No Longer Human ( PDFDrive )

157
stead I would rush out into the filthy little bars that
looked like souvenir stands, and drink gin until I
fairly swam in it. I returned to Tokyo only sicklier for
the trip.
The night I returned to Tokyo the snow was
falling heavily. I drunkenly wandered along the rows
of saloons behind the Ginza, singing to myself over
and over again, so softly it was only a whisper, "From
here it's hundreds of miles to home . . . From here it's
hundreds of miles to home." I walked along kicking
with the point of my shoes the snow which was accumulating.
Suddenly I vomited. This was the first
time I had brought up blood. It formed a big risingsun
flag in the snow. I squatted there for a while.
Then with both hands I scooped up snow from places
which wore still clean, and washed my face. I wept.
"Where does this little path go?
Where does this little path go?"
1 could hear indistinctly from the distance, like
an auditory hallucination, the voice of a little girl
singing. Unhappincss. There arc all kinds of unhappy
people in this world. I suppose it would be no exaggeration
to say that the world is composed entirely
of unhappy people. But those people can fight their
unhappiiicsB with society fairly and squarely, and
society for its part easily understands and sympathizes
with such struggles. My unhappincss stemmed entirely