hōjō.Bythe time Hōjō arrived, patient writing wasreceiving some attention, not only within thehospital but also by some literary criticsaffiliated with Tokyo coteries.29 Hōjō's firstpiece in Yamazakura appeared in July of 1934and consisted of a series of three vignettes that

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were entitled "Dōteiki" ("Virgin Records").30

Hōjō, however, was dissatisfied with the limitedaudience of the hospital publication, and againreached out to established authors forpatronage as he sought wider readership forhis work. Although he wrote to several well-known authors, Kawabata Yasunari was theonly writer who answered.

Men's Dormitories of Zensei Hospital c.1930. Image courtesy of the NationalHansen's Disease Museum

The correspondence between Kawabata andHōjō began in August of 1934 when Hōjō wrotea letter asking to be accepted as Kawabata'spupil. In the letter, Hōjō describes hisrelationship to his illness, literature, and hisdesire to differentiate himself from his fellowsufferers:

"At last [after three months in the hospital], Ican finally take up my pen and write. I am nownot so different from a healthy person (kenkō-sha), but soon, over the course of ten or fifteenyears, not only will my arms, my legs, my eyes,and other appendages become numb, but it's

certain that they will rot and fall off. When Ithink of this, I know beyond a doubt that thereis nothing for me except death. But I cannotdie. Truly, I could not die. In this case, for me,what else can I do but live? Yet, I cannot work,and there is nothing for me to do except writeliterature. Of course there are many people inthe hospital who enjoy literature, but perhapsbecause of the weakness in being an invalid,there is not a single person who tries to trulystudy leprosy. Rather, as dilettantes theyescape into the world of haiku, poetry, tanka,without passion or a desire to live in literature.To me, this is truly a shame. Yet, with suchsurroundings, my resistance is broken downand I am forced into the same box [as the otherpatient writers]. I suffer in the knowledge that Ialready have one foot in that box."31

In this letter, Hōjō declares his desire to livethrough his writing and truly confront hisillness and its meaning through his work. Tohim, while other patients seek to escape intowhat he sees as frivolous forms of literature, hestrives to confront the true meaning of hisillness through prose fiction and literaryengagement. Arai Yuki has argued that throughhis literature, Hōjō creates an identity forh imsel f as a member o f the hospi ta lintelligentsia.32 His intention is clear from thisletter with his first articulations of his literarytheory, but there is more to it. When Hōjōdecries escapism through literature, he is alsostating that the literature he wants to write isdifferent. To Hōjō, his work is different becauseit is a solitary endeavor to reclaim his illnessexperience. Poetry in the hospital was acollective writing experience and was oftencollaborative between doctors and patients.33 Incontrast, Hōjō stood aloof from hospital writinggroups and published his work for an audienceoutside the hospital. He ultimately used hisliterature to rethink not only the relationshipsof pat ients to society , but a lso theirrelationships to their illness and to otherpatients. Hōjō's literature is infused with arefusal to allow the hospital, the doctors, other

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patients, or popular authors, dictate narrativesof his experience.34

A ward for seriously ill cases in ZenseiHospital, 1942. Image courtesy of theNational Hansen's Disease Museum

In February 1936, thanks to the patronage ofKawabata Yasunari, Hōjō's short story "Life'sFirst Night" was published in the popularcoterie journal Bungakkai (Literary World)."Life's First Night," unlike "Old Man Magi," waspresented with an afterword by KawabataYasunari, which framed the work within thecontext of Hōjō's illness and quarantineexperience. Hōjō's literature, to Kawabata, isone of life ("inochi"), and he tells the readerthat he changed the title because he "wanted tohighlight the word "life" that is in the work."35

Hōjō's original title for the piece had been"Saisho no ichiya" ("The First Night"), and AraiYuki notes that by changing the title andmaking it more sensational, Kawabata literallygave the work itself new life.36

Although when translated into English,Kawabata's change to the title seems to add

greater depth, Hōjō's original title carried asignificantly different meaning. "The FirstNight" does not foreground "life;" in fact, theword is conspicuously absent from the title.Further, Hōjō's original title simply meant afirst night, a vague new beginning to anunspecified life chapter. In contrast to this, theword "shoya" in the original Japanese titlecarries more nuance than the Englishtranslation of "first night" can convey. Theearliest meaning of "shoya" is the time betweenmidnight and the new dawn, although it latercomes to refer to the hour of the dog, orroughly six to nine o'clock in the evening. Inthis sense, the title refers to the darknessbefore the day dawns. A second meaning of"shoya" is that of the first night a newly-married couple spends together. Here, ratherthan a wedding, "shoya" refers to the first nightthe protagonist spends in the institution withhis fellow patients. In either case, the word"shoya" in Japanese carries both the nuance ofdarkness and a new path in life.37

Arai makes an excellent point when he statesKawabata's introduction of the word "life" intothe story changed its reception. In renamingthe story, Kawabata explicitly framed it as thefirst night of a new life, as we find reflected inthe German title of the story, "Die Erste NachtEines Neuen Lebens" ("The First Night of aNew Life"). With these titles, life becomescentral to the piece.38 Indeed, Kawabatareinforces his reading of Hōjō's writing and theimportance of "life" to Hōjō's work in hisafterward in Bungakkai. Kawabata quotes aletter from Hōjō that demonstrates theconnection between "life" and writing:

"But this was something I had to write. Iaddressed the first day I entered this hospital.For me, it is a frightful memory that I will staywith me for the rest of my life. But if I didn't goback to the feelings I had when I was firsthospitalized, I could never find a way to riseagain. …To live or to die, for me, this was themost important question. It was a question

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more fundamental than whether I would write.The condition in which I would live was thenext question… for me, literature is mysecondary task… However, I have at lastresolved this fundamental question. In thefuture, I believe I must write to live."39

After this extensive quote, Kawabata addssimply: "There are no further words ofrecommendation that I need add to this."40

Kawabata states that he has tried to keep hisinterventions into Hōjō's work to a minimumbecause their literary value comes not fromtheir form but from their context and "becausethey pierce the truth of an extreme edge oflife."41 In framing the work in this way,Kawabata foregrounds the notion of "life" andhow institutionalization became a challenge tohow "life" is defined. He also emphasizedHōjō's work as exceptional because of theconditions of its creation. He framed it as aliterature valuable in its confrontation withdeath, emphasizing Hōjō's experiences as apatient and underscoring the exceptionality ofthe genre of "leprosy literature." It was in parthis promotion of Hōjō and this category thatsolidified the notion of the genre in the mindsof literary critics. 42 Indeed, this genre ofwriting was one that Kawabata argued couldnot be approached by critics in the same wayas other genres: "Rather than [writing a]critique, [this kind of literature] reveals theproblem of not being able to criticize."43

"Life's First Night" was Hōjō's second piece tobe published in the magazine, but unlike hisfirst short story, this second work immediatelyattracted the notice of Tokyo's literary coteries.The piece won the Bungakkai literary prize,and critics discussed Hōjō's work in magazinesand newspapers.44 Every discussion of his work,however, framed Hōjō's writing as "leprosyliterature." As a consequence, critics imposed anarrow reading on the texts, understandingthem as documents that recorded patient life inthe hospital. This in turn eclipsed the broaderpotential of Hōjō's work as literature, that of

reclaiming and assigning meaning to hisexperience. That is to say, literary critics readHōjō's writing as well as other patient writing,as personal and documentary rather than asworks of literature with a broader socialengagement.45

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Whi le Hō jō has been he ld up as thequintessential patient writer, his work was infact atypical in its form and its engagementwith the literary coteries outside the hospital.The dominant form of patient writing wasalways poetry, and writing in the hospital wastypically a communal, social endeavor. Yet,Hōjō wrote alone, and chose to engage with theliterary coteries outside the hospital more thanthe writing groups inside the hospital. Theaccolades he received were also unprecedentedwithin the hospital writing community. Indeed,his status as the "father" of the genre of"leprosy literature" is a mark of his exceptionalstatus, although Hōjō himself refuted thiscategor izat ion. For Hōjō , the act o fcategorizing his literature was a limitation; hishe wanted his work to be understood asdepicting one type of human condition, as hewrote in a posthumously published, unfinishedessay:

"I do not believe there is such a thing asleprosy literature, but if there were such agenre, by no means do I want to write such athing. It goes without saying that I have notwritten it in the past, and likewise, I doubt Iwill write it hereafter. People can call what wewrite whatever they like, be it leprosyliterature, or sanatoria literature, or somethingelse. I simply want to write about humanity.Leprosy is nothing more than one case inwriting about humanity."46

Thus, for Hōjō, the act of categorizing hisliterature was a limitation; he wanted his workto be read and understood as representative ofhumanity. To read his work as "leprosyliterature" positions it within a narrative of

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illness and patient treatment, and thisinseparability of his work from the experienceof the hospital is a categorization that Hōjōresists.47

Yet, although Hōjō's writing was unusual, hiswork also shares many themes and questionswith the majority of patient writing, be itpoetry, prose, or children's pieces. One of theelements most often present in patient writingis the break with family and society that occurswhen sufferers are admitted into the hospital.Patients left their families and their hometownsto enter a facility for treatment, and themoment of institutionalization was oftendepicted as a severance with the writer's pastlife.48 The rites surrounding a patient'sadmittance, such as the medical exam anddisinfection procedures Hōjō describes in"Life's First Night" appear in other literaryworks as well. However, Hōjō's writing rejectsthis idea of real and symbolic quarantine, andin his writing he works to expose the porousboundaries in the hospital, thus resistingdepicting characters that are stereotypicalpatients.

At the same time, Hōjō's literary legacy wasalso defined by the institution itself. As I havediscussed elsewhere, doctors downplayed theimportance of his work, in part because hisnarratives were often at odds with the image ofthe hospital they worked to maintain.49 This ispoignantly, albeit unintentionally, marked onhis death certificate: Although he was sufferingfrom Hansen's Disease, like many otherpatients Hōjō ultimately succumbed totuberculosis. His death from intestinaltuberculosis is marked by one piece of paper inthe crowded death ledger of the hospital fromthat winter; there is nothing remarkable aboutit. Despite the fact Hōjō Tamio was an authorcelebrated in literary circles when he died, hisdeath certificate recorded "unemployed" in theentry for "occupation of the deceased," subtlyunderscoring that in the hospital he was oneamong many patients.

There may be many reasons for the hospital toignore Hōjō's status as an author, such asrespect for the family, or reluctance torecognize intellectual pursuits as fitting laborwithin the hospital. Indeed, when occupationsare listed in the death ledger they are typicallyskilled labor, such as carpentry or cultivator.Yet, it is tempting to view the death certificateas a m ic rochasm o f the b iopo l i t i c sunderpinning the Japanese hospital, and forgood reason.50 To the hospital, despite hisresistance to the categorization, Hōjō was onepatient among many, with nothing remarkableabout his life or his death. The medicalestablishment did not recognize Hōjō as anauthor; rather, they saw him first and foremostas a patient.

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It is easy to read the hospital's reaction to Hōjō,and in particular the mundane nature of hisdeath certificate, as an example of biopoliticsand the reduction of patients to a state of whatGiorgio Agamben, building on Foucault,referred to as "bare life:" life excluded from allsocial and political significance.5152 The hospitaland its inmates were clearly separated from therest of society; the figures of the sufferers in"Life's First Night" are biologically alive, buttheir life is not something recognizable to themain of human society, as Saeki argues in thestory. Yet, at the same time, Hōjō's story, andindeed his life, reveal one way in whichpatients resisted the reduction of their lifewithin the biopolitics of the hospital. Hōjō'sinsistence on defining his own experiencethrough his writing was at odds with theattempt by the hospital to define him as apatient whose experience was defined solely bymodern medicine. In both his life and his work,Hōjō struggled with reconciling the biopoliticalsignificance of a diagnosis of Hansen's Diseaseand institutionalization with the sense ofhumanity and connection to the world outsidethe hospital he still maintained.

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In his writings Hōjō struggled to confront thebiopolitical relegation of his identity to that ofpatient. This is poignantly reflected in hismultiple experiments with selecting a hospitalname as well as a pseudonym. The "hospitalname" was one part of the institutionalizationprocess that underscored the loss of identitypatients faced upon institutionalization. ZenseiHospital, like Hansen's Disease hospitals allover the world, encouraged patients to adopt ahospital name upon admission, to both hidetheir own past and to protect their familiesfrom the stigma of the disease. Indeed, thetrauma of the loss of a patient's given nameand identity is a common theme in Japanesepatient writing, and it is also highlighted in thefew English-language patient autobiographiesthat have been published.53 In Japan, however,new residents often tried to choose apseudonym or hospital name that echoed thefamily name they concealed.

Hōjō was no different in using his pen names toretain a sense of connection to his family andthe outside world. When he first began to writehe had not yet settled on a pen name. Thename he first used in publishing the "VirginRecords" was Chichibu Kōichi. The nameChichibu came from the name of the dormitoryHōjō lived in at Zensei Hospital, and Kōichi washomage to his given name. In this first penname, then, there is blending of the life Hōjōlived before the hospital (the character for Kōin Kōichi is the same as his real name, Kōji) andafter his admittance (Chichibu). In April of1935, he began using the name Jūjō Gōichi,another play on his real name. Shichijōcontains the character for the number seven(shichi); in Jūjō, Hōjō used the number "ten"instead of "seven," and used the samecharacter for jō in both names. Similarly,Gōichi is very similar to his real given name,Kōji. In all of these names, we can see aconnection to his past as he tries to adapt tohospital life. Hōjō's play with names reveals hisreluctance to sever his ties with his pastdespite his illness. In a similar way, Hōjō's

literature also contains glimpses of his past,such as his references to the tangerine treeseen in "Life's First Night."

Finally, with Kawabata Yasunari's support hepublished "Old Man Magi" in the October 1935issue of Bungakkai (Literary World) under thename Chichibu Gōichi, a name that blendedtwo of his previously used pseudonyms but wasthe furthest from his real name than any of hisother pen names.5 4 It was not until thepublication of his most famous story, "Inochi noshoya" ("Life's First Night"), however, that Hōjōsettled on his pseudonym, Hōjō Tamio,although he did not stop using his real name.Throughout his life he corresponded withKawabata using his real name and shared hisreal name with his friends at the hospital.55 Theletters that he wrote to Kawabata, signed withhis real name, were publicly displayed for thefirst time at the Tokushima exhibit. Despite hismany attempts at pseudonyms Hōjō is unique inthat he used his real name to correspond withKawabata and it was known to his close friendsin the hospital. This is indicative with his largerstruggle to define himself as an individual andan author while he was increasingly definedsolely in the terms of his illness.

Despite his success as an author his real nameremained hidden from the public until July of2014. The family's reclamation of Hōjō Tamiogives a new poignancy to his many pen names.The publicity surrounding the revelation alsoforegrounds the social issues surroundingHansen's Disease and patient writing. It revealsa shift in attitudes towards the illness: ShichijōMasashi allowed his name to be used toreporters in the family's acknowledgement ofHōjō while his mother, Hōjō's niece, did notreveal her name when she stated, "This isn't anage where there is discrimination andprejudice, so I consented, thinking perhaps itwas time."56&57

The family's reclamation of Hōjō is, indeed,nothing short of restoration of identity to an

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author who struggled to identify his place inthe hospital and come to terms with his illness.The family's reclamation also recenters Hōjō inhis own narrative. While scholars have longsituated Hōjō within the genre of "leprosyliterature" and read his work within the contextof the hospital, the family's acknowledgementreveals who Hōjō was outside of the hospital. Ina sense, it restores his humanity.

This recentering of Hōjō in his own works isapparent not only in the publication of his realname, bu t a l so in the p ic tures tha taccompanied the announcement. Significantly,the Asahi Shinbun and Mainichi Shinbun bothaccompanied their stories on Hōjō's real namewith a photographic image. It shows a youngman, staring straight into the camera. The onlysign of the illness is the fact one eyebrow ismissing. The photograph was taken todocument Hōjō's condition upon his admittanceto Zensei Hospital. The image is inseparablefrom the institutional confines which producedit; the image itself is a record of Hōjō as apatient.

Hojo Tamio upon institutionalization,1934. Image courtesy of the NationalHansen's Disease Museum

In contrast to this photograph, the image usedin the booklet that officially announced hisfami ly and b iography, Annan-shi nosenkakusha-tachi dai isshū (The Pioneers ofAnnan City, Volume One), and the exhibit at theTokushima museum was one painted by hisgood friend, Tōjō Kōichi-it appears at thebeginning of this introduction.58 It shows Hōjōseated at a desk, several books open in front ofhim and more volumes stacked next to him. Hesits in front of a bookshelf laden with literaryworks. He wears a personal kimono rather thanthe institutionally-issued outfit. The imagedepicts Hōjō on his own terms. There is littlehint of his illness. Hōjō stares from the canvas,an intellectual young man defined by theliterature surrounding him. The use of this

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image in the Annan publication and theTokushima exhibit can be understood as part ofthe reclamation of Hōjō, as it depicted Hōjō ashe wanted to be seen. This, together with thepublication of his name, returns Shichijō Kōji tohis family and underscores again the humanitybehind his literature that had been confinedwithin the context of the hospital.

Life's First Night59

By Hōjō Tamio

Translated by Kathryn M. Tanaka

After leaving the station he'd walked for abouttwenty minutes through a forest before at lastthe hedges around the hospital came into view,although there were still undulations in thelandscape-- areas that rose and fell from view,valley-like, small hills and rolling slopes. Therewas no trace of anything like a dwelling. It wasonly about twenty miles from Tokyo, but theplace was as quiet and as devoid of signs ofhuman life as if it were deep within themountains.

It was just before the rainy season, andbecause Oda was carrying his trunk, he soonfelt himself growing sticky with sweat. As hesurveyed the remoteness of the area andhappily saw there was no one around, hepushed back his hat that had, until this point,been pulled down low over his eyes, and hepeered through the trees into the distance. Asfar as he could see, greenery covered the vastMusashino plain, while here and there athatched roof was visible, hinting at theprimitive loneliness of the landscapeunderneath. As the cicadas were not yet crying,the silence was complete, and while Oda slowlytrudged along, he wondered with anxiety whatwould happen to him. It can't be that I amunconsciously sinking into a pitch-black vortex?Now I silently walk toward the hospital, but isthis the best thing for me? Isn't there anotherway to live? Thoughts of this nature floodedhim, and for a moment he stopped and gazed

up into the treetops of the forest. After all, itmight be better to die now. Rays of sunlighthad begun to slant into the treetops, streamingabove the green leaves. It was a brightafternoon.

Six months had already passed since his illnesshad been diagnosed, and since that time,whether he was walking in the park or alongthe street, he had developed the habit ofnoticing the foliage and branches whenever hesaw a tree. Estimating the height and thicknessof one branch, he would think, this branch istoo slender and can't support the weight of mybody, or this branch is too high and would behard to reach. He would lose himself in suchreveries. It wasn't just the branches of trees,either. Whenever he went by a pharmacy, hewould think of the names of sleeping pills andpicture himself peacefully resting. When hesaw a train he would imagine the tragic deaththat would come from throwing himself underit. Thus he came to think about death night andday, but as his thoughts grew more persistenthe increasingly discovered that he could notdie. Now again, he looked at the treetops toexamine the shape of the branches, but heimmediately scowled and walked on again insilence. He tried asking himself, do I want todie? Do I want to live? Is the desire for deathtruly within me? Is it not? In the end,irresolute, he simply quickened his pace. Wereall humans doomed to envision destroyingthemselves, without being able to do so? Twodays earlier, when it was decided that he wouldhave to be admitted to the hospital, he went toEnoshima with the sudden urge to make onelast attempt. If I don't die this time, I'll goanywhere. His resolution made, he cheerfullyhe set out, feeling certain he would succeed.B u t t h e n , w h e n h e s a w a g r o u p o fschoolchildren on the rocks, and the brilliantsunlight over the vast ocean stretching into thehazy distance, he was overcome with theabsurdity of his thoughts of death. Steelinghimself, he closed his eyes, thinking it would bebest to jump blindly. As he stood on the ledge,

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however, he suddenly had an unshakeablefeeling that he would be saved. If I am saved,there is no point. Even so, he repeated tohimself, what matters most is that I actuallyjump. Just as he began to lean toward thewaves, he started to wonder; is now my time todie? But why do I have to die now? Why is nowmy time to die? And then he began to feelperhaps now was not his time to die. At thatpoint, he desperately drained a bottle ofwhiskey he had brought, but he didn't getdrunk; rather, he felt strangely nonsensical andhe laughed dryly. As he crushed the life from ared crab crawling towards his feet, his eyelidssuddenly began to burn. Despite theseriousness of the moment, that sense ofsolemnity and his mirthful spirit remainedseparated, like oil in water. Later, when thetrain departed for Tokyo, his feelings of despairand self-deprecation returned. He felt gloomy,but it was already too late. No matter what, hecould not die, and when faced with that fact, hecould only hang his head in resignation.

I can do nothing except reach my destination assoon as possible and then make my decision.With this idea, Oda walked along the tall hollyhedge.60 To get to the main gate, he had to walkthe entire length of the hedge. Occasionally hestopped and pressed his forehead against thehedge to peer into the hospital grounds. Thelush green leaves of fresh vegetable plantsstretched as far as he could see. They werelikely tended by patients. He looked carefullyfor the houses these patients lived in, but not asingle one was visible. He could see that thefields stretched into the distance, ending at adeep grove of trees that looked like a forest. Inthe midst of that grove a single, thick chimneywas spitting black smoke into the sky. Thepatients' houses were probably around there.The chimney was imposing, as if it belonged toa first-class factory, and Oda wondered why thehospital would need such a huge chimney. Asthe realization that it might be the chimney ofthe crematorium dawned on him his destinationbegan to seem hellish. In a large hospital like

this, of course there were many deaths everyday, and thus such a large chimney would benecessary. With this thought, his legs grewweaker. But as he walked on, the hospitalscenery unfolding before him began to slowlylighten his mood. Next to the vegetablegardens he saw a square strawberry patch, andon a matching adjacent plot next to that a tidygrapevine trellis, so perfect that it looked like amodel, faced an orchard of pears, all inwonderful spatial harmony. These wereprobably also cultivated by the patients. Oda,who had been living in the squalor of Tokyo,unconsciously whispered, it's wonderful, and hethought that contrary to his expectation,perhaps the interior of the hospital waspeaceful.

The path that ran along the hedge was abouttwo meters wide61 and the green leaves of theforest trees on the other side overhung anddarkened the path. With his eyes fixed on theinterior of the hospital, Oda had come up nextto the pear orchard when he saw two youngmen with the appearance of local farmerswalking in his direction. Just like Oda, theywere peering into the hospital as they talked.Conscious that it would be unpleasant to meetthem in his circumstances, Oda pulled downlow the hat that he had just pushed back and,looking down, he began to walk. One eyebrowhad thinned because of his illness, and in itsplace Oda had pencilled it in. When the mencame up close to him, they suddenly stopped alltalk, and as they passed by, they looked witheyes full of curiosity at the figure of Odacarrying his trunk. While Oda looked downsilently, he keenly felt their gaze. If they werelocal men, they must have seen the admittanceof patients to the hospital many times, and akind of mortification pierced his heart to thequick.

When their figures disappeared, Oda set histrunk down and sat on it. His spirits againclouded with the wretched necessity ofadmittance into a hospital of this kind in order

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to save his life. Glancing up, he noticed severaltree branches that would be strong enough tohang himself. If he did not take this chance,then without doubt he would never be able todo it. He cast a glance around and saw he wasalone. His eyes glistened, he grinned, andwhispered: all right, now. Excitement rapidlybegan to build within him, and he was amusedat the thought that in a place like this hesuddenly felt able to do himself in. His beltshould be rope enough. He felt his pulsequicken as he stood up and put a hand on hisbelt. At that moment, he heard a sudden burstof laughter from inside the hospital. Looking inthe direction of the sound, he saw two womenon the inside of the hedge, chatting happily asthey walking toward the grape trellis. Did theysee me, he wondered, but his curiosity wasimmediately piqued as they were the firstwomen he had seen inside the hospital. Hequickly lifted his trunk and innocently beganwalking again. Out of the corner of his eye, hesaw that both women were wearing short-sleeved kimonos with the same stripedpattern;62 as he surveyed them from behind,their white aprons fluttered up into sight. Hewas slightly disappointed that he could not seetheir faces, but from behind they looked niceindeed, with their thick black hair casually tiedback. Beyond a doubt, these were patients, butas they had not a single sign of the ghastlinessof the illness, for some reason Oda feltreassured. He watched them with eager eyes asthey quickly moved ahead, occasionallyreaching up to search for bunches of grapesthat they seemed to think ripe. As they did this,they looked at each other and burst intolaughter. As they left the grape orchard andwandered into the thick green of the vegetablegarden, one of them suddenly started running.Watching her friend, the other doubled overwith laughter before beginning to run after her.They appeared to be playing tag, and even asthey revealed glimpses of their profiles to Oda,their figures became smaller and soon vanishedin the deep grove under the chimney. Oda letout a sigh, and looking away from the spot

where the women had vanished, he decided toenter the hospital.

*

Its atmosphere was entirely different than thatof a regular hospital. When Oda asked forinformation at the reception desk, a fat officeclerk of about forty came out:

"It's you, huh. Oda Takao, hmm?" he said,looking over Oda's face from top to bottom.

"Well, just do your best with the treatment."

He said this carelessly as he took out anotebook from his pocket and began to do abackground check as strictly as the policemight. Then, one by one he wrote down thenames of the books in Oda's trunk, and Oda,just twenty-three years old, felt this humiliationdeeply. At the same time, he was anxious aboutthe strange things to expect inside a hospital socompletely cut off from general society. ThenOda was taken to a small house that stoodbeside the office.

"Please wait here for a moment," the clerk saidas he withdrew. Later, Oda was surprised tolearn that this small house was a consultationroom for outpatients. There weren't anyparticular examination instruments there, andwith its single dirty bench, it was like a waitingroom at a train station in the country. Outsidethe window, he saw thick growths of pines,chestnuts, cypress, and zelkova trees; farbeyond them, he saw the hedge. Oda satwaiting for a moment, but he was unable to sitstill. Several times, he stood up and lookedaround with the thought he should take thischance to escape. At that moment, a doctordrifted in, made Oda remove his hat, andlooked briefly at his face.

"Ha-ah." The doctor nodded once, and that wasthe end of the examination. Of course, Oda wellknew there was no mistake that he had leprosy.But the moment the doctor said to him, "I'm

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sorry," filled with the meaning that the leprosywas undeniable, the energy suddenly drainedfrom Oda's body. And with that, a man dressedin white who appeared to be a nurse came in.63

"Come this way, please," he said as he began towalk ahead of Oda. Oda also started walking,and as he followed the nurse the nihilisticfeelings he had outside the hospital graduallyvanished. At the same time, however, he beganto feel with fear and anxiety as if he wereslowly falling into the depths of hell. He couldnot escape the feeling that he was doingsomething with his life that could never beundone.

"This is a very large hospital, isn't it?" Odaasked, driven by the feeling that he could nolonger keep silent.

"Around three hundred thirty square meters,"64

the man responded sharply, like the snap of abranch broken off a tree, and sped up his pace.Looking back at the hedge as it appeared anddisappeared from view between the leaves, Odafelt like he had lost a safe port. Even though hewas angered by his own imploring tone, he felthe had to ask and so he spoke withouthesitation: "Are people ever completely cured?"

"Try your best with the treatment and see," theman said with a smile. It may have been a smileintended to express kindness, but to Oda it wasominous.

Their destination was a bathhouse behind alarge sick ward. There were already two youngfemale nurses waiting there for Oda's arrival.They were wearing huge masks that seemed tocover even their ears, and the sight of themmade Oda miserable as he remembered hisillness.

A hallway connected the bathhouse to the sickward, and through the passage Oda heard aclamor of hoarse voices that seemed to comefrom beasts mixed with the heavy sound offootsteps. As Oda put down his trunk, a nurse

glanced at his face but immediately averted hereyes.

From inside her mask, she said, "We're going todisinfect..." The other nurse took the lid off thebathtub and dipped her hand in as she said,"It's nice and hot." She glanced in Oda'sdirection as though telling him to get in. Odalooked around, but there was no basket for hisclothes. There was just a single, filthy strawmat placed in one corner of the room.

He could hardly stop the words that roseunconsciously: "Am I supposed to undress onthis?" His chest violently heaved. A clearpicture of himself as he stepped into the abyssplayed in his mind. On this dirty mat, anynumber of louse-covered beggars and vagrantpatients had taken off their clothes. He wasfilled with both anger and sadness as herealized that without question the nursesregarded him as no different from a charitypatient. He hesitated, but he had no choice.While in the midst of despair, he made up hismind to prepare for the bath. He stripped andtook the lid off the bathtub.

"Are there chemicals in here?" he asked withone hand in the water, acutely anxious aboutthat earlier word, disinfect.

"No, it's only hot water." The nurse's brightvoice echoed pleasantly, but her eyes regardedOda with sympathy. Oda squatted and firstscooped up a bucket of water, but as he sawthe murky, whitish hue, he knew his disgustwould return if he hesitated. He closed hiseyes, held his breath, and in one movementplunged in. He felt as though he had plungedinto a bottomless cave.

"Ahem. We're going to get ready to send this tothe disinfection room," a nurse said. The otherhad already opened his trunk and wasexamining his belongings. Naked, Oda couldonly think, do whatever you like. As he sat upto his chest in water, he closed his eyes andlistened to the women's voices in whispered

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conversation as they rummaged through histhings. The noise from the sick ward wasceaseless, and when mixed with the whispers ofthe women, it became a cacophony swirlingabove his head. As he closed his eyes andlistened to the din, he suddenly rememberedthe tangerine tree in his hometown. He hadoften taken naps under its umbrella of thickbranches. It was a strange thing to remember,and he wondered if an impression from thattime might have something in common with thefeelings he now had. As he pondered this, anurse showed him a new kimono as she said,"When you get out, put this on please." Thekimono was of the same striped pattern he hadseen the two women wearing as he watchedfrom outside the hedge.

With its light sleeves, it looked like a kimono anelementary school student might wear, andwhen Oda got out of the bath and put it on, hefelt he cut a shabby and ridiculous figure. Hekept bending his neck to look at himself.

"Now then, we're sending your luggage to thedisinfection room. You had eleven yen andeighty-six sen.65 In two or three days you'llreceive tickets in exchange for it."

This was the first time he had heard the word"ticket," but Oda guessed at once that it was aspecial form of money designed for use only inthe hospital. For the first time Oda saw anaspect of the hospital's administration, and therealization made him shudder like a criminal onhis way to prison. He couldn't repress a fearthat the hospital would slowly deprive him ofhis ability to move, like the wretched conditionof a crab that had its pinchers pulled off. Hepictured this crab, only able to crawl helplesslyin circles on the ground.

At that moment, from down the hall he heard ashriek. As he unconsciously hunched hisshoulders there came the reverberations offootsteps in a noisy run. In a moment, the glassdoor at the entrance to the bath was opened,and a face like a rotten pear abruptly appeared.

Oda let out a small scream, and shrank back,feeling the blood drain from his face. It was agrotesque face. It was not just the mud-likecomplexion, or the face so swollen it looked asif pus would burst out with the lightest touch;on top of that, there was not a single hair in thebrows of the man's face, making him looksuspiciously like a nopperabo, both grotesqueand idiotic.66 His breathing was excited and hewas panting, perhaps because he had beenrunning. He stared at Oda with festering yelloweyes. Oda hunched his shoulders more deeply.It was the first time he had seen so closely apatient with the same illness as himself. Sowhile he was scared-terribly scared-he was alsomoved by curiosity and kept glancing at theman out of the corner of his eyes. He lookedlike a gourd that had rotted to a deep blackcolor, wearing a wig. There was not a trace ofhair on his chin or his eyebrows. Only the hairon his head was strangely black. It looked as ifhe applied oil to it every day, and it was neatlyparted down the middle with a comb. Hisexpression was so strange that Oda began toget the ominous feeling that this was amadman.

"What are you so excited about?" one of thenurses asked.

"He he he he." He had a creepy way oflaughing, but suddenly he shot a quick look atOda slammed the glass door shut, and ran off.

As his footsteps faded down the hall, Oda heardthe sound of another set of footsteps thatseemed to be coming in his direction.Compared with the others, these werefrightfully soft.

"It's Saeki-san." The nurses seemed torecognize the sound as they looked at eachother and nodded.

"I was a little busy so I'm late." This was thefirst thing Saeki said as he quietly opened thedoor and came in. He was a tall man, with oneeye strangely, beautifully sparkling. He wore a

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white coat like a male nurse, but the illness hadso damaged his face that it was obvious at aglance that he was a patient. One eye wasclouded, and for that reason the beautiful eyestruck Oda as incongruous.

"Are you on duty?" asked a nurse, looking up atSaeki's face.

"Yes, I am," Saeki simply replied.

"You must be tired," he added as he looked inOda's direction. It was difficult to guess his agebased on his appearance, but his words werefull of youth, and his way of speaking seemedfull of confidence, almost to the point ofarrogance.

"How was the bath? The water wasn't too hot,was it?" Saeki looked at him with a smile, andOda, wearing the hospital kimono for the firsttime, felt he must look ridiculous. .

"It was just right, wasn't it, Oda-san?" the nursereplied for him as she looked over at Oda.

"Yes."

"Is his place in the ward ready?"

"Yes, it's all ready." The nurse turned to Odaafter Saeki said this.

"This is Saeki-san, he's the attendant in thesickroom you're assigned. If there is anythingyou don't understand, please ask him, allright?"

The nurse spoke while holding Oda's trunk inher hands. She then left, as she said, "Pleaselook after him, Saeki-san."

"I'm Oda Takao. It's nice to meet you-." Odastarted to say in greeting.

"Yes, I already knew that. The office notifiedme." Then Saeki continued, "Your case is stillvery light. There's nothing you need to beafraid of with leprosy. Ha ha ha. Now, please

come this way." And he started walking towardthe hallway.

*

He could see the electric l ights of thedormitories and the sick wards shining throughthe trees. It was probably close to ten o'clock.For some time, Oda had been staring at thelights, standing motionless in a pine forest. Washe sad, or anxious, or afraid? He himself couldnot define the strange condition of his mind.The scenes from the ward for serious cases thatSaeki had first shown him revolved in his mind.The man with the collapsed nose, the womanwith the deformed mouth, and the skeleton-likeman with no eyeballs danced before his eyes.I'll soon start to become just like that, hethought, with the horrible stench of pusclouding his head. He couldn't quite believe it;it was too frightening for belief. -Oda recalledthe figure of Saeki caring for the silent,seriously ill people amidst the scatteredbandages and gauze stained yellow with pus.Oda shook his head and started to walk. Saekihad told Oda that he had lived in the hospitalfor five years now, but what sustained Saeki ashe continued to live in this place?

After taking Oda to his bed in the sickroom,Saeki kept coming and going, moving busilyaround the room. He wrapped bandages for thepeople with disabled limbs, took away theirexcrement, and even helped them eat theirmeals. Yet, as he quietly watched Saeki, Odafrequently suspected that as earnestly as heperformed these duties Saeki didn't care forthe sufferers. Of course he didn't think Saekiwas hard on them, but he appeared somehowaloof. Even when he thrust his head into thecrotch of a deteriorating serious case to applyadhesive plaster, there was no revulsion on hisface. It was as if he had forgotten how to showdisgust. And although the figures appearedabnormal to Oda as he viewed them for the firsttime, to Saeki, these were likely just normalebbs and flows in the small waves of everyday

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happenings. While he worked, when he had amoment, Saeki would come to Oda's bed andtalk to him, but he never tried to console him.Saeki calmly explained when Oda asked himabout the hospital institution and the daily lifeof patients. His manner of explanation wascareful, not wasting a single word. Hisexpressions were so appropriate that theycould have been written down just as he spoke,and Oda was satisfied with each of hisexplanations. Yet he never asked about Oda'spast or the progression of his illness. And whenOda tried to ask about Saeki's past, he onlylaughed and said nothing. It was when Odamentioned that he had been going to schooluntil the onset of his illness that Saeki suddenlyshowed a deeper interest.

"I haven't had many people to talk to before,and that's been hard." Saeki's his face glowedwith delight as he spoke, and a feeling ofcloseness began to grow between the men astwo young comrades. At the same time, Odafelt an indescribable horror at the thought ofbecoming friendly with a leper like Saeki. Heknew it was wrong of him to feel that way, butOda could not overcome his instinctualrevulsion.

Oda continued to walk in the dark pine forestas he recalled Saeki and the sick room. Itwasn't as if he had somewhere to go. He hadonly rushed out here because he couldn'ttolerate being in the sickroom where hecouldn't avert his eyes from the sufferers.

He ran into the holly hedge as he came out ofthe forest. Almost unconsciously he grabbedthe hedge and shook it with all his might. Hismoney had been taken away, so an escape wasunthinkable. Even so, he began very cautiouslyto climb over the hedge. No matter theconsequences, he had to get out of the hospital.He was convinced that he should not allowhimself die inside it. Once outside he wasrelieved, but still wary of his surroundings ashe untied his obi and entered the forest. It isn't

that I'm going to kill myself, it's that fate hasdecreed that I must die now. I don't know whythis is so, but in any case it is inevitable, hewhispered, almost in gibberish and he hung theobi above his head on the branch of a chestnuttree. The hospital obi he had been given in thebath was a shabby rope yet it would serve totightly choke his neck. Although he began tofeel it would be terribly miserable to die usingan obi from the hospital, he managed topersuade himself that the obi didn't matter. Hetried pulling on the obi two or three times as atest. With its plentiful green leaves, the branchshook up and down with an invigoratingwhisper. He was not yet completely earnest inhis attempt to die, but nonetheless he tied theends of the obi together and tried looping itaround his neck. It fit quite well, catching justunder his chin. Next he moved his jaw to try toshake the branch of the tree. The branch wasquite large so he couldn't move it and theattempt to test it caused him pain. It wasobvious that the branch was too low, and heconsidered what would be an appropriateheight. He'd heard many times that when aperson was hung to death, their neck stretchedabout a foot. He didn't know if this was true ornot, but it would be safer if he hung the obifrom the next highest branch. Yet the picture ofhis own corpse with its neck stretched out afoot was certainly grotesque and struck him asshameful. This was a hospital, and it would bebetter to steal a drug appropriate for hispurpose. With the obi still around his neck, itdawned on him that whenever he tried todestroy himself, these such trivial thoughtsimpeded his act and he was unable to die. Herealized it was his true nature to allow suchtrivial considerations to bring him to this point.Well, in that case ---and with the obi around hisneck he became lost in thought.

At that moment, he heard the leaves rustle assomeone stepped on them. Oda tried to removehis neck from the obi with the idea he shouldnot be caught. At that instant the heel of thegeta he was wearing buckled.

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"Damn!" Aghast, he cried out in a low voice.The obi began to cut into his neck. He couldn'tbreathe. Blood rushed to his head and it beganto swim.

I'm dying, I'm dying.

Fighting for his life, he stretched his legs, andthe tips of his toes touched the geta.

"Ah, that was close."

He finally removed his neck from the loosenedobi with a feeling of relief, but his heart waspounding violently and cold sweat covered hisarmpits and his back. Even though it had beenaccidental, how could a person trying tocommit suicide be so frightened by such amishap? While regretting that he had missedsuch a perfect chance, he didn't feel likeattempting to hang himself again.

Climbing back over the hedge, he silentlystarted toward the sick ward. ---Why are mybody and mind in contradiction? What could Ipossibly be thinking? Perhaps I am of twominds. But then, what is the unconscious mind?Are the two minds always in conflict? Ah, willmy death be eternally impossible? Am I doomedto live for the next ten thousand years? Why isdeath not given to me? What should I do?

As he again neared the sick ward, thenightmarish scenes inside reappeared beforehim, and his feet stopped of their own accord.He was filled with a violent repugnance, and hesimply couldn't bring himself to move. Hecouldn't force himself, so he reversed his stepsand again started to walk, but he did not feellike returning to the forest. He thought of goingin the direction of the orchard he had glimpsedin the afternoon from beyond the hedge, andadvanced two or three steps in that direction,but as soon as he did so it immediately becamedistasteful. He began to think that after all, thebest thing he to do would be to return to thesick ward. Yet he reversed his steps once more,the smell of pus filled his nose, and he was

stopped in his tracks. At a loss for a place to go,he began to brood: at any rate, I've got to gosomewhere. Darkness surrounded him,although nearby he could see the brightly litglass of the long corridor in the sick ward. Hestood transfixed, staring at that brightnessuntil it began to seem fantastically unreal. Anominous feeling crept over him, as if water wasbeing trickled down his spine. He opened hiseyes wide and stared about as he tried to makesense of the sensation, yet everything onlyseemed still more spectral. A shiver swept overhis whole body and his whole body froze with asudden chill. He could no longer bear standingmotionless so still in confusion, he abruptlyretraced his steps in confusion. Where could Ibe going? Where should I go? Only this is clear:I do not belong in the forest, the orchard, thevegetable garden, but certainly, I must gosomewhere. I understand as much as that.Even so:

"Where... do I want... to go?"

His mind was aflame with undefinable anxiety.–I have no place to go, there is no place for meanywhere. His body was engulfed in lonelinessand angst, much like a traveler lost in thewilderness. A burning lump rose in his throat,and while curiously he didn't shed a single tear,his chest began to heave with sobs.

"Oda-san."

Saeki's voice called out his name, startling him.Oda felt the pounding of his heart, and his headbegan to spin. He felt dangerously close tofalling, but he managed to steady himself,though he felt mute, his throat too dry to speak.

"What's wrong?" Saeki said in a voice thathinted of laughter, as he approached him.

"What's wrong?" he repeated. That voicehelped Oda regain his composure.

"Nothing. I felt dizzy." But even to his ownears, his voice sounded unexpectedly dry and

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parched.

"Really?" Saeki stopped talking, and appearedto be ruminating. "Anyway, it's late already, solet's head back to the sick ward." As he saidthis, Saeki began to walk. Oda found somethingcomforting in Saeki's sure footsteps andfollowed him.

*

The patients were sleeping in nasty beds,lumpy like a camel's back, with futons spreadover them. Oda seated himself on the edge ofthe bed assigned to him, and Saeki silently satdown next to him. The sick people were allsleeping quietly, so that the occasional steps ofsomeone in the hallway going to the restroomechoed loudly. He had no strength to confrontthe figures of the sick asleep in the row ofbeds, so Oda sat, looking down, filled with thedesire to crawl face down under the futon assoon as possible. All these people were rottinglepers-better to say they were breathing dollsof mud. Perhaps it was due to the electric light,but the bandages wrapping their heads andarms looked as if they were oozing withblackened yellow pus. Saeki looked oncearound the room and asked, "Oda-san, whenyou look at these sick people, do you feelanything strange?"

"Strange?" The instant Oda looked up at Saeki'sface he almost screamed aloud. At some point,Saeki had taken out his beautiful eye, revealinga skeleton-like, sunken eye socket. It was sounexpected that Oda was left in speechlessconfusion.

"That is, these people, and I include us as well,we're all living. Doesn't that seem strange toyou? Doesn't it feel bizarre?" Oda fancied hesaw something different in Saeki's face and thesudden disappearance of one eye. Oda couldn'thelp wondering if he were hallucinating as hestared at Saeki with fearful attention.

Saeki seemed to sense Oda's confusion and

stood suddenly. He walked briskly over to theattendant's bed-the bed in the center of theroom-and immediately came back.

"Hahaha, I forgot to put my eyeball in. Did itstartle you? I took it out earlier to wash it-" Ashe spoke, he showed Oda the false eye he heldin his palm. "It's a pain. To have to wash it, youknow."

And then Saeki laughed again, but Oda couldonly swallow the saliva that had collected in hismouth. The false eye was shaped like half aclam, and on the convex surface it was paintedas an eye.

"This eyeball is my third. The first and secondflew out when I sneezed violently, and unluckilythey hit a rock and broke." He wiggled the eyeinto his socket as he said this.

"How about it, it looks as if it's alive, doesn'tit?" When he said this, the eye was already setback into place.

Feeling as if he'd seen an amazing magic trick,Oda again swallowed his saliva and couldn'tanswer.

"Oda-san."

After a moment of silence, Saeki again spoke toOda with something sharp in his manner. "Eventhough I am like this, I'm still alive. Even Ithink it's strange." With these words, Saekirelaxed and half-smiled.

"I-I'm sorry, but I saw everything," hecontinued.

"What?" Oda asked in reply. For a moment hedid not understand.

"Earlier. In the forest."

Saeki spoke with the same half-smile, but Odafelt it would behoove him to be on his guardwith this was a man.

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"Then, everything?"

"Yes, I saw all of it. It's you really can't die, isn'tit? Hahaha."

"......"

"When it was after ten o'clock, I missed you, soI thought perhaps- I suspected, so I went out tosee. When people first come into this ward,they often get that feeling. There's been anynumber of such people who have attempted it,but most fail. Among them, the types whoalways try are, shal l I say, the youngintelligentsia. The reasons why-how can they beexplained? Maybe it could be seen in yourfigure in the forest. Of course it was dark and Icouldn't see clearly. Yet you went over thehedge as I watched you, thinking I'd guessedright and you were going to do it. Well, Ithought, he wants to do it outside, but I didn'tfeel like stopping you, so I just quietly watched.If someone who intends to destroy themselvesfails only because someone stops them, in theend it's best if they're left to die. If someonehas a vital force inside them that makes themget up again, they can only fail. That force willget in the way of the attempt and they simplycan't do it. If someone's resolution is great,comparatively too, so is the despair; that's mythought, anyway. If someone has no resolution,it's impossible they feel despair. I believe that aperson's will to live becomes the source of theirdespair. But then when your geta slipped I wassurprised. How did you feel?"

Oda couldn't decide if Saeki was serious orlaughing, but he began to get angry as helistened to these contemptuous words.

"I felt relief at the thought that I was reallygoing to die," he retorted. But then, he honestlyconfessed, "At the same time, my heart waspounding."

"Huh." And Saeki fell into a reverie.

"Oda-san . Don ' t you th ink there 's a

contradiction in the relief you found in the ideayou could die, and the pounding of your heart?Don't you think there is something unexpectedin the depths of the gap between the two?"

"I've not given it a single thought."

"Really?"

Saeki stood up, apparently with the intention ofending the conversation there, but he sat backdown.

"Having just met you for the first time today,it's inappropriate for me to say things like this,"he said as a prelude, and then in a voice filledwith kindness he continued, "Oda-san, I believeI truly understand your feelings. I mentionedthis afternoon that this is my fifth year here.When I first arrived I felt what you areexperiencing now-no, your anguish might beeven keener than mine. Truly, I completelyunderstand your feelings. But, Oda-san, youcan indeed live. There is a path for you to live.No matter where you go, there is always a waythrough it all. Let's become more humble aboutourselves and about our lives."

Oda looked up at Saeki's face, surprised at hisstrange pronouncements. His face seemed tohave half-melted, then hardened again. Itsmovements were convulsed as he spokeemphatically, and in the dim, electric light thelumps and bumps were terribly striking.

Saeki fell into deep thought and then said, "Atany rate, I think the most important thing is tocompletely identify with leprosy." In those briefwords, Oda glimpsed Saeki's defiant spirit.

"These words may seem cruel to you as you'vestill only just been hospitalized. But rather thansympathy-rather than sympatheticallycomforting you-I think it's better for you tohear this. In reality, sympathy is far fromaffection. And anyway, how could someone likeme, as I rot from the same illness, comfort you?Wouldn't you see that anything I could say to

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comfort you would be exposed as a lie?"

"I completely understand what you are saying."

Oda was going to continue, but at that moment-

"attenen."67

Oda heard a hoarse voice from the bed at theother end of the room and he closed his mouth.Saeki quickly stood up and walked over to theman. It was then Oda understood the man hadcalled "Attendant," for Saeki.

"i wanna pee."

"Urinate, huh. OK, OK. Do you want to go tothe bathroom, or do you want to use thebedpan?"

"go to the bathroom."

Saeki lifted the man onto his back as thoughthe task was familiar to him, and he carriedhim out into the hallway. Watching theirretreat, Oda could see that the man beingcarried had no legs, and he caught a glimpse ofsomething white that looked like bandagesaround his kneecaps.

"What a horrible world. Saeki says he'll live init. But how can I go on living?"

Since he had fallen ill, this was the first timeOda had sincerely asked himself this question.He keenly examined his palms, his legs, andthen he placed his hands on his chest andgently massaged it. Everything had been takenfrom him and all that remained, all that was leftto him, was his life. As if for the first time, heagain surveyed his surroundings. Rows of bedslined the room, and the smell of pus permeatedthe air. The seriously ill patients, near death,lay atop these beds; there were also bandages,gauze, artificial legs, and crutches. I am nowsitting among these piles of things. –As hesilently stared at them, Oda felt a miry vitalenergy creep over his body. An attempt toescape was impossible, for it clung like to him

like birdlime.

Saeki returned from the bathroom and laid theman back down on the bed. "Anything else?" heasked, as he pulled up the covers. The mananswered there was nothing else, and Saekicame back over to Oda's bed.

"Well, Oda-san. Let's make a new start. To dothat, you must first completely identify withleprosy." Saeki seemed to have forgotten theman he had just taken to the toilet, and thismade a deep impression on Oda. Was it that noleprosy, no hospital, no sufferers touchedSaeki's heart? The inner being of this rottingman must be completely different fromeveryone else. Saeki's figure slowly began toappear larger to Oda.

"I think I'm also slowly accepting the reality Iface, that I cannot die," Oda said.

"I should think so." Saeki looked at Oda's facewith deep interest. "But you cannot yet acceptthe leprosy, can you? Your case is still verylight, and to tell the truth, it's not easy toaccept leprosy. But I believe you must onceembrace the viewpoint of a leper. If you don't,the new fight can never begin."

"A fight in earnest."

"Exactly, it's like a duel."

*

It's bluish-white, luminous, as if it's a moonlitnight. But the moon isn't out. He doesn't knowif it's night or day. It's simply a bluish-white,luminous field and Oda is running away.Running. His chest heaves and it's difficult tobreathe. But if he tires he'll be killed. He has torun for his life. His pursuers rapidly gain onhim. Gaining. He can feel his heart pounding inhis head. His feet are tangled. Again and againhe stumbles. He must hurry and hidesomewhere. He cowers, petrified as he looksbefore him. The holly hedge is there. He cannot

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move ahead or behind. He can hear the shoutsof his pursuers in his ears. He spies a smallgulley at his feet, a ditch without water. Hemakes a wild leap, and his legs are sucked intothe ground. He panics and struggles towithdraw his legs, but they are sucked back in.He is up to his waist in mud. Struggling,clawing. The mud keeps rising-to his waist, hisstomach, his chest. It's a bottomless mire, andhe can't move his body. He was exhausted,unable to move his legs. He pants and his eyesdart. A wild shout echoes above his head. Thatasshole, even though he's dead he's run away,dammit, he won't get away, we won't let himget away, burn him at the stake, catch him,catch him. The clamor of voices comes nearer.The deafening footsteps of the frightfulstampede echoes like thunder. The hair on hisbody stands on end as a chill runs down hisspine. –I'm going to be killed, I'll be killed. Aburning knot pitches and rolls in his chest, buthis tears have all dried. Then suddenly, herealizes he is standing under a tangerine tree-afamiliar tangerine tree. The rain falls; it is adesolate evening. Without knowing when ithappened, he finds he is wearing a wovensedge hat, a white kimono, gaiters, and strawsandals on his feet. In the distance his pursuersraise their voices in a roar. They sound as ifthey are closing in again. He crouches down bythe roots of the tangerine tree and holds hisbreath. As he does so, a laughing voice guffawsabove his head. He looks up to see Saeki there.It is a menacing, towering Saeki, twice hisusual size. He is watching from the top of thetree. His leprosy is cured and his face isstrangely beautiful. Both eyebrows are thickand robust. Unconsciously, Oda touches hisown eyebrows. The one that he should havestill had is now gone. Surprised, he gropes hisbrow, but it is gone, and his skin is smooth.Overcome as washes over him he begins toweep. Saeki grins, laughing.

"You still have leprosy," he says from thetreetop.

"Saeki-san, has your leprosy been cured?" Odaasks haltingly, his tone deferential. .

"It's cured. Leprosy can be cured any time."

"So that I, too, may be cured?"

"You can't be cured. Not you. You can't becured. Too bad."

"What shall I do to be cured? Saeki-san. I begyou, please tell me."

Saeki laughs, wrinkling his fat eyebrows.

"I beg it of you. Please, tell me? I humbly beg itof you."

Oda folds his hands in supplication and bows athis waist. He whispers as if in prayer.

"Humph! Why would I tell the likes of you, yes,why would I tell you? You know you're alreadydead. It's because you're already dead."

And then Saeki grins, and suddenly, in adeafening voice screams, "You're still trying tolive, still! You are! You're still trying to live!"He glares at Oda. His eyes are terrifying. Odathinks they are more frightening than hisartificial eye. He tries to run but he's too late.Saeki pounces from the treetop. Thegargantuan Saeki easily catches Oda in hisgrasp. Oda flails his arms and kicks his legs butthe giant does not seem to notice.

"Now you'll burn." Saeki starts to walk. A hugepillar of flame rises before their eyes. It is amaelstrom of roaring flames. I'll be thrown intothat fire. He struggles for his life in vain. Whatshould I do, what should I do. A blazing hotwind blows onto his face, and his whole bodybecomes damp with clammy sweat. Saeki walkscalmly toward the pillar of flames. Oda clings tohim so as not to be thrown in. Saeki starts toswing Oda toward the flames, and as he swingscloser, the burning air sweeps across his face.Oda screams in desperation.

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"I'm being killed! I-am-being-killed-! This manis killing me-!"

For an uncanny moment, the voice of Oda inthe dream, a voice so violent it could drawblood, echoes in the ears of Oda lying on thebed.

"Ah, it was a dream." His entire body wassoaked in cold sweat, and his heart wasviolently pounding in his chest. His scream-"This man is killing me!"-rang out in his ears.Oda was utterly terrified by his dream, and hedrew his head deep under the futon and closedhis eyes, but before them burned the pillar offire. He had the sense he would be pulled backinto the nightmare, so he opened his eyesagain. What time was it? The ward was stillfilled with the foul stench of pus; with suchthick air, the room was as eerily silent as acellar. From his chest to his thighs, Oda wasdamp with sweat, and although he did not feelcompletely incapacitated, he was unable torise. For some time, he laid quietly, his bodycurled like a shrimp. He had to urinate, but hethought he could hold it until morning. Then,from somewhere he began to hear sobbing, -"Ah!"-and he listened for the sounds of sporadicmoaning. Sometimes the voice rose, sometimesit fell, sounding stifled as if it came from insidea bag. The painful groans of the voice soundedas if it were being strangled to death. When thevoice grew louder it could have been next toOda's pillow, but when it fell it sounded faraway, as if it came from the next room. Odaslowly raised his head. For a moment, he couldnot tell where the crying came from, but thenhe saw that it was the person in the beddirectly across from his. The man's head wascompletely covered by his futon, yet he couldsee a faintly quivering shape. The man wastrying to suppress his cries, but occasionally hereleased a violent sob.

"Ah...... hu, hu, hur..."

It wasn't simple crying; Oda realized therewere guttural sounds of severe pain mingled

with the sobs. Although his mind sti l lreverberated with the shock of his dream, theweeping was so wrenching that Oda sat up onthe edge of his bed despite his doubts.Intending to ask what was wrong, he stood, butthen he recalled that Saeki was attendant andshould be there, he sat down again. He turnedhis head and looked at the attendant's bed,where he saw Saeki lying on his stomachfeverishly writing something. –He probablydoesn't notice the sobbing; Oda started to callout to him, but then he thought, wouldn't theattendant notice the crying? Oda also thoughtthat didn't want to interrupt Saeki when he wasso fervently writing, so he mutely changed hisnight clothes. Of course he had been giventhese night clothes by the hospital and theywere strikingly like a shroud.

The serious cases that he couldn't bear to lookat earlier were sleeping in the two rows ofbeds, gasping for breath. Every single one ofthem slept with their mouths open, probablybecause it was difficult to breathe through theirdamaged noses. Oda felt a chill in his heart, butfor the first time since his arrival, he was ableto look calmly at their figures. There was a baldhead that glowed reddish-black in the dimelectric light, and the next head had a largepiece of adhesive plaster stuck on it. There waslikely a gaping hole under that adhesiveplaster. The appearance of such heads all in arow struck Oda as both horrifying and weirdlyhumorous. Oda's neighbor on his immediateleft was a sleeping man with hands that lookedlike the rounded ends of a wooden pestle hungover the edge of his bed. Across from him was ayoung woman, whose turned-up face wasdestroyed by countless nodules. The hair on herhead was almost completely gone, except forbits at the back of her head and patches oneither side that looked like fuzzy caterpillars, soit was difficult to tell if she was a man or awoman. She was sleeping with her legs on topof the futon, perhaps because she was hot, andher morbidly chubby and pale arms wereuncovered and thrown across the top of the

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blanket. Her appearance was cruellydisfigured, yet voluptuous.

Oda's attention was then drawn to a figure nextto the sobbing man. This man, perhaps justover forty, had eyebrows and hair on his head,but his chin was severely twisted, so that whenhe faced straight ahead, his mouth faced theside. He was apparently unable to close it, anda white thread of drool hung slovenly from it.Two false legs were rolled under the bed. Thatis, although they were called false legs, theywere simply tubes of zinc sheet with a smallwooden foot-shape stuck on their tapered ends;they looked like toys.

As Oda studied the next man, he couldn't helpavoiding his face. His head and his face, hishands and feet, in fact his entire body werewrapped in bandages. He had kicked off hisblankets, likely because of the sticky heat, andthe bedding bare clung to a corner of the bed.Oda held his breath and terrified, fearfullymoved his eyes over the form, as a chill sweptover his body. Can I believe that this is evenhuman? Even the man's genitals, exposedunder the electric light, even there, there werecountless nodules, appearing like black insectsdotting its surface. Of course he was devoid ofeven a single pubic hair. –With no mercy, theleprosy bacilli attacks and destroys to suchextents-Oda shivered. –Even at that point, theydon't die-Oda finally let out the breath he haddrawn, and he could not help but feel theghastly perseverance of life's vital energy.

Oda keenly felt the horror of living as he got offthe bed and went out to the toilet. –Why didn't Ihang myself earlier? Why didn't I throw myselfinto the sea at Enoshima?-he went into thebathroom, and his head begin to spin as he washit with the strong smell of disinfectant. Hegrabbed the door and barely saved himselffrom falling.

"takao! Takao."68 He heard a voice clearly callout. He looked around with a start, but ofcourse no one was there. He remembered

hearing that voice when he was young; it wasunmistakably the voice of someone he hadknown, but he didn't know who. It must besome kind of illusion, Oda calmed himself, buthe couldn't help feeling that that voice wouldcall out again. He felt as though the chill hadfrozen even his urine; he couldn't get it out.Finally relieving himself, he hurried back intothe hall. As he did, he met a blind man comingout of the next room. He gently brushed Oda'sface with his bandaged palms. Oda thought hewas going to die and barely suppressed ashriek.

"good evening." The blind man spoke in afriendly voice, and he again groped the walls,disappearing into the bathroom.

"Good evening." Oda mechanically returned thegreeting, but he couldn't stop his voice fromshaking.

His heart sunk as he said to himself, "This isjust a house of horrors."

*

Saeki still seemed to be absorbed in hiswriting. What could he be writing in the middleof the night? Oda's curiosity was roused, but hehesitated to speak to Saeki as he climbed backonto his bed.

At that moment, Saeki then called, "Oda-san."

"Yes?" Oda replied, getting off the bed againand walking over to Saeki.

"Can't you sleep?"

"No, I had a strange dream..."

A thick notebook lay in front of Saeki, probablythe one he had been writing in. The charactersfilling it were quite large, but it was denselywritten.

"Are you studying?"

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"No, it's nothing interesting."

He heard the uninterrupted sobbing --risingand falling, unceasing.

"What's wrong with that man?"

"It's neuralgia. It's really awful. So bad it makesgrown men cry all night long."

"Isn't he treated?"

"Well, you see. The only treatment is, well, justgiving him a shot of anesthetic, which onlyhelps for a short time. The bacilli attacks thenerves and causes inflammation, so there'snothing that can be done. At this time, leprosyis incurable."

And then he added, "In the beginning, themedicine works, but as the illness gets worse itstops being effective. Giving something likeNarcopon is only good for two or three hours ifit even works. Then it quickly ceases to have aneffect."

"And you watch his pain in silence?"

"Well, yes. If you leave him alone, after awhilehe'll stop, and there's nothing else we can do.At best, if we could give morphine it would bebetter, but they don't allow that at thishospital."69

Oda silently looked toward the sobbing man.Rather than sobs, his cries were now closer tomoans.

"Because I'm the attendant, it's frustrating thatthere's nothing I can do," Saeki said.

"May I?" Oda asked, and sat next to Saeki.

"Well, Oda-san. No matter how great their pain,they cannot die; no matter how ravaged theirexterior, they do not die. It's characteristic ofleprosy."

Saeki took out a package of Bat cigarettes and

offered them to Oda, saying, "The life of lepersthat you've seen is still just the surface. Insidethis hospital, people who look abnormal buildtheir lives, which the normal people in societycouldn't even begin to imagine."

Saeki stopped talking to take out a Bat andlight it. While exhaling smoke from the nostrilsof his collapsed nose, he asked, "What do youthink of that?"

Looking in the direction his finger pointed, thesight impressed Oda and deeply moved him.Although he had not realized it, the man to hisright, who had been sleeping, had risen andwas sitting silently. Of course his body waswrapped in bandages, but in the smoky interiorof the room the figure that floated before themwas solemn in a way that somehow touchedhim. The man sat still for a time, but thenquietly, in a horribly raspy voice chanted, --namu amida butsu namu amida butsu, save us,amida buddha.-70

"Look at his throat."

Oda looked. From his neck hung a bib like thatof a child of two or three. The man had oneraised one hand pressed against it.

"That man has a hole in his throat. He breathesthrough the hole. It's called leprosy of thelarynx71. They open a hole there, and becauseof it his life has been extended five years now."

Oda only stared quietly. The man chanted for afew moments more, until he had come to thelimit of his strength; then he took a two orthree breaths through the hole.

"ah, ah, can I not somehow die?" He said in avoice so completely hoarse it didn't seem tocome from a person of this world. At the sametime those simple words were truly full ofpower. He sat silently for around twentyminutes, then he again laid down.

"Oda-san, do you think these people are

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human?" Saeki said in a voice that was quietbut implied great gravity. Oda didn'tunderstand what Saeki meant, and sat mutelythinking.

"You see, Oda-san. These people, they're nothuman anymore."

Oda understood less and less of Saeki'smeaning, and stared at his face.

"They're not human. Oda-san, they are truly nothuman." As this was getting to the heart ofSaeki's thoughts, he spoke with someexcitement.

"They're not human. It's life. Only life, life justas that. Can you understand what I'm saying,Oda-san? The "human" in these people hasalready died. All it is, is life, flickering life.What persistence! The moment a person getsleprosy, their humanness perishes. It dies. It'snot just that his humanness as a social beingdies. It's certainly not such a shallow death. It'snot a crippled soldier, it's a crippled person.But, Oda-san, we're phoenixes. When we havenew thoughts, when we have new eyes, whenwe completely accept the life of lepers, then weare revived as human. Revival, that's what it is,revival. A flickering, living life has attained aphysical body. A new human lifestyle startsthere. Oda-san, now you're dead. And beingdead, you're not human. Think about whereyour agony and despair come from. Isn't itbecause you're seeking the person you were inthe past who is now dead?"

Oda listened intently to Saeki's increasinglyintense words, but as his collapsed face loomedlarge in Oda's eyes, the force of Saeki's wordsbecame oppressive, and Oda began to suspecthe was mad. Saeki faced Oda as though he wasreasoning with him, yet in truth he seemed tobecome increasingly desperate, as if fiercelybattling something that was tearing at him onthe inside. Although Oda tried to ignore hismanner and listen, he became confused in hisown mind. Interrupting Oda's thoughts, Saeki

suddenly weakly said, "If I only had moreliterary talent, that's what eats away at me."

His voice was haunted with shadows ofsuffering that were at odds with the Saeki thatOda had witnessed until now.

"Ah, Oda-san, if I was a more gifted writer, Iwould create a new kind of person that hasnever before been seen-but I can't."

Saying this, he showed Oda the notebook by hispillow.

"Are you writing fiction?"

"I can't write," he said as he snapped thenotebook shut. "I tell myself I could be, if I hadmore free time, if I had good eyes. I don't knowwhen I'll go blind; that's an agony you probablycan't understand. You know one of my eyes isfalse, and I'm sure I'll lose the other in the nearfuture."

It seemed as if his anxiety had now lessened,and Saeki's words tumbled out, but theybecame sentimental. Still, Oda could notimmediately think of anything to say. He lookedinto Saeki's eye and for the first time realized itwas bloodshot with blackish red.

"The past two or three days have been goodones. On bad days, I can hardly see anything.Please, think about that. Living with theirritation of having black specks constantlyswirling in your eyes. Have you ever openedyour eyes under water? At bad times my eye isabout the same as opening your eyes in water.Everything looks blurry. At good times, it's likeI'm sitting in a whirl of sand. If I worried aboutthis cloud of sand while I was writing orreading, I'd truly go insane."

Saeki had faced Oda earlier, searching forwords to console him, but now it was Oda whocouldn't find words of comfort.

"In a dark place like this-" he started to say

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after a moment.

"Of course it's not good. I understand that, butif I don't write on nights when I'm theattendant, then I don't have time to write.That's because we live communally."

"But instead of rushing like that, after you arehealed-"

"I have to rush. Because I know I won't getbetter. Every day is like a wave, every day is upand down, but like the tide coming in, it'sgetting worse. It's truly inevitable."

Oda was silent. Saeki was also quiet. Again thesobs could be heard.

"Ah, the day is already dawning, isn't it?"

Saeki spoke as he looked outside.

"The past two or three days my condition hasbeen good, so I can see that whiteness. It'sunusual."

"Shall we take a walk together?"

Oda changed the subject.

"Yes, let's," said Saeki, immediately standingup.

When the cool air touched them, the two mennaturally felt younger, as if they were revived.As they walked together, Oda could not helpsometimes looking back at the ward. He wasretracing the memories of this night; he wouldremember for the rest of his life.

"Even though I'll undeniably go blind, Oda-san,I'll still write. If I become blind, I expect therewill be another way to live. I'd ask you, too, tostart a new way of living. Accept that you are aleper, and then discover a path to moveforward. I'll work hard until I can no longerwrite."

With those words, the fearless Saeki he'd first

met returned.

"We'll probably be haunted by suffering untilwe die. But hasn't it been said, only those withtalent suffer. There are people who can'tsuffer."

Then Saeki took a deep breath, and hisfootsteps on the earth were firm and full ofyouth.

As the darkness around them slowly sank intothe earth, the brilliant sun appeared above thewoods, rays of light streaking the sky andflowing over the treetops, then flooding thestrong tree trunks. Oda stil l had deepmisgivings as to whether he could attainSaeki's world, but while he looked at thestreaming rays of sunlight, he determined thathe would try to live.

Kathryn Tanaka received her PhD in Japaneseliterature from the University of Chicago. Shecurrently teaches Japanese literature andculture in the Department of Cultural andHistorical Studies and the Institute ofInternational Education at Otemae University.Her research explores the intersections ofmedicine and literature. Her publicationsinclude "Contested Histories and Happiness:L e p r o s y L i t e r a t u r e i n J a p a n(http://hcs.pitt.edu/ojs/index.php/hcs/issue/view/6/showToc)," in Health, Culture and Society,Volume 5, No. 1 (2013) and "Senzen Nihon noHansen-byō no ryōyōjo ni okeru tanka ni yorukoryū-Kyushu ryōyōjo no "Hinokagekai" wochūshin ni" in Hansen-byō shimin gakkai nenpō2013 (2014). She is at present finishing herbook manuscript, Through the Hospital Gates:Hansen's Disease and Modern JapaneseLiterature.

Recommended citation: Hōjō Tamio, translatedand with an introduction by Kathryn M.Tanaka, "Life's First Night" and the Treatmentof Hansen's Disease in Japan, The Asia-PacificJournal, Vol. 13, Issue 3, No. 3, January 19,2015.

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Works Cited

Abe, Hirotaka, "Hōjō Tamio Honmyō wo kōhyō"[Hōjō Tamio's Real Name Made Public],Mainichi Shimbun, 31 July 2014, morning ed.,+25.

Agamben, Giorgio, Homo Sacer: SovereignPower and Bare Life, trans. Daniel Heller-Roazen. Stanford: Stanford University Press,1998

Annan-shi no senkakusha-tachi kikau iinkai,Annan-shi no senkakusha-tachi dai isshū (ThePioneers of Annan City, Volume One). Annan:Annan-shi bunka kyōkai, 2014.

Anonymous, "Hansen-byō sakka honmyō dekenshō-"kiesareta sonzai" sasshi ni kisu" (AHansen's Disease author recognized by his realname-"An erased existence" recorded in abooklet). Asahi shinbun 9 August, 2014,morning ed. +37.

Arai Yuki. Kakuri no bungaku: Hansen-byōryōyōjo no jiko hyōgen-shi [Literature ofQuarantine: A History of Self-Expression inHansen's Disease Sanatoria]. Tokyo: Shoshiarusu, 2011.

Benl, Oscar, Flüchtiges Leben: ModerneJapanische Erzählungen [Passing Life: ModernJapanese Stories]. Berlin-Schöneberg:Landsmann-Verlag Gustab Langenscheidtjunior, 1942.

Burns, Susan. "Rethinking "LeprosyPrevention": Entrepreneurial Doctors, PopularJournal ism, and the Civ ic Origins ofBiopolitics." The Journal of Japanese Studies38( 2) (2012): 297-323.

Chichibu, Gōichi [Hōjō Tamio]. "Magi Rōjin"

["Old Man Magi"]. In: Bungakkai [LiteraryWorld] 2 (10) October 1935, 12-36. Reprintedin Hōjō Tamio Zenshū [Collected Works of HōjōTamio], edited by Kawabata Yasunari andKawabata Kaoru, 2nd edition. Tokyo: Sogen-sha, 2003, 1: 51-81.

---. "Dōteiki" ["Virgin Records"]. In Yamazakura16(7) July 1934. Reprinted in Hōjō TamioZenshū [Collected Works of Hōjō Tamio], editedby Kawabata Yasunari and Kawabata Kaoru,2nd edition. Tokyo: Sogen-sha, 2003, 1.

Field, Norma. Kobayashi Takiji: 21 seiki ni dōyomuka [Reading Kobayashi Takiji for the 21stCentury], Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2009.

Foucault, Michel. Society Must Be Defended:Lectures at the Collège de France, 1975-1976.New York: St. Martin's Press. 1997.

---. "The Birth of Biopolitics." In: Paul Rabinow,ed. Ethics: Subjectivity, and Truth. New York:New Press, 1997.

Goffman, Erving, Asylums: Essays on the SocialSituation of Mental Patients and Other Inmates,New York: Anchor Books, Doubleday, 1961.

Hayashi Fumio. Hayashi Fumio Kubunshū[Collected Poems and Prose of Hayashi Fumio],Takamatsu: Oshima Seimatsu-en Hayashi kinenbunkō, 1950.

Hirokawa Waka. Kindai Nihon no Hansen-byōmondai to chiiki shakai [Modern Japan'sProblem of Hansen's Disease and LocalCommunities], Osaka: Osaka daigaku shuppan-kai, 2010.

Hōjō Tamio. "Dōke Shibai" [The Farce]. In:Chūō Kōron [The Central Review] April 1938,48-103.

---. Hōjō Tamio Zenshū (HTZ)[Collected Worksof Hōjō Tamio],edited by Kawabata Yasunariand Kawabata Kaoru. 2nd ed. 2v. Tokyo: Sogen-sha, 2003.

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---. "The First Night of Life." Translated byAnonymous. The East. Vol. XXI (No. 3) (May1985), 58-69.

Igarashi Yasuo. "Hitachi seisakujo kinmu zengono Hōjō Tamio" [Hōjō Tamio Before and AfterEmployment at the Hitachi Factory]. InNishōgakusha daigaku jinbun ronsō 45(October 1990): 99-113.

---. "Hōjō Tamio bungaku in okeru jujitsu tokyokō" [Fact and the Fiction in Hōjō Tamio]. InNishōgakusha daigaku ronshū 34 (1991):93-101.

---. "Hōjō Tamio ni okeru buraisei" [Lawlessnessin Hōjō Tamio]. In Buraiha no bungaku 2(1970): 1-8.

---. "Hōjō Tamio no "ie" ni tsuite" [On HōjōTamio's "Family"]. In Kokugo, kokubungakukaishaku 18 (3) 1972: 33-38.

---. "Hōjō Tamio no saisho no saikyō jidai" [HōjōTamio's First Stay in Tokyo]. In Nishōgakushadaigaku jinbun ronsō 44 (March 1990): 76-90.

---. "Hōjō Tamio no shusshō wo megutte" [OnHōjō Tamio's Birth]. In Kokugo, kokubungakukaishaku 18 (10) 1972: 39-44.

---. "Hōjō Tamio shiron: dōwateki kanren womegutte" [An Essay on Hōjō Tamio: On HisConnect ion to Chi ldren 's Ta les] . InNishōgakusha daigaku jinbun ronsō 4 (May1972): 83-100.

---. "Sanjū nendai no Kawabata Yasunari: daisankai, Kawabata to Hōjō Tamio to YokomitsuRiichi" [Kawabata Yasunari in the 1930s: Third,Kawabata, Hōjō Tamio and Yokomitsu Riichi].In Keizai Ōrai 1991 (5): 196-207.

---. "Sanjū nendai no Kawabata Yasunari: daigokai, Byō no Hōjō Tamio to Kawabata to nokōryū" [Kawabata Yasunari in the 1930s: Fifth,Ill Hōjō Tamio and the Exchanges withKawabata]. In Keizai Ōrai 1991 (7): 200-211.

---. "Sanjū nendai no Kawabata Yasunari: dairokkai, Kawabata, Hōjō to Nitto Shūichi to nokakujitsu" [Kawabata Yasunari in the 1930s:Sixth, The Feud Between Kawabata, Hōjō andNitto Shūichi]. In Keizai Ōrai 1991 (8):194-205.

---. "Shōgakkō jidai no Hōjō Tamio: hoyden fūni" [Hōjō Tamio in Elementary School: In themanner o f a cr i t i ca l b iography] . InNishōgakusha daigaku ronshū 33 (1990):85-111.

Kawabata, Yasunari, ""Inochi no shoya" suisen"[Recommending "Life's First Night]. In:Kawabata Yasunari zenshū [Collected Works ofKawabata Yasunari]. Ed. Kawbata, Hideko.Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1981, 29: 368-371.

---. "Saisho no "rai" bungaku: Hōjō Tamio no"Inochi no shoya"" [The First "Leprosy"Literature: Hōjō Tamio's "Life's First Night"].Osaka Asahi Shinbun, 17 February 1936,morning ed., 5+.

---. "Hōjō Tamio," in: Kawabata Yasunari zenshū(Collected Works of Kawabata Yasunari), ed.Kawbata, Hideko (Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1981),29: 372-378.

Kokuritsu Hansen-byō shiryōkan [NationalHansen's Disease Museum], ed. Kimono ni miruryōyōjo no kurashi [Life in the Sanatorium AsSeen In Clothing]. Tokyo: Kokuritsu Hansen-byō shiryōkan, 2010.

Kokuritsu Hansen-byō shiryōkan bukkuletto 1[National Hansen's Disease Museum Booklet1]. Shinpojiumu no kiroku: kakuri no kioku wohoru-Zensei byōin "kanja chiku" wo kakondahori∙dorui [Records of the Symposium: Diggingthe memories of quarantine-the moat andearthen wall surrounding the Zensei Hospital"patient area"], Tokyo: Kokuritsu Hansen-byōshiryōkan, 2010.

Mainichi Shimbun 31 July 2014, morning ed.+1.

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Martin, Betty. Miracle at Carville. New York:Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1954.

Mitsuoka Ryōji. Hōjō Tamio - Inochi no hokage[Hōjō Tamio; the light of life]. Tokyo: Okizumi-sha, 1981.

National Hansen's Disease Museum (Kokuritsuhansen-byō shiryōkan), ed. Raiin kiroku-- HōjōTamio ga kaita zettai kakurika no ryōyōjo 2012nendo shūki kikakuten [Records of aLeprosarium-The Sanatorium under AbsoluteQuarantine as Written by Hōjō Tamio]. Tokyo:Kokuritsu hansen-byō shiryōkan, 2012.

Ōda Seiichi, "Raisha・rai no bungaku" ("Lepers,Literature of Leprosy"). Shin Shichō (NewThoughts) 2(7) (September 1935), 15-22.

Ogawa Masako. Kojima no Haru-Hansen-byōchiryō ni, shōgai wo sasageta aru joi no shuki[Spring on the Small Island: The Notes of theWoman Doctor Who Gave Her Life to theTreatment Hansen's Disease]. Tokyo: Nagasakishuppan, 2009.

Shichijō Hiroshi, personal interview with articleauthor, 22 August 2014 and 11 January 2015.

Stein, Stanley with Lawrence G. Blochman.Alone No Longer: The Story of a Man WhoRefused to Be One of the Living Dead. Carville,Louisiana: The Star, 1963.

Takayama Fumihiko, Hibana: Hōjō Tamio noshōgai [The Spark: Hōjō Tamio's Life], Tokyo:Kadokawa bunko, 1999.

Tanaka, Kathryn. "Contested Histories andHappiness: Leprosy Literature in Japan." In:Health, Culture and Society, Volume 5, No. 1(2013), pp. 99-118.

---. "Senzen Hansen byō ryōyōjo ni okeru tankani yoru koryū-Kyushu ryōyōjo no Hinokage wochūshin ni" [Poetic Exchanges in PrewarHansen's Disease Hospitals: An Examination ofthe Hinokage Coterie of Kyushu Hospital]. In:

Hansen-byō shimin gakkai nenpō 2013 [AnnualReport of the Civilian Society on Hansen'sDisease], Osaka: Kaihō shuppan-sha, 2014.

---. "They are not Human: Responses to HōjōTamio and Patient Writing." In CrossingBoundaries, Crossing Cultures: Science,Technology, and Medicine in the Emergence ofModern Japan, edited by Philip Brown andDav id Wi t tner . Tay lor and Franc is :forthcoming.

---. "Through the hospital gates: Hansen'sDisease and modern Japanese literature,"Doctoral dissertation. University of Chicago,2012.

Tōjō Kōichi. Inochi no uta: Tōjō Kōichi sakuhinshū [Songs of Life: Collected Works of TōjōKōichi]. Edited by Notani Kanzō, TanakaYutaka, and Murai Aki. Tokyo: Shinkyō shuppansha, 2009.

Tokushima kenritsu bungakushodōkan, "HōjōTamio-Inochi wo mitsumeta sakka" (HōjōTamio-An author who studied life.) Exhibit atTokushima kenritsu bungakushodōkan(Tokushima Prefectural Literary andCalligraphic Museum), 7 August 2014 to 23September 2014.

---. "Bungaku tokubetsu ten: Hōjō Tamio-Inochiwo mitsumeta sakka" (Literature SpecialExhibit Booklet: Hōjō Tamio-An author whostudied life." Tokushima: Tokushima kenritsubungakushodōkan, 2014.

Uchida Morito, Ippon no michi [A Single Path].Tokyo: Nihon bungei sha, 1961.

---. "Shakusō no hito to uta" [Shakusō Personand Poetry]. In: Shimada Shakusō, ShimadaShakusō Zenshū [Collected Works of ShimadaShakusō]. Edited by Uchida Morito. Tokyo:Nagasaki Shoten, 1939.

Notes

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1 Mainichi Shimbun 31 July 2014.

2 "Life's First Night" has been translated intoboth German and English. The Germantranslation appeared first under the title "DieErste Nacht Eines Neuen Lebens." See Benl,Oscar, Flüchtiges Leben: Modern JapanischeErzählungen. For a previous English version byan anonymous translator, see "The First Nightof Life" in The East. The text I have translatedthe story from appears in the first of the two-volume Hōjō Tamio zenshū (Collected Works ofHōjō Tamio, hereafter HTZ, 11-50). I would liketo thank the Japan Society for the Promotion ofScience for the support that made this researchpossible. I would also like to thank ShichijōHiroshi for his family's permission to publishthis English translation, in addition to his kindsupport.

Most of the images used in this articleoriginally appeared in a special exhibit on HōjōTamio's life held in the fall of 2012 at theNational Hansen's Disease Museum inHigashimurayama, Japan. For the exhibitionbook, see National Hansen's Disease Museum,ed., Raiin kiroku. All images are used withpermission. I owe especial thanks the staff atthe museum for their assistance.

3 Abe Hirotaka +25.

4 "Hōjō Tamio-Inochi wo mitsumeta sakka"("Hōjō Tamio-An author who studied life")Tokushima kenritsu bungakushodōkan(Tokushima Prefectural Literary andCalligraphic Museum), 7 August 2014 to 23September 2014. The article author visited theexhibit on 6 September 2014.

5 As a result of the Patients' Rights Movementin Japan in the 1960s, the term "rai" and"raisha," which is roughly equivalent to theEnglish terms "leprosy" and "leper" werereplaced by the less pejorative term Hansen'sDisease and Hansen's Disease patient. I retainthe use of the terms "leprosy" and "leper" onlyin translations where the original text uses

"rai" or "raisha."

6 What was known of Hōjō's life prior to hisfamily's acknowledgement was due to theresearch of Igarashi Yasuo, a scholar ofJapanese literature. Igarashi's work iscontroversial because it entailed an invasion ofHōjō and his family's privacy in the 1970s and1980s, for which Igarashi has been severelycriticized. At the same time, however, thisremains the most accurate information onHōjō's background, and scholars widely acceptand cite it. His family's acknowledgement ofHōjō's real name and background confirmIgarashi's work. The biography I give here isdrawn from Igarashi's work, as well asTakayama Fumihiko's later biography of Hōjō.

7 For more on the March Fifteenth Incident andits literary repercussions, see Norma Field,34-147.

8 Takayama Fumihiko, 50.

9 Ibid, 51.

10 Mitsuoka Ryōji, 21.

11 Takayama, 54-55.

12 Mitsuoka, 20. Hōjō's grandnephew ShichijōHiroshi has confirmed that the family does notknow of any extant copy.

13 Takayama, 55.

14 For more on Hōjō's literature and the leprosyliterature genre, see Kathryn Tanaka, "Throughthe Hospital Gates." Hōjō's most politicallyengaged work is his final, posthumouslypublished work, "Dōke Shibai" ("The Farce,"HTZ 1, 230-303), which was written inresponse to Shimagi Kensaku's "Rai"("Leprosy"), Hōjō directly addressed thequestion of proletarian activism and therenunciation of political beliefs (tenkō). In thepiece, Tsuji, the main character, argued thatthe mental weakness behind tenkō was in fact a

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more serious illness than Hansen's Disease.The story describes the meeting of a formersocialist leader, Yamada, who committed tenkōwhile in prison, and Tsuji is his former politicalprotégé who has since been diagnosed withHansen's Disease and hospitalized. BecauseTsuji's case is not serious, he has been allowedto leave the leprosarium for a few days. In theconversation between the two men, Tsujivalorizes the spirituality attained throughsuffering from Hansen's Disease and assertsthat real source of their suffering is exclusionfrom society rather than the disease itself. Tsujideclares that his situation is worse than that ofthe prostitute, because should she find adifferent line of work she would be able, likeYamada, to erase the social stigma that clingsto her. In the piece, Hōjō obliquely critiquesthis movement, which he saw as abandoningthose on the margins of society who perhapsneeded it most; he also aligns the figure of theHansen's Disease sufferers with other marginalsocial groups.

15 Hōjō describes his diagnosis in the essay"Hatsubyō" (The Onset of Illness), HTZ 2,48-55.

16 See Hirokawa Waka for further informationon the 1907 and 1931 laws as well as theiruneven application and alternative measures.See also Kathryn Tanaka, "Through theHospital Gates," 30-37).

17 I have found it useful to think about theseactual and figurative spatial demarcations interms of Erving Goffman's study of mentalhospitals and other asylums. See in particular,Goffman, Asylums, 7. For more on Goffman,Hōjō, and the total institution, see KathrynTanaka, "Through the Hospital Gates," and""They Are Not Human."

18 Shinpojiumu no kiroku, 36-37.

19 Ibid.

20 For more on clothing inside the hospital, see

Kimono ni miru ryōyōjo no kurashi.

21 For daily life and hospital life in literature,see Tanaka, Kathryn "Senzen Hansen byōryōyōjo ni okeru tanka ni yoru koryū."

22 Goffman, Asylums, 20-23.

23 Arai, Kakuri no bungaku.

24 Although Hōjō told Kawabata and his friendsat the hospital his family was poor, Hōjō'scircumstances within the hospital andIgarashi's research have shown that his familywas in fact fairly well-off.

25 Mitsuoka, 20-23.

26 Goffman, Asylums, 11.

27 Arai, Kakuri no bungaku, 100-132.

28 Many doctors who treated Hansen's Diseasewere authors in their own right. See, forexample, the most famous author and doctor,Ogawa Masako. Kojima no Haru-Hansen-byōchiryō ni, shōgai wo sasageta aru joi no shuki.Hayashi Fumio, a doctor at several of Japan'snational hospitals, also wrote poetry; seeHayashi, Hayashi Fumio Kubunshū. Perhapsthe most prolific author, as well as the mostvocal supporter of patient writing, was UchidaMamoru (pen name Uchida Morito), also adoctor at several hospitals over the course ofhis career. In addition to editing dozens ofvolumes of poetry, Uchida produced severalcollections of his own verse.

29 The first known piece of criticism on patientwriting by an author unaffiliated with a hospitalis Ōda Seiichi, "Raisha・rai no bungaku." Formore on the development and debates aboutpatient writing within the hospital, see Tanaka,"Senzen Hansen byō ryōyōjo ni okeru tanka niyoru koryū" and "Through the Hospital Gates."

30 Chichibu Kōichi, "Dōteiki" ["Virgin Records"].

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31 Hōjō, Tamio, Correspondence with KawabataYasunari, letter number 1, HTZ 2: 348.

32 Arai, Kakuri no bungaku, 100-132.

33 Tanaka, "Senzen Hansen byō ryōyōjo ni okerutanka ni yoru koryū."

34 Tanaka, "Through the Hospital Gates."

35 Kawabata Yasunari, "Inochi no shoya"suisen," 368. The article was originallypublished in the February 1936 issue ofBungakkai (Literary World) in the section afterthe group of short stories in which "The FirstNight of Life" was printed. It appeared underthe title "Zoku shishôsetsu-teki bungei hihyō"("A continuation of I-novelistic literarycriticism").

36 Arai, Kakuri no bungaku, 137.

37 I thank Maako Ishitearai for her insightfulcomments about the meaning of the word"shoya."

38 I have tried to reflect the emphasis on life inthe English translation by choosing the title"Life's First Night," rather than the title thathas sometimes been given, "The First Night ofLife."

39 Quoted in Kawabata Yasunari, ""Inochi noshoya" suisen," 369. The letter Kawabata refersto is also printed in Hōjō Tamio, "Letter 18from Hōjō Tamio to Kawabata Yasunari", inHTZ 2: 367-369.

40 Kawabata Yasunari, ""Inochi no shoya"suisen," 369.

41 Kawabata Yasunari, "Hōjō Tamio," in:Kawabata Yasunari zenshū (Collected Works ofKawabata Yasunari), ed. Kawbata, Hideko(Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1981), 29: 376.

42 Arai, Kakuri no bungaku; Tanaka, "Throughthe Hospital Gates."

4 3 Kawabata Yasunari, "Saisho no "rai"bungaku: Hōjō Tamio no "Inochi no shoya""[The First "Leprosy" Literature: Hōjō Tamio's"Life's First Night"]. Osaka Asahi Shinbun, 17February 1936, morning ed., 5+.

44 For more on Hōjō's reception see Arai, Kakurino bungaku, and Tanaka, "Through theHospital Gates" and "They Are Not Human."

45 For more on this, see Tanaka, "Through theHospital Gates," and "They Are Not Human."

46 Hōjō Tamio Zenshū 2: 138-139.

47 Arai, Kakuri no bungaku; see also Tanaka,"Through the Hospital Gates," and "They areNot Human."

48 Ibid.

4 9 Tanaka, "They are Not Human," and"Through the Hospital Gates."

50 I draw here on Foucault's notion biopoliticsand the interconnections between the controlof human bodies and the modern nation state.For more, see Foucault, Michel, Society MustBe Defended, 243–244 and"The Birth ofBiopolitics." Susan Burns has also examined thecomplex and contested biopolitics of Hansen'sDisease in Japan. For more, see Susan Burns,"Rethinking "Leprosy Prevention.""

5 1 Tanaka, "They are Not Human," and"Through the Hospital Gates."

52 Agamben, Giorgio, Homo Sacer, 1-14.

54 Chichibu, Gōichi, "Magi Rōjin," in: Bungakkai2 (10) (October 1935), 12-36. Reprinted in HTZ1: 51-81.

55 Tōjō Kōichi was himself a poet and he wasone of the few people in the hospital Hōjōwould share his work with. For more on Tōjō'swriting and his life, see Tōjō Kōichi, Inochi nouta.

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56 Anonymous, "Hansen-byō sakka honmyō dekenshō-"kiesareta sonzai" sasshi ni kisu" ("AHansen's Disease author recognized by his realname-"An erased existence" recorded in abooklet"). Asahi shinbun 9 August, 2014,morning ed. +37.

57 Author interviews, 22 August 2014 and 11January 2015. I thank Shichijō-san for hiswillingness to speak to me about his family andfor his enthusiasm for rediscovering Hōjō.

58 Tōjō Kōichi (1912-1942) was Hōjō's closestfriend in the hospital; they shared diaries andTōjō chose his hospital name because it sharedelements of both Hōjō's pen name and his truefirst name. He and Hōjō routinely shareddiaries and

59 In this translation, I have tried to preserveHōjō's unusual use of hiragana, punctuation,and his occasional lack of quotation markers.This can have the result of confusing anEnglish-language reader, but these stylistictechniques serve to defamiliarize the text inJapanese, as well, and I have tried to reflectthis style in my translation through my use ofpunctuation and italics. I have retained Hōjō'suse of dashes, breaks in the text, andintermingling of hiragana and kanji, as he usedthese to underscore the strangeness of life inthe hospital or to reflect physical symptoms ofthe illness in the text.

6 0 Several methods of keeping patientsseparated from the area around the hospitalwere part of hospital architecture. Initially awide ditch denoted hospital grounds, but by thetime Hōjō entered the hospital, the ditch hadbeen supplemented with a holly fence of atleast six feet around the entire perimeter of thehospital. Holly was chosen because the densegrowth of holly leaves with jagged edges werevery difficult to break through. Today, parts ofthis barrier continue to grow around Zensei-en,but it has been cut down to around three feet inheight in most places.

61 Around six feet.

62 The women are wearing standard, hospital-issue kimono. For more on clothing and to seepictures of the kimono the hospital distributed,see Kokuritsu Hansen-byō shiryōkan, Kimono nimiru ryōyōjō no kurashi.

63 Hōjō distinguishes between male (kangoshu)and female nurses (kangofu) in the text.

64 A little under four thousand square yards.

65 A considerable sum of money in those days.

66 A nopperabo is a faceless ghost.

67 The original text uses misspelled hiragana toreflect the difficulty the sufferer has inspeaking. I have tried to replicate thestrangeness in English through lower-caseletters and italics.

68 In the text, the first utterance of the name iswritten entirely in hiragana while the seconduses kanji. I have tried to reflect that here.

69 Morphine addiction was a problem in thehospitals. Indeed, during conversations withsurvivors, I was often told, to paraphrase acommon utterance, "Don't believe anything A-san tells you about that time. He was amorphine addict then."

70 A Buddhist meditation chant.

71 Saeki is speaking of a tracheostomy, acommon procedure in Hansen's Diseasehospitals. The larynx was one of the places thebacilli commonly attacked, and many patientshad their voices change or weaken as theirthroat began to close-hence the raspy voicesHōjō so frequently describes. "There is a sayingin the leper hospitals," Uchida Mamoru, adoctor who promoted patient literature andwas a poet in his own right under the pen nameUchida Morito, wrote in an essay about thefamous Kyushu tanka poet Shimada Shakusō. "

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'A cut throat means three years' (nodogirisannen) and [Shakusō] lived exactly the fullthree years after his tracheostomy."(UchidaMorito, "Shakusō no hito to uta," 282.) Indeed,the word used colloquially in the hospitals torefer to a tracheostomy, "nodogiri," literally

means to cut one's throat. It is more often usedto describe an act of suicide or murder ratherthan an operation meant to prolong a patient'slife. This operation, therefore, was often seenby patients as the final stand in the battleagainst death.