This story in the original Japanese can be found here.
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A Young Socialist*
He was a young socialist. It was for this reason that his father, a low-level public official, had tried to disown him. However, his own fierce passions, as well as the encouragement of his friends, kept him from backing down.
They had formed their own little group, which had published brief, ten-page pamphlets and held rallies, among other things. Of course, he had attended every meeting, and his essays even occasionally made it into the pamphlet. His essays were not likely to be widely read outside of their own group. However, there was one work among them—an essay titled “On Liebknecht”—that he was more or less pleased with. It was not the finest analysis, but it was rich with poetic, passionate phrases.
Eventually he left school and ended up working for some magazine. Even still, he did not fail to attend meetings. As always, they passionately discussed their issues. They also tried to put plans into action in hopes of a breakthrough.
By this point his father had ceased to interfere. He married a woman and moved into a small house. It really was quite small, but he was not disappointed in the slightest; rather, he felt extremely happy. He felt as though his life had been blessed—by his wife, his small dog, and his small garden of poplars—with such fulfillment as he had not felt until now.
Busy with raising a family and being hounded by his pressing job, one day he became negligent in attending meetings. That is not to say that his passions were waning. He believed that he was no different than he had been several years ago. However, this belief was not shared by his comrades. The new recruits in particular made no efforts to blunt their criticisms of his laziness.
Before he knew it, the group distanced itself from him. Then, he became a father and became more immersed in familial affection. However, he was, as always, a committed socialist. He stayed up late every night, studying by electric lamp. At the same time, he became increasingly dissatisfied with the ten-page pamphlets—especially the one with “On Liebknecht”—they had written so long ago.
The group again cooled towards him. He was no longer able to stand their criticism. They left him behind, or perhaps he left them behind, as he had so many others close to him. He rose through the rank at work. Whenever he met up with his old friends they complained and bickered as though they had not seen each other in forever. But the truth was that he himself, at last, had grown satisfied with his peaceful, everyday life.
Many years passed. He had earned the trust of the executives of the company he worked for. As a result, he now lived in a larger house than he had before and had raised many children. Yet his passion—God only knows where that had gone.** He sometimes sat in a wicker chair, enjoying his cigar and thinking of the days of his youth. It was not that he was not depressed, but his Oriental “resignation”*** always saved him.
He was an unmistakable failure. However, his essay “On Liebknecht” had stirred the heart of one young man. This young man from Osaka had tried his hand in the stock market and gambled away his inheritance. The young man had read his essay and taken the opportunity to become a socialist. This was, of course, something he himself completely failed to understand. He is still sitting in his wicker chair, enjoying his cigar and thinking of the days of his youth. He is human, all too human, I fear.****
(10/12/1926)
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*The title of this story translates literally to “A Socialist,” which sounds more like a treatise than a story to me, so I adapted the first line for this new title.
**This is a literal transliteration of the English phrase “God only knows.”
***This seems like it may be a reference to something, but I have no idea what that might be. It is 東洋の「あきらめ」 in the Japanese. Google largely turns up only this story.
****This is again a literal transliteration of either the German or English title of the same work by Nietzsche. Another work by Akutagawa, “Literary, All Too Literary,” also shares this structure.