Murayama Kaita. "The language of the devil"

Murayama Kaita. Self -portrait

Murayama Kaita (1896–1919) managed to become famous as an artist, as a poet, and as a writer for his short life. He shared the fate of Isikawa Tokuboku, Kunikida Doppo, Masaoka Siki and other geniuses of Japanese modern, who had died prematurely from the consumption of consumption in those years.

The mother of Murayama, before her marriage, was a servant in the house of the famous writer of that time of Mori Ogai, who, according to legend, came up with the name Kaita. In poetry, he experienced the influence of the poet-symbolist Kitahara Husku, the author of the famous collection “Forbidden Faith”. Yosano Akiko, the greatest poet of her generation, praised the lyrics of Kaita himself; And prose is Edogava Rampo and Arisima Takeo.

Unfortunately, most of the work of Murayama Kaita remained incomplete. Japanist Anna Slashcheva first translated into Russian his story “The Devil's Language” (1915). In his homeland, this short story, which was waiting for a translation into Russian 104, is included in numerous anthologies of mystical prose.

1

Somehow a clear May night I admired the dark blue sky, when suddenly a voice was heard behind the gate:

- You have a telegram.

I looked at her and was surprised. The text read: "Loadzaka 301. Kaneko."

“What is it? What is the 301? " - I was surprised. Kaneko is my friend, and even the most wonderful of friends. “He is a poet, there is a mystery in the poets,” I thought, twisting this mysterious telegram in my hands. They sent her at ten o'clock forty -five minutes from Otsuk. I did not know how to link it all. Therefore, I changed into a street kimono and headed towards the Klutzak.

My house is far from the station. On the way, I thought about Kaneko. I was invited to a feast in the fall, where only the eccentrics came. There I first made my acquaintance with Kaneko Aikiti. Among the young poets of about twenty -five he, despite his twenty -seven, seemed monstrously old, and his reddish face struck deep degenerative wrinkles; A terrible green fire burned in his eyes, and his nose was terribly thick. But the reason thanks to which we met was in his lips. Even among the crazy, as for the selection, guests on this crazy feast, which would seem like a damn snash, his lips attracted attention.

He sat right opposite, and I could freely look at him. His lips were magnificent. They pounded each other like two rusty copper records. And they were constantly trembling. When he ate, it was a performance. These plates of a shade of hot blood were revealed with the speed of lightning, and sucked in food. I have not yet seen a person with such luxurious thick lips and looked enthusiastically as he eats. But then we accidentally met with our eyes. He immediately got up and began loudly: "Why did you stare?" - "Excuse me, please". - He calmed down and sat down again. “It’s not good to staring at people, is it clear to you?” “Yes, but I was interested in your face.” “No, thank you, my face should not interest you,” he answered gloomily. “Do not be angry, let's better drink the world.” - So I met Kanoko Aikiti.

The longer I knew him, the strange he seemed to me. He had some means, but there are no parents, brothers with sisters. He seemed to study somewhere, but did not really finish anything. Why he didn’t like to talk about it so much, I did not understand - in short, the poet. He also did not take anyone home to him. What he was doing there - God news, usually he just walked the streets. Often I saw him in bars and restaurants. And then for a couple of months he disappeared somewhere. The devil will figure it out. We talked closely, he even trusted me, but besides these oddities, I did not know anything about him.

2

Thinking about the telegram, I climbed the hill of Klutzak. A night Tokyo stretched under my legs. In the dark, they shouted like diamonds in ore, the lights of the quarter of Jimboty. I walked around the hill. I thought, maybe Kanoko was waiting for somewhere here. There was no one. And behind the statue of Omura, too, not a soul. I waited for half an hour and was already gathering to his house. Kanoko lived nearby, on Tomizaka, in a small but beautiful house. When I came there, I saw the police. I was surprised and asked what happened. I heard in response that Kanoco committed suicide. Inside, in a room of six tatami, his friends were crowded surrounded by police officers. Kanoco stabbed with metal forceps for coal. There were traces of blows on the body. The face was pale pink, as in a dream. The doctor thought he was obsessed with drunk. From the corpse it was very carried by alcohol. Passers-by said that they heard screams, who then moved to some kind of howl.

There were no notes. The telegram remained a mystery. Judging by the time, he sent her, returned home and immediately committed suicide, I thought, returning to the hill of Kudun. So what can the numbers 301 mean? It seems that there are no numbers anywhere. I looked around, but I saw nothing. And then a thought occurred to me. On the whole hill, you can count more than three hundred ... curbs that enclose sewage ditches. I began to count them on the right side, going down. But three hundred first curves were not remarkable. Maybe they must be considered from below. In total, three hundred and ten. Therefore, the tenth from above is three hundred first from below. I went up to him and noticed a small black object between the tenth and eleventh curves. It turned out to be a black oiled bundle. “Come on, here,” I took it and rushed home.

Inside was a black note in a black cover. Just starting to read it, I realized who was Kaneko Aykiti. And it turned out to be an extremely terrible person. "Yes, he is not a man, he is a devil!" I exclaimed. Reader! And now a trembling breaks me at the thought that I am publicizing these notes. Next, the entire contents of the notebook.

3

My friend, I decided to die. I have already sharpened coal forceps to stab in my heart. When you read this notebook, I will no longer be alive. And you will find that the poet, chosen by you as a friend, is actually a criminal, which the light did not see. And maybe you will swear yourself for being friends with me. But before you hate what will remain from me, pity on my corpse, for I deserve pity.

I will tell you the whole story of my life without hiding anything. So, I'm not Tokyets. I was born and grew up among the mountains of the Hida province. From generation to generation, my family traded a tree and during the time of my father was already one of the few rich and noble in the district. My father, a man, is extremely simple and noble, in those glorious times he started a concubine - a geisha from Nagoy, who gave birth to his son. It was me. By my birth, my father, stepmother, already had a child. And even if it was not entirely decent, but the stepmother, and my mother lived in the same house. And their children were also brought up together. When I was twelve, the stepmother had four. And in April, another, my younger brother was born. After his birth, in the village they began to say that this was an abnormal child, because on his feet there was a golden spot in the form of a crescent.

It was said that somehow a stray fortuneteller saw him and said: "He would die a terrible death." And this terrible prediction came true. I still thought that the stain on his leg was a bad sign. I will never forget time. In October, his father died suddenly. He left a will and died. He and his mother refused, having paid, however, ten thousand yen. And the house passed to the eldest son of the stepmother, three years older than me. Father was so kind to us, and the will, for which Mother and I hoped so, deceived us. In fact, a secret war was fed between them and the stepmother not for life, but for death. And that the stepmother, who seized the house, would bring down his anger at Mother, it was clear how God's day. Therefore, we, as soon as the funeral ended, moved to Tokyo. And I began to live completely independently of the family, which remained somewhere there, in the mountains. A percent of ten thousand yen was enough for us. My mother was wise and modest, there was no drip of location to her artists.

When I was eighteen, she died. Since then, I have been left alone, and began to lead the slut life of the poet. Such is in general terms my story. But a gloomy force lurks in it, which constantly pursued me. From childhood I was extraordinary. There was no carelessness of other children in me. I loved to be silent alone, but not to play with others. Often I went to the mountains and, standing behind the cliffs, looked at the clouds running across the sky. Over the years, this habit became more and more unhealthy; For two years, we left Hida, the following happened. For six months I was tormented by pain. I have endlessly, unbearably itching in the spine. I also could not walk normally and always fell forward. My face became earthy, I wrapped right before my eyes. My mother was more afraid, gave me all sorts of medicines, and I recovered. But the disease did something with me. I suddenly wanted such a thing that they usually do not eat. At first, I tried the plaster and secretly stumbled the walls from everyone. It tasted it good. I especially liked the white, from the barn. I finished off to the point that somehow with horror I noticed huge holes on the walls. And then the appetite suddenly broke out, and I began to eat such that it was impossible to imagine. And it was convenient to do it, because I was unconstered. How many slugs I swallowed. My frogs were ordinary food. In the vicinity of Hida, they were in abundance. I ate the worms and beetles pulled out of the mud in the garden. Spring caterpillars of poisonous colors - gold, purple, green - emitting, moreover, terrible stink, woke up an unsuitable hunger. Homemade noticed that my lips were swollen from insect bites. And so what I only ate. And never poisoned. My strange tastes were more and more affected by me, but as soon as my mother and I moved to the capital, the life there cured me, and gradually they came to naught.

4

However, when I was eighteen, my mother died, and that winter I spent in sorrow. From grief I sobbed constantly. And so weak health, I experienced the acute neurasthenia. I began to resemble a ghost. The pain in the back that tormented me in adolescence returned. I could not bear this, and at twenty years old I quit studying and moved to Kamakura. For a long time I lived there, then visited Citirigaham and Enosim. He walked, bathed - so spent time. There, my condition began to change. He suddenly ended up on the seashore, away from the city hustle and bustle - and began to recover. He put himself in order. As if he became a lonely boy again, who joyfully walked in the Hida mountains. But once I sat down to have dinner, and the food seemed extremely tasteless to me. So that, after swimming, dinner in a first -class rodkan seemed tasteless - this could not be. I looked in the mirror. My pale face flushed. Flagging eyes shone. Maybe I got better and the food stopped seeming to me edible. I stuck out my tongue. And at that moment the mirror fell from my hands. My tongue has become long. Already in three and a half top. Not only did he stretch out, but his shape also became the most wild. Did I have such a language? Yes, it could not be. In the mirror, I saw a huge shmat of meat sticking out between my lips, all covered with huge purple and scarlet warts, and saliva flows from it. I looked closely and to my surprise realized that these warts were needles. The tongue was rough, like a cat. And to the touch too. Is this possible? But even stronger I was surprised when I saw the red face of the devil in the mirror. A terrible face. Huge eyes sparkled feverishly. I was immediately confused. And then a voice came from the mirror: “Your tongue is the language of the devil! You will not find suitable food - you will not go. You can at least eat everything, the main thing is to look for the devil feed. Otherwise, you will starve to starve for whole! ” And then I immediately understood everything. - “Well, I was already desperate. I will eat all sorts of rubbish. I can find that he likes it, ”and threw the mirror. - “That's what happened to my language in a month. Therefore, the food is tasteless. " Before me was a new, completely new world. I left Ryokan. He moved from Kamakura to Izu, and rented an abandoned house in a distant village. And it began there. Ordinary food, covered with warts, did not seem delicious. I had to eat extremely original. For two months that I lived in this house, I tried the ground, paper, mice, lizards, toads, leeches, frogs, snakes, and then a jellyfish and fish fugue. I ate through the rotten vegetables. This rot is smell, color and taste was extremely appetizing. And that I could get enough. But two months later, my face was green. My body slowly became like an immortal. And then I realized that I want meat. But this desire threw me trembling, and only two words burned with fire in my soul. “I want human.” It was last January.

5

I could not fall asleep after that. Only human and dreamed. The lips trembled, and the thick scarlet tongue glided like a snake. The power of this desire scared me. I tried to suppress him. But the devil made up: “What, do you want to try the most delicious dish? Be brave, eat a person, eat a person. ” The devil's face in the mirror broke in a terrible smile. The tongue became longer, and the needles became more acute. I closed my eyes. “No, I will not eat anyone. I am not an aborigine from the Congo. I am a respectable Japanese. " - But the devil in my mouth laughed contemptuously. I had to constantly get drunk, only to get rid of this fear. While I was sitting in the bar, this desire somehow retreated. Yes, only fate was not merciful to me.

The night of February I will never forget. Then I got drunk and went home from Asakus. The night was foggy, not a zgi is visible around. Only the reflections of the lanterns burned in the darkness, but I got lost anyway. The train rustled in the distance, and I realized that I was at the Nippori station. I crossed the move. He climbed uphill. I went to the Nippori cemetery and fell back. When he opened his eyes, it was already a deep night. I lit a match, on the clock - after midnight. Stagging from the drunk, I wandered between the graves. Then I slipped and fell. I lit a second match and saw that I was lying on a fresh earthen mound. And then a terrible thought was born in my brain. I took a stick and began to dig this mound. Duck him like crazy. Found like crazy. The ground is scraped with nails. About an hour later I came across a tree. “This is a coffin.” I threw the ground and broke the coffin cover. He lit another match and looked inside.

And then a terrible, unbearable feeling shocked me. The light illuminated the pale face of the dead girl. With closed eyes and gritted teeth. About nineteen, pretty. Dark hair shone. Blood rushed into my head. Her head was separated from the body. Hands and legs were also thrown into the coffin. I shook. Surely she rushed under the train, and only then she was temporarily buried, I thought, and the trembling retreated. He took out a knife from his pocket and stuck it into the girl’s chest. Favorite smell of rot hit my nose. With difficulty, but I cut off her chest. Dirty drops drained from my hands. I cut off a little meat from my cheeks. Having finished the case, I was scared. "What have you done?" - I heard the voice of conscience. But I wrapped the cut parts of my body into a scarf. He brought the coffin cover as a state and left the cemetery. He hired a rickshaw and went home to Tomidzak.

Having sneaked home, I locked the door and turned the handkerchief. First of all, I fry my cheeks. They smelled appetizing. I screamed with pleasure. Left frying meat. And the devil’s tongue protruded with pleasure. My mouth was filled with saliva, and I could no longer endure and grabbed a piece of unfinished meat. I plunged intoxicated, as from opium. Ah, a miracle that such a delicious food generally exists. And how could I not try this before? Here it is, "Devil's food." My tongue asked again. He wanted human. And finally I understood that. Then I dug my teeth in the chest. Through me, as if they had let the current. Finally I was fed! Finally I enjoyed food!

6

The next day I dug a cache under the floor. And then I covered it with boards. It was a pantry. Only I was going to store precious food there. My eyes burned. I walked around the city, and my saliva flowed. I wanted to eat everyone, everyone who passed me. I was especially attracted by boys and girls of about fourteen. I unbearably wanted to cling to them. In this case, in my pocket lay a handkerchief and a bottle of chloroform. I put them asleep, and then took them home.
I grabbed the latter on April twenty -fifth, ten days ago. I was driving a train from Tabat to Weno. A very beautiful boy was sitting nearby - my knees trembled already. Grounding in appearance, but extremely pretty. My mouth was filled with saliva. I could not swallow. In appearance, he traveled alone. The train arrived in Weno. He stood slightly at the station and went towards the park. He sat on the bench and looked alone at the lights in the pond of the Sinobazu.

I looked around - there was not a soul around. He took out a bottle of chloroform and a scarf. I wet it. The boy still looked at the pond. I pressed a scarf to his nose. Everything worked as it should, and he went limp. Holding him in my arms, I went down the stairs and called Rickshaw. We went to Tomidzak. I went home and locked the door. Under the lantern, I saw what a beautiful boy it was. I pulled out a sharp knife and plunged it into the back of my head. A sleepy boy opened his eyes wide. His pupils sparkled, his face turned pale. I dragged him to the pantry.

7

I thought, if possible, to describe in the details what I did to him. Usually I acted according to one program. I frying my brain, cheeks, tongue and nose alternately - and ate everything pinched. Their smell drove me crazy. And the brain taste exceeded all expectations. Saturating, I fell asleep, and at nine in the morning I set about breakfast.
And then this terrible night was. And that night I decided that I did not want to live anymore. There was no night worse. Like a beast, I went down to the pantry, for it was the turn to cook my arms and legs. I took the saw to cut off the limbs, and stood nearby. Тут я схватил тело мальчика за левую ногу и перевернул его. Он лежал на животе. Когда взгляд мой упал на его левую ногу, я подпрыгнул, будто заклейменный. Look! На его левой ноге разве не пятно в форме полумесяца? Я ведь писал, что у меня был младший брат с таким пятном… И было это лет пятнадцать назад. Какой ужас! я съел собственного брата! Я развернул его сверток с тетрадями. Все они были подписаны: Каноко Горо. Так звали моего брата. Как я понял, он хотел в Токио и, скучая по мне, сбежал из Хида. А теперь он был мертв! Друг мой! Я больше не могу писать… Испытай ко мне жалость.

На этом тетрадка закончилась. Судя по почерку и содержанию, она без сомнений принадлежала Каноко. При осмотре его трупа выяснили, что язык у него был покрыт бородавками, похожими на иглы, как он и описывал, но лицо дьявола — это всего лишь фантазия поэта.

1915