"Run, Melos" Osamu Dazai
Melos was furious. He resolved that he must eliminate the cruel and tyrannical king. Melos had no understanding of politics. He was merely a simple shepherd from a village, spending his days playing the flute and tending to his sheep. But when it came to evil, he was especially sensitive. That very morning, Melos had left his village, crossed fields and mountains, and arrived in the city of Syracuse, ten miles away. Melos had no father or mother, nor did he have a wife. He lived with his shy, sixteen-year-old sister. She was soon to marry a diligent young shepherd from their village, and the wedding was fast approaching. That was why Melos had traveled to the city—to buy her wedding dress and the feast’s provisions. After gathering the necessary items, he strolled leisurely through the main streets of the capital.
Melos had a childhood friend, Selinuntius, who now worked as a stonemason in this very city. Melos planned to visit him, eager to reunite after such a long time apart. However, as he walked, he noticed something strange about the city. It was unusually quiet. Although it was natural for the city to be dark after sunset, there was an eerie stillness that didn’t seem due to the night alone. The usually carefree Melos began to feel uneasy. He stopped a group of young men on the street and asked, “Has something happened? When I came here two years ago, even at night, the city was lively with people singing.”
The young men said nothing, merely shaking their heads. Melos continued walking and soon encountered an old man. He repeated his question with more urgency. The old man, at first, did not reply. Melos, growing more impatient, grabbed the old man’s shoulders and shook him, demanding an answer. Finally, in a hushed voice, the old man whispered:
“The king is killing people.”
“Why is he killing them?”
“He says they harbor evil intentions, but no one has such thoughts.”
“Has he killed many?”
“Yes, first it was his brother-in-law. Then his own heir. Then his sister, and her child. After that, the queen, and finally the wise minister Alexis.”
“Incredible! Has the king gone mad?”
“No, he has not gone mad. He simply cannot trust anyone anymore. Lately, he even suspects his own subjects. He orders anyone living a somewhat extravagant life to offer a hostage. If they refuse, they are crucified. Today, six people were killed.”
Upon hearing this, Melos was filled with rage. “This king is beyond redemption! He must not be allowed to live.”
Melos was a straightforward man. With his purchases still slung over his shoulder, he walked directly into the royal castle. Before long, he was seized by the guards on patrol. When they searched him, they found a dagger hidden in his cloak, which caused an uproar. Melos was brought before the king.
“What were you planning to do with this dagger? Answer me!” The tyrant Dionysius questioned him calmly but with great authority. The king’s face was pale, and the wrinkles between his brows were deeply etched.
“I was going to free the city from your tyranny,” Melos responded boldly, without hesitation.
“You?” the king sneered with a pitying smile. “What a fool. You can’t possibly understand my solitude.”
“Don’t speak!” Melos retorted, seething with anger. “Distrusting others is the most shameful of all vices. You even doubt the loyalty of your own people.”
“It was people like you who taught me that suspicion is the only sensible mindset. The human heart is unreliable. Humans are selfish by nature. They cannot be trusted,” the tyrant muttered calmly, letting out a weary sigh. “Even I wish for peace.”
“Peace? For what purpose? To protect your own throne?” Melos scoffed. “How can you call it peace when you kill the innocent?”
“Silence, you wretch,” the king snapped, raising his head sharply. “Anyone can speak pretty words. But I can see through to the darkest depths of a person’s soul. Even you will cry and beg for forgiveness once you’re nailed to the cross.”
“Ah, you think you’re clever, don’t you? Keep flattering yourself. I’m fully prepared to die. I will never beg for my life. But…” Melos paused, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment before continuing, “But if you wish to show me mercy, grant me three days before my execution. I have a younger sister, and I want to see her wed. I will return from my village within those three days, I swear.”
“Ridiculous,” the tyrant chuckled in a hoarse, low voice. “You expect me to believe that a bird set free will come back?”
“Yes, I will return,” Melos insisted desperately. “I swear to you, I will keep my promise. Give me three days. My sister is waiting for me. If you truly cannot trust me, then take Selinuntius, a stonemason in this city, as my hostage. He is my closest friend. If I do not return by the evening of the third day, you may execute him in my place. Please, I beg you.”
In the dead of night, Selinuntius, Melos’s childhood friend, was summoned to the king’s castle. It had been two years since the two friends had seen each other, and now they reunited in front of the tyrant Dionysius. Melos explained everything to his friend. Selinuntius, without a word, nodded in understanding and tightly embraced him. That was all that needed to be said between them. Selinuntius was bound with ropes, and Melos immediately set out on his journey. It was early summer, and the night sky was filled with stars.
Melos did not sleep at all that night, hurrying as fast as he could along the ten-mile road. He reached his village the next morning, with the sun already high in the sky. The villagers had already begun their work in the fields. Melos’s sixteen-year-old sister, who had taken over the task of tending the sheep for the day, was startled to see her brother staggering toward her, utterly exhausted. She bombarded him with questions.
“It’s nothing,” Melos forced a smile. “I left some business unfinished in the city, and I must return soon. But first, we will have your wedding tomorrow. The sooner, the better.”
His sister blushed at the news.
“Are you happy? I brought you a beautiful dress. Now, go tell the villagers that the wedding is tomorrow.”
Melos, staggering, made his way home. He decorated the altar for the gods and prepared for the wedding feast. Before long, he collapsed onto his bed and fell into such a deep sleep that it seemed he had stopped breathing.
When he awoke, it was already night. He quickly got up and went to visit the groom’s house, explaining that there was a situation and asking for the wedding to be held the next day. The groom, surprised, protested. “That’s impossible! We haven’t prepared anything yet. We should wait until the grape harvest.” But Melos insisted, saying he couldn’t wait and urging the groom to agree. The groom, however, was firm in his refusal. They argued until dawn, and only then did Melos finally manage to persuade him to hold the wedding the next day.
The wedding ceremony took place at noon. As the bride and groom made their vows to the gods, dark clouds filled the sky, and raindrops began to fall. Soon, it turned into a torrential downpour. The villagers attending the feast felt an uneasy sense of foreboding, but they put on a brave face, singing cheerfully and clapping their hands inside the cramped, humid house. Melos, too, was full of joy, momentarily forgetting the promise he had made to the king. As the night wore on, the celebration grew even more wild and lively, and the people no longer cared about the storm outside.
For a fleeting moment, Melos wished he could stay there forever. He longed to live out his days with these kind-hearted people. But he knew his life no longer belonged to him. His fate was already sealed. With a heavy heart, he resolved to leave. There was still plenty of time before sunset the next day, so he thought, “I’ll rest for a little while and then leave right after. By then, the rain should have eased up.” He wanted to delay his departure as long as possible. Even a man like Melos could not completely escape the pull of lingering attachments.
He approached his sister, who seemed to be in a dream-like state from the joyous occasion. “Congratulations,” he said. “I’m exhausted, so I’m going to rest for a bit. When I wake up, I’ll leave for the city. I have important business to attend to. But don’t worry, you have a kind husband now. You won’t be lonely without me. You know that your brother despises two things more than anything: doubting people and telling lies. So never keep secrets from your husband. That’s all I want to say. Be proud of your brother, because I might be someone important after all.”
The bride nodded dreamily. Melos then patted the groom on the shoulder. “Neither of us was ready, but that’s how life is. My only treasures are my sister and the sheep—nothing else. They’re all yours. And one more thing, be proud to call yourself the brother of Melos.”
The groom, embarrassed, rubbed his hands together awkwardly. Melos laughed, nodded to the villagers, and left the feast. He crawled into the sheepfold and fell into a deep, death-like sleep.
When Melos awoke, it was just before dawn. He leapt to his feet. “Have I overslept? No, there’s still plenty of time.” He reassured himself. “If I leave now, I’ll make it back to the city by sunset without any trouble. Today, I’ll show the king that there is such a thing as true honesty in this world. I’ll smile as I walk up to the crucifix.”
Melos dressed leisurely. The rain had lightened a bit. Once ready, he stretched his arms, then dashed off into the rain like an arrow.
“I will die tonight. I am running toward my death. I am running to save my friend, who has taken my place. I am running to defeat the wicked, cunning king. I must run, and then I will be killed. From my youth, I have lived with honor. Farewell, my home.” The young Melos was filled with sorrow. Many times, he felt his legs wanting to stop, but he shouted at himself, “Onward! Onward!” and kept running. He left the village, crossed the fields, and passed through the forest. By the time he reached the neighboring village, the rain had stopped, the sun was high, and the heat was starting to rise. Melos wiped the sweat from his brow with his fist and thought, “I’ve come this far, and now there’s no more attachment to my home. My sister and her husband will surely be happy together. I have no reason to worry now. As long as I reach the castle, everything will be fine. There’s no need to rush anymore. I’ll walk slowly.”
He recovered his usual carefree spirit and began to sing a favorite song in a clear voice. He strolled for two, then three more miles, and when he had reached about halfway, disaster struck. Melos came to a halt. Before him was a river, swollen and raging from the previous day’s downpour. The mountain’s water source had overflowed, sending torrents downstream that had swept away the bridge with a thunderous crash. The remains of the bridge were shattered into pieces, and the river roared fiercely, tossing the broken timbers like mere leaves. Melos stood in shock, gazing around desperately and calling out with all his might, but the boats had all been swept away, and no sign of the boatman remained. The river swelled even further, turning into what seemed like a vast sea.
Melos collapsed on the riverbank and, sobbing like a child, raised his hands to the heavens, pleading with Zeus. “Oh, calm this raging river! Time is slipping away! The sun is already at its peak. If I cannot reach the castle before it sets, my dear friend will die because of me!”
The raging waters seemed to mock his cries, growing even wilder as they swallowed and churned. Time was passing rapidly. Finally, Melos made up his mind. He had no choice but to swim. “Oh, gods, witness my struggle! Now I will show the power of love and loyalty, which can overcome even these fierce waters.” With that, Melos plunged into the torrent, battling the massive waves that twisted and roared like a hundred serpents. He threw every ounce of his strength into his arms, cutting through the swirling, pulling currents, pushing forward recklessly, driven by sheer will.
Perhaps even the gods were moved by his determination. Despite being swept along by the powerful current, Melos managed to grasp onto the trunk of a tree on the opposite shore. Grateful, he shook himself like a horse, then immediately resumed his journey. Not a single moment could be wasted. The sun was already beginning to sink toward the west. Panting heavily, he climbed up a mountain pass. Just as he reached the top and sighed in relief, a band of robbers suddenly sprang out in front of him.
“Stop!” they shouted.
“What are you doing? I must reach the castle before the sun sets! Let me pass!”
“We won’t let you go. Leave everything you have behind.”
“I have nothing but my life. And even that, I am about to give to the king.”
“That life is exactly what we want.”
“So, the king sent you here to ambush me, didn’t he?”
The bandits said nothing, raising their clubs in unison. Melos, quick as a bird, bent low and lunged at one of them, seizing his club. “Sorry, but this is for justice!” he shouted, striking fiercely. In no time, three of the bandits were knocked to the ground, and before the remaining ones could recover from their shock, Melos bolted down the mountain pass. He sprinted down the slope, but soon exhaustion began to take its toll. The afternoon sun blazed mercilessly overhead, and Melos found himself dizzy again and again. He tried to shake it off, staggering forward two or three steps, but finally, his legs gave out, and he collapsed. He could not rise. Looking up at the sky, tears of frustration began streaming down his face.
“Oh, how pathetic! I, Melos, who swam across a raging river, who struck down three bandits, and who ran like the wind to get this far—now, of all times, I’m too tired to move. How disgraceful! My dear friend, who believed in me, will be killed because of this. I am no better than a man of doubt, exactly what the king thought I would be.” He scolded himself, but his body was utterly drained, unable to move even as much as a caterpillar. He collapsed onto the grassy roadside.
When the body is fatigued, the spirit often weakens too. A deep sense of defeat, unbefitting a man of courage, began to creep into his heart. “I’ve done everything I could. I never intended to break my promise. The gods can bear witness that I’ve tried my best. I ran until I could run no more. I am not a man of doubt. Oh, if only I could tear open my chest and show them my heart—my crimson heart that beats solely on love and loyalty! But here I am, at this crucial moment, drained of all strength. What an unfortunate man I am. I will surely be mocked. My entire family will be ridiculed. I have betrayed my friend. Collapsing here, halfway through, is no better than having done nothing at all.”
“Ah, who cares anymore? Perhaps this is my fate. Selinuntius, forgive me. You always trusted me, and I never meant to deceive you. We were truly the best of friends. Not once did we ever harbor any suspicion toward each other. Even now, you are probably waiting for me with unwavering faith. Yes, you are waiting for me. Thank you, Selinuntius, for believing in me. That thought alone is unbearable. Friendship and loyalty are the most precious treasures in this world. Selinuntius, I did run for you. I never intended to betray you. Believe me! I hurried as fast as I could to get here. I crossed the river, I escaped the bandits, and I flew down the mountain pass. Only I could have done that. But don’t expect more from me now. Just leave me alone. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve failed. I’m worthless. Laugh at me if you want. The king whispered to me, ‘Come a little late. If you’re late, I’ll kill your friend and spare you.’ I despised his treachery. But now, it seems I am doing exactly what he wanted. I will be late. The king will laugh at me, and he will let me go without any consequences. If that happens, living will be worse than dying. I will forever be a traitor. The most dishonorable person on earth. Selinuntius, I will die with you. Let me die with you. Surely, you’ll believe in me until the end. Or is that just my own selfish hope?”
“Ah, should I live on as a wicked man instead? I have a home in the village. I have sheep. My sister and her husband wouldn’t cast me out of the village. What are justice and loyalty and love? When you think about it, they’re just worthless. People kill others to survive. That’s the law of the human world. Ah, everything is so ridiculous. I’m a hideous traitor. Do with me what you will. It’s over.” He stretched out his limbs and, in a daze, drifted into a shallow sleep.
Suddenly, Melos heard the sound of water flowing gently. He lifted his head, holding his breath, and strained to listen. There was indeed water flowing nearby. Unsteadily, he stood up and looked around. At his feet, a spring of clear water bubbled up from a crack in the rocks, murmuring softly. As if drawn by the spring, Melos bent down and cupped his hands to drink. He took a sip, and with a long sigh, it felt as though he had woken from a dream. He could walk again. “Go!” he thought. As his physical strength returned, so did a glimmer of hope—the hope to fulfill his duty. The hope to sacrifice himself and protect his honor.
The setting sun cast red light on the trees, making the leaves and branches glow as if they were on fire. There was still time before sunset. Someone was waiting for him. Someone who believed in him without a shred of doubt, patiently awaiting his return. “I am trusted,” Melos thought. “My life means nothing now. I can’t just die as an apology. I must prove that trust is well-placed. That is the only thing that matters now. Run, Melos!”
“I am trusted. I am trusted,” Melos repeated to himself. The whispers of the demon from earlier were just a bad dream. A terrible dream to be forgotten. When your organs are exhausted, you sometimes have those nightmares. “Melos, it wasn’t your fault. You’re still a true hero. You’re standing again, running again, aren’t you? Thank goodness! I can die as an honorable man. Ah, but the sun is setting, faster and faster. Wait for me, Zeus! I have been an honest man since the day I was born. Let me die as an honest man.”
Pushing aside the people on the road, Melos ran like a dark wind. He dashed straight through the middle of a field banquet, leaving the revelers in shock. He kicked away a dog, leaped over a stream, and ran ten times faster than the slowly sinking sun. As he passed a group of travelers, he overheard ominous words: “By now, that man must be hanging on the cross.”
“That man! I am running for that man!” Melos thought. “I cannot let him die. Hurry, Melos! You mustn’t be late. Now is the time to show them the power of love and loyalty!” Melos no longer cared about his appearance. He was practically naked, unable to breathe, coughing up blood two or three times. But in the distance, he could finally see it—the small silhouette of the city tower of Syracuse, shining in the evening sun.
“Melos!” A faint voice called out through the wind.
“Who is it?” Melos asked, still running.
“It is I, Philostratos, a disciple of your friend Selinuntius!” The young stonemason shouted as he ran behind Melos. “It’s no use! It’s too late! Please, stop running! You won’t be able to save him!”
“No, the sun hasn’t set yet!”
“Right now, they are preparing to execute him. You were too late. Oh, how I curse this fate! If only you had been just a little faster!”
“No, the sun hasn’t set yet!” Melos cried, his heart breaking, his eyes fixed on the large, red sun. There was nothing to do but keep running.
“Please stop! Think about your own life now. He believed in you. Even when they dragged him to the execution site, he remained calm. When the king mocked him cruelly, all he said was, ‘Melos will come.’ He kept his faith strong until the end.”
“That’s why I’m running! Because he believed in me! It doesn’t matter if I make it in time or not. Life and death don’t matter now. I’m running for something far greater. Come with me, Philostratos!”
“Oh, you must be mad. But fine! Run as much as you can. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll make it in time.”
There was no more to be said. The sun still hadn’t set. Using every last ounce of his strength, Melos ran. His mind was blank. He wasn’t thinking of anything. He was being pulled forward by some incomprehensible force. The sun hovered on the horizon, its last rays flickering and about to disappear. But just as the final glimmer of light faded, Melos, like a raging wind, burst onto the execution ground. He had made it.
“Stop! Don’t kill him! Melos has returned, just as he promised. I’ve returned!” Melos tried to shout to the crowd at the execution site, but his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. No one in the crowd noticed his arrival. The execution post was already raised high, and Selinuntius, bound by ropes, was slowly being hoisted up. Witnessing this, Melos summoned the last of his strength, pushing and shoving through the crowd, just as he had swum through the raging river.
“It’s me! Executioner, I’m the one who should be killed! I, Melos, the one who took him as a hostage, am here!” he cried in a raspy voice, climbing onto the execution platform and grabbing hold of Selinuntius’s feet as they lifted him into the air. The crowd murmured in awe. “Magnificent! Forgive him!” they cried. The ropes around Selinuntius were quickly untied.
“Selinuntius,” Melos said, his eyes brimming with tears, “strike me! Strike me as hard as you can across the face. I had a terrible dream along the way—if you don’t hit me, I’m not even worthy to embrace you. Strike me!”
Selinuntius, understanding everything, nodded and struck Melos’s right cheek with such force that it echoed across the execution grounds. Afterward, he smiled gently and said, “Melos, strike me in return. Strike my cheek with the same force. For three days, there was just one moment—just a fleeting moment—when I doubted you. For the first time in my life, I doubted you. If you don’t strike me, I cannot embrace you.”
Melos, with all his might, delivered a blow to Selinuntius’s cheek.
“Thank you, my friend,” they both said at the same time, then hugged each other tightly, sobbing in joy.
From the crowd, the sound of weeping could be heard. Tyrant Dionysius, who had been watching the scene from behind the crowd, slowly approached the two, his face flushed. He spoke quietly.
“Your wish has been granted. You have won over my heart. Trust and loyalty are not empty illusions after all. Please, let me join you. I beg you, accept my request and let me be one of your friends.”
A loud cheer erupted from the crowd.
“Long live the king! Long live the king!”
A young girl stepped forward, offering a crimson cloak to Melos. Melos hesitated, confused. His good friend, quick to understand, whispered to him, “Melos, you’re practically naked. Put the cloak on. This kind young lady can’t bear the thought of everyone seeing you like this.”
The hero blushed deeply…