Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. White Sash Corps

It was the predawn hours of November 26, Meiji 37 (1904).
The White Sash Corps of the X Division's X Regiment departed from the northern foothills of Hill 93 to capture Matsukiyama's reserve battery.

Because the road followed mountain shade, their formation today was specially arranged into a four-column flank march.
The sight of a squad of soldiers advancing quietly along that grassless, dimly lit road—their aligned rifle barrels faintly revealing only their white sashes as their boots clicked rhythmically—must have been a tragic spectacle.
Indeed, Commander M himself wore the gloomy countenance of a changed man since taking the lead of this unit—speaking little, as if transformed.
However, contrary to expectations, all the soldiers retained their usual vigor.
This was due partly to the power of the Japanese spirit and partly to the power of alcohol.

After continuing their march for some time, the unit emerged from the rocky mountain shade into a windswept riverbed.

“Hey, look behind you.”

First Class Private Taguchi, who had been a paper shop worker, spoke to First Class Private Horio—selected from the same company—who had been a carpenter.

“Everyone’s saluting this way.”

First Class Private Horio turned around. When he looked as instructed, there on the blackened heights stood the regimental commander and several officers, their figures backed by a faintly crimson sky, offering final salutes to this band of soldiers marching toward their death.

“How about it? Isn’t it something grand?”
“Being part of the White Sash Corps is an honor too, huh?”

“What honor?”

First Class Private Horio shook the rifle on his shoulder with a bitter look.

“We’re all going to die here.
“If you look at it that way, that’s just [censored], or so they say.”
“Ain’t this just the cheapest damn thing there is?”

“That’s not right.
“If you go saying things like that, ××× won’t cut it.”

“You damn fool!
“Like hell there’s any settling or not settling!”
“Even if you try to buy a measure of booze from the canteen, they ain’t gonna sell it just for a salute.”

First Class Private Taguchi fell silent.
That was because he had grown accustomed to the other’s habit of spouting nothing but sarcastic remarks whenever even slightly intoxicated.
However, First Class Private Horio tenaciously continued speaking.

“I’m not saying you can buy it with a salute.
“They’ll put on all sorts of airs—sayin’ it’s for this grand reason or that noble cause.”
“But all that’s a pack of lies.”
“Hey, Bro.”
“Ain’t that right?”

The one addressed by First Class Private Horio was Superior Private Egami—a quiet man from the same company who had been an elementary school teacher.
Yet this mild-mannered superior private, for some reason only now, suddenly showed a demeanor like he was about to bite.
Then he hurled a vicious retort into the alcohol-reeking face before him.

“Idiot! Isn’t our duty to die?”

By that time, the White Sash Corps had already climbed up to the other side of the riverbed. There stood seven or eight Chinese houses built of packed mud, quietly awaiting dawn—and above their roofs loomed Matsukiyama, its cold tea-brown slopes traced with petroleum-colored folds, pressing close before their eyes. After leaving this village, the unit disbanded their four-column flank formation. Not only that, but all of them—remaining armed—crawled on their bellies through several communication trenches while inching toward the enemy front.

Of course, Superior Private Egami also continued crawling on all fours among them.
“Even if you try to buy a measure of alcohol from the canteen, they ain’t gonna sell it just for a salute.” —First Class Private Horio’s words were also rooted deep in the pit of his stomach.
However, being a man of few words, he kept that thought firmly to himself.
All the more for that, his comrade’s words inflicted an infuriating sorrow, as though probing an open wound.
He continued crawling like a beast through the frozen communication trenches, thinking about war and thinking about death.
But from such thoughts, he could not gain even a sliver of light.
Even if death was [censored], in the end, it was a monster to be cursed.
As for war—he scarcely even felt that war was a sin.
Compared to war, sin—being rooted solely in individual passion—had points where it could be [censored].
However, ×××××××××××××× was nothing but.

Moreover, he—or rather, it wasn’t just him.
Selected from each division, the over two thousand members of the White Sash Corps had to die whether they liked it or not, despite the great ×××.…

“They’re here. They’re here.”
“Which regiment are you from?”

Superior Private Egami looked around.
The unit had arrived at the assembly point at the base of Matsukiyama before they knew it.
There, soldiers from various divisions—clad in khaki uniforms with old-fashioned sashes artfully draped—had already gathered. The one who had called out to him was also one of that group.
The soldier was sitting on a rock, popping a pimple on one cheek in the faint light of the rising sun.

“The Xth Regiment.”

“The Bread Regiment, huh?”

Superior Private Egami maintained a grim expression and did not respond to the joke at all.

Several hours later, over this infantry position, artillery shells from both sides were already roaring with ferocity.
On the slopes of Matsukiyama that towered before their eyes, our naval artillery from Rikaton sent up yellow plumes of earth several times.
In the intervals between those swirling plumes of earth, the pale purple light that flared was all the more tragic for occurring in broad daylight.
Yet the two-thousand-strong White Sash Corps, waiting for their opportunity amidst such bombardment, still did not lose their customary vigor.
Moreover, it remained true that to avoid being crushed by fear, they had no choice but to act as cheerfully as possible.

“Quit firing like hell!”

First Class Private Horio looked up at the sky.
At that moment, a long scream tore through the air overhead once more.
He instinctively ducked his head and called out to First Class Private Taguchi, who was covering his nose with a handkerchief—perhaps to avoid the rising dust.

“That was a 28-centimeter one.”

First Class Private Taguchi laughed. Then, so the other man wouldn’t notice, he quietly tucked the handkerchief into his pocket—one with embroidered edges he’d received from a geisha acquaintance when departing for the front.

“The sound’s different—the 28-centimeter ones.—”

Having said this, First Class Private Taguchi flusteredly straightened his posture. Simultaneously, the soldiers began straightening up one after another as if obeying a silent command—for General N, the army commander, had solemnly entered their midst accompanied by staff officers.

“Hey, you must not make a commotion. Do not make a commotion.”

General N surveyed the position as he conveyed his words in a voice tinged with rust.

“In a cramped place like this, there’s no need for salutes or any of that.”
“Which regiment’s White Sash Corps are you?”

First Class Private Taguchi felt General N’s eyes fixed intently on his face.
Those eyes were almost maiden-like in their intensity—enough to make him self-conscious.

“Yes.”
“Infantry Xth Regiment, sir.”

“I see.”
“Give it your all with vigor.”

General N gripped his hand.
Then turning that piercing gaze toward First Class Private Horio, he extended his right hand once more and repeated the same words.

“You too—give it your all with vigor.”

When addressed thus, First Class Private Horio’s entire body stiffened as if his muscles had hardened, and he snapped to attention.
Broad shoulders, large hands, a ruddy face with high cheekbones.—These characteristics of his appeared to leave a favorable impression on the elderly general, one befitting a model imperial soldier.
The general remained standing there and continued speaking earnestly.

“There’s the battery we’re attacking now. Tonight you will make that battery ours. Then the reserve unit will follow in your footsteps and capture all the batteries in that area. No matter what, you must resolve to leap onto that battery in one go.—”

As he spoke, General N’s voice gradually took on a somewhat dramatic tone of fervor.

“Understood?
Don’t you dare stop midway to engage in shooting or such.
Think of your five-foot bodies as shells and hurl yourselves straight into it—I’m counting on you.
Please, give it your all.”

General N gripped First Class Private Horio’s hand as if to convey the weight of “give it your all.”
Then he moved on.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be happy about.—”

First Class Private Horio, looking sly, watched General N’s retreating figure and exchanged a glance with First Class Private Taguchi.

“Hey, you.
Got my hand gripped by that old man.”

First Class Private Taguchi gave a bitter smile.
Seeing this, for some reason, a sense of guilt welled up in First Class Private Horio’s heart.
At the same time, that bitter smile began to irritate him.
Just then, Superior Private Egami suddenly called out from the side.

“How about it? Getting off on handshakes?”

“Ain’t no good.
Ain’t no good.
Copying others now?”

This time, First Class Private Horio could not help but give a bitter smile.

“It’s because I think we’re being used that pisses me off.”
“I intend to throw mine away.”

When Superior Private Egami said this, First Class Private Taguchi also spoke up.

“That’s right.
“They’re all lives to be thrown away for the nation.”

“I don’t know what for, but I’m just going to throw mine away.”
“Just point [×××××××] at me and see.”
“They’ll feel like taking anything they want.”

In the space between Superior Private Egami’s eyebrows, a dim excitement stirred.

“It’s exactly that kind of feeling.”
“If robbers take the money, they won’t say [×××××××].”
“But we’re going to die either way.”
“×××××××××××××××××××××たのだ。”
“If we’re going to die anyway, wouldn’t it be better to do ××× cleanly?”

As he listened to these words, a glint of contempt for this mild-mannered comrade began to surface in First Class Private Horio’s eyes, still clouded with lingering traces of alcohol.
“What’s this—just throwing his life away?” he thought to himself as he gazed up at the sky in a daze.
And so tonight, resolved not to fall behind others and to repay the general’s handshake, he determined to become a human bullet.…

Sometime after eight o'clock that night, Superior Private Egami, struck by a hand grenade, lay collapsed on the mountainside of Matsukiyama, his entire body charred black.
Then, a single White Sash soldier came running through the barbed wire entanglements, shouting something in broken cries.
As soon as he saw his comrade’s corpse, he placed one foot on its chest and suddenly burst into loud laughter.
At full volume—indeed, the sound of his roaring laughter evoked eerie reverberations amid the fierce gunfire of friend and foe alike.

“Banzai!
“Japan Banzai! Demons be vanquished!”
“Hated enemies, begone!”
“Regiment × Banzai!”
“Banzai!”
“Banzai! Banzai!”

He waved a rifle in one hand, paying no heed to the hand grenades exploding around him or the darkness splitting before his eyes, and continued screaming like this without pause.
Seen in that light, this was none other than First Class Private Horio himself, who had apparently gone mad during the charge due to a gunshot wound to the head.

II. Spies

On the morning of March 5, Meiji 38 (1905), a staff officer of the A Cavalry Brigade—then stationed at Zenshōshū—was interrogating two Chinese men in a dimly lit room of the headquarters.
They had just been captured by a sentry from the × Regiment—temporarily attached to this brigade—on suspicion of espionage.

In this low Chinese house, the warmth from the kang fire, of course, still filled the air with a pleasant coziness today.
Yet the melancholy air of war could be perceived everywhere—in the clinks of spurs striking floor tiles, in the hues of overcoats discarded atop desks.
Particularly on the dusty white wall where a couplet written on red Chinese paper was pasted, the photograph of a geisha with her hair done up in a chignon, neatly secured with tacks, was both comical and tragic.

In addition to the Brigade Staff Officer, there was one adjutant and one interpreter surrounding the two Chinese men.
The Chinese men answered every question clearly in accordance with the interpreter’s inquiries.
Moreover, the older man with a short beard on his face seemed eager to volunteer explanations for matters the interpreter had not yet raised.
Yet the very clarity of their responses appeared to kindle in the staff officer’s heart something resembling antipathy—a desire to confirm them as spies.

“Hey, infantryman!”

In a nasal voice, the brigade staff officer called out to the sentry at the doorway who had captured these Chinese men.
The infantryman—that was none other than First Class Private Taguchi, who had been part of the White Sash Corps.
He had left the swastika-patterned lattice door behind and was looking at a photograph of a geisha when, startled by the staff officer’s voice, he answered with all his might.

“Yes, sir.”

“So you’re the one who caught these men? What was it like when you caught them?”

The good-natured First Class Private Taguchi began speaking in a recitative manner.

“I was standing sentry at the northern end of this village’s earthen wall, on the road leading to Mukden.”
“Both Chinese men came walking from the direction of Mukden.”
“Then the company commander in the tree—”
“What? The company commander in the tree?”

The staff officer slightly raised his eyelids.

"Yes, sir.
"The company commander had climbed a tree to get a vantage point, sir.
"—The company commander ordered me from up in the tree to capture them."

"However when I tried to capture them—yes sir.
"That beardless man.
"That man suddenly tried to escape......"

"Is that all?"

"Yes sir.
"That is all."

"Good."

The brigade staff officer, his florid face showing faint disappointment, relayed his intention to question through the interpreter.
The interpreter infused deliberate strength into his voice to conceal his boredom.

“If you aren’t spies, why did you run?”

“It was only natural to run.”
“After all, Japanese soldiers suddenly came lunging at us.”

The other Chinese man—one with leaden-hued skin who seemed afflicted by opium addiction—answered without flinching.

"But isn't this road you came through about to become a battlefield? If you were decent folk, you'd have no business here—"

The Chinese-speaking adjutant darted a spiteful look at the sallow-faced Chinese man.

“No—we do have business here.”
“As I’ve already stated, we came out to Xinmintun to exchange banknotes.”
“Please take a look.”
“Here are the banknotes as well.”

The bearded man calmly surveyed the officers’ faces.
The staff officer gave a slight snort.
He found the adjutant’s flinch inwardly satisfying.……

“Exchange banknotes? With your life on the line?”

The adjutant let out a begrudging sneer.

“Let’s strip them naked and see.”

When the staff officer’s words were interpreted, they promptly stripped naked without a trace of unease.

“Aren’t you still wearing a belly band? Bring that over here and show me.”

When the interpreter took the belly band, the warmth from body heat lingering in the white cotton felt somehow unclean.
Inside the belly band was a thick needle about three inches long.
The Brigade Staff Officer examined the needle repeatedly by the window light.
However, aside from its flat head bearing a plum blossom pattern, there was nothing unusual about it.

“What is this?”

“I am an acupuncturist.”

The bearded man answered the staff officer’s question without hesitation, his manner composed.

“Next, take off your shoes and show me.”

They watched the inspection results almost expressionlessly, making no attempt to conceal what should be hidden.
Yet even after examining their trousers, jackets, shoes, and socks, they found no items that could serve as evidence.
There remained nothing to do but break open the shoes and inspect them.
—Having reached this conclusion, the adjutant tried to inform the staff officer of his plan.

At that moment, suddenly from the next room, General N at the forefront, followed by staff officers of the army headquarters and the brigade commander, entered.
General N had come to visit the brigade commander with his adjutant and army staff officers to discuss some matter.

“Are they Russian spies?”

General N stopped before the Chinese men as he posed this question. He then fixed his sharp gaze upon their naked bodies. An American present later offered a blunt criticism—that this renowned general’s eyes bore a monomaniacal quality. That monomaniacal hue in his eyes acquired an unnerving glint particularly in such circumstances.

The brigade staff officer recounted the incident’s details to General N. Yet the general merely nodded intermittently, as if remembering something.

“At this point, even if we have to beat them, there’s no choice but to force a confession—”

When the staff officer began to say this, General N—with the hand that held the map—pointed at the Chinese shoes on the floor.

“Break open those shoes and inspect them.”

The shoes were swiftly turned inside out at the soles.
Then four or five maps and secret documents sewn inside came scattering down onto the floor.
When the two Chinese men saw that, even they turned pale.
But they remained silent, stubbornly staring at the floor tiles.

“I had thought it would be something like that.”

General N glanced at the brigade commander and let slip a triumphant smile.

“But hiding things in shoes—now that’s ingenious.—Hey, let those men put their clothes back on.—I’ve never encountered spies like this.”

“I was astounded by His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief’s penetrating discernment.”

The brigade adjutant handed the spy’s evidence to the brigade commander while showing a charmingly amiable smile.
—as if he had forgotten that he himself had noticed the shoes before the General did.

“But if they had nothing even when stripped naked, they couldn’t have hidden it anywhere but their shoes, could they?”

General N remained in high spirits.

“I had my eye on the shoes from the start.”

“The residents around here are simply no good.
“When we came here, they put out the Rising Sun flag, but when we inspected their houses, they usually had Russian flags hidden inside.”

The brigade commander too seemed buoyant.

“In other words, they’re devious and cunning, aren’t they?”

“That’s right. They’re impossible to deal with—can’t be boiled or fried into submission.”

While this conversation continued, the brigade staff officer was still examining the two Chinese men along with the interpreter.
He suddenly turned to First Class Private Taguchi with a displeased expression and barked out this order.

“Hey, Infantryman! Since you’re the one who captured these spies, next you’ll go kill them.”

Twenty minutes later, at the southern edge of the village, these two Chinese men sat by the roots of a withered willow, their queues still bound together.

First Class Private Taguchi attached his bayonet, then first undid their queues.
Then, holding his rifle at the ready, he stood behind the younger man.
But before bayoneting them, he wanted at least to tell them that he was going to kill them.

“You—”

He tried to say that—but he didn’t know the Chinese word for “kill.”

“You—I’ll kill you!”

The two Chinese men turned around in unison and glared sharply at him. However, showing no sign of alarm, they then began kowtowing repeatedly in different directions. "They're bidding farewell to their homeland."—First Class Private Taguchi braced himself as he interpreted their kowtowing this way.

When they had finished kowtowing, they calmly extended their necks with resolve. First Class Private Taguchi raised his rifle. But seeing their composed demeanor, he found himself unable to thrust the bayonet.

“You—I’ll kill you!”

He had no choice but to repeat it.
Then, from the direction of the village came a single cavalryman on horseback, kicking up sand and dust with his horse’s hooves.

“Infantryman!”

The cavalryman—as he drew near, he could be seen to be a sergeant.
When he saw the two Chinese men, he slowed his horse’s pace and called out to him haughtily.

“Russian spies?”
“They must be Russian spies.”
“Let me have one to kill.”

First Class Private Taguchi gave a wry smile.

“What? I’ll give you both.”

“Is that right? That’s generous of you.”

The cavalry sergeant nimbly dismounted from his horse.
Then he moved behind the Chinese men and drew the Japanese sword at his waist.

At that moment, from the direction of the village came the gallant clatter of hooves as three officers approached.
The cavalry sergeant paid no heed and raised his sword straight up.
But before he could lower the blade, the three officers passed leisurely by their side.
"The general!"
The cavalry sergeant and First Class Private Taguchi looked up at the general on horseback and performed a proper hand salute.

“Russian spies, eh?”

In the general’s eyes, a monomaniacal light flashed for an instant.

“Cut them down!
Cut them down!”

The cavalry sergeant immediately raised his sword and with a single strike cut down the young Chinese man.
The Chinese man’s head bounded off and rolled to the roots of the withered willow.
The blood rapidly spread dark patches across the yellowed soil.

“Good.
Splendid.”

General N nodded cheerfully and set his horse walking onward.

The cavalry sergeant saw General N off, then stood behind the other Chinese man, still carrying his bloodstained sword.
His demeanor showed even more eagerness for slaughter than the General himself.
"I could kill these damn Chinese too"—First Class Private Taguchi thought this as he sat down by the roots of the withered willow.
The cavalry sergeant raised his sword again.
But the bearded Chinese spy silently extended his neck and did not so much as twitch an eyelash.…

One of the staff officers accompanying the general—Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi—gazed out from his saddle at the spring-chilled wilds as he rode on.
But neither the distant grove of withered trees nor the stone tablets fallen by the roadside registered in the lieutenant colonel’s eyes.
That was because in his mind, the words of Stendhal—which he had once avidly read—kept drifting ceaselessly.

“Whenever I see a man buried in medals, I can’t help wondering just how many such-and-such deeds he must have performed to acquire that many decorations.…”

When he suddenly noticed，his horse had fallen far behind General N.
Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi gave a slight shudder and immediately urged his horse forward.
As pale sunlight began to spread，the gold of his ornamented cord glittering.

III. The Military Play

On the afternoon of May 4, Meiji 38 (1905), the X Army Headquarters stationed at Aji Gyūhō decided to hold an entertainment show after conducting a spirit-invoking ceremony in the morning. The venue was nothing more than a canvas canopy stretched before a hastily erected stage—a makeshift theater utilizing the open-air platforms common to many Chinese villages. But at that mat-covered venue, a large number of soldiers had already gathered before the scheduled one o’clock start time. The group of soldiers in their grimy khaki uniforms, bayonets hanging at their sides, were such a wretched audience that even calling them “spectators” evoked bitter irony. Yet the very fact that bright smiles now drifted across their faces made them seem all the more pitiful.

General N, along with staff officers from military headquarters and logistics departments, had lined up chairs on a slightly elevated plot of land behind them alongside foreign military attachés.
The mere sight of staff officers’ epaulettes and aides-de-camp’s sashes visible there made the atmosphere far more vibrant than in the ordinary soldiers’ seating area.
Even one of the foreign military attachés—notorious for being a fool—contributed more to this vibrancy than the army commander himself.

General N was in good spirits again today.
While conversing with one of his aides, he occasionally opened the program to check, and even in his eyes lingered an affectionate smile, warm as sunlight.

Before long, the scheduled time of one o’clock arrived.
Behind the skillfully crafted curtain adorned with cherry blossoms and a rising sun, the wooden clapper rang out several times with a dull resonance. No sooner had this happened than the curtain was smoothly drawn aside by the lieutenant in charge of entertainment.

The stage was set as a Japanese-style room. The fact that this was a rice shop was only faintly suggested by the rice bales stacked in one corner. Then the rice shop owner, wearing an apron, clapped his hands and called out “Okana there, Okana there!” summoning a maid taller than himself with her hair tied in a ginkgo-leaf bun. And then—though the plot wasn’t even worth recounting—a makeshift play began.

Each time the stage antics escalated, bursts of laughter rose time and again from the audience on the mat-covered seating. In fact, most of the officers behind them were also wearing smiles. But the makeshift play, as if competing with that laughter, piled on even more absurdity. And finally, in the end, the master clad only in a loincloth began wrestling with the maid wearing nothing but a red apron.

The laughter grew even louder.
A certain captain from the Logistics Department nearly tried to applaud in welcome of this absurdity.

It was exactly at that moment.
Suddenly, a fierce shout of reprimand resounded over the surging laughter, like a whip lashing down.

“What is this disgrace?”
“Pull the curtain!”
“The curtain!”

The voice belonged to General N.
General N kept both gloved hands stacked on the hilt of his heavy sword and glared sternly at the stage.

The lieutenant in charge of the curtain, following orders, hastily drew the curtain back across in front of the stunned actors. At the same time, the audience on the mat-covered seating fell completely silent, save for a faint murmur.

Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi, who was seated with the foreign military attachés, felt sorry for this silence.
Of course, not even a smile appeared on his face at the play.
However, he still had the capacity to sympathize with the audience’s interest.
Then would it be acceptable to show naked sumo to foreign military attachés?
To uphold such decorum—he who had spent several years studying in Europe knew foreigners all too well.

“What’s the matter?”

The French military attaché turned back to Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi in surprise.

“The General ordered it to be stopped.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s vulgar—the General dislikes vulgar things.”

While this exchange was taking place, the wooden clapper on stage began to sound once more.
The soldiers, who had fallen completely silent, perhaps regaining their energy at this sound, began sending out bursts of applause from various spots.
Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi also let out a sigh of relief as he looked around his surroundings.
The officers lined up around them were all acting somewhat reservedly, glancing at the stage intermittently—among them, a single man kept his hand on his sword, his gaze fixed intently on the stage where the curtain had just begun to rise.

The next act, in contrast to the previous one, was an old-fashioned drama steeped in human sentiment.
On the stage, aside from a folding screen, there was only a lit lantern.
There, a high-cheekboned middle-aged woman was drinking sake with a bull-necked townsman.
The middle-aged woman occasionally called out to the townsman in a shrill voice, "Young master."
And then—Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi, without looking at the stage, began to immerse himself in his own memories.

Leaning against the second-floor railing of Yanagimori-za was a boy of twelve or thirteen.
On the stage hung a cherry blossom branch.
A painted backdrop depicted a town aglow with firelight.
Amidst this scene stood Fuwa Banzaemon of Wagō—known as *Nisen no Danshū* (Two-Sen Danshū)—striking a *mie* pose with a woven sedge hat in one hand.
The boy remained absorbed in watching the stage, barely even breathing.
He too had known such moments.…

“Cease the entertainment!”
“Pull the curtain!”
“Curtain!”
“Curtain!”

General N’s voice shattered the lieutenant colonel’s reminiscence like a bomb.
The lieutenant colonel returned his gaze to the stage.
On the stage, a flustered lieutenant was already running along with the curtain.
In that moment, he caught a fleeting glimpse of men’s and women’s sashes hanging over the folding screen.

The lieutenant colonel involuntarily gave a wry smile.
"The entertainment officer lacks all tact.
A general who even prohibits mixed-gender sumo would never silently watch a love scene."—Thinking this, he looked toward where the shout had originated and saw General N still looking displeased as he exchanged words with the first-class accountant in charge of entertainment.

At that moment, Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi’s ear suddenly caught the voice of the sharp-tongued American military attaché addressing the French military attaché seated beside him.

“General N doesn’t have it easy either—being both army commander and censor—”

It was ten minutes later that the third act finally began.
This time, even when trees appeared, the soldiers did not applaud.

“Poor things.”
“It’s as if they’re watching a play while being monitored.”—Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi surveyed the crowd of soldiers in khaki uniforms, who hardly spoke above a whisper, with a look of pity.

The stage for the third act had two or three willow trees set up in front of the black curtain.
They were fresh, real willow trees with leaves—who knew where they’d been cut from?
There, a heavily bearded man who appeared to be a police inspector was bullying a young policeman.
Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi lowered his eyes suspiciously to the program.
Written there was “Pistol Bandit Shimizu Sadakichi: The Ōkawabata Arrest Scene.”

After the police inspector left, the young policeman dramatically looked up to the sky and delivered a lengthy soliloquy filled with lament.
The gist of it was that despite having pursued the pistol bandit for so long, he still hadn’t managed to make an arrest.
Then, perhaps having spotted a figure, he resolved to first conceal himself in the waters of the Ōkawa River to avoid detection by his quarry.
With that, he crawled headfirst out through the back of the black curtain.
Even viewed through the lens of favoritism, his posture seemed better suited for slipping into a mosquito net than submerging into the Ōkawa’s currents.

For some time on the empty stage, there was only the sound of a large drum evoking crashing waves. Then suddenly from one side came a blind man walking. Planting his cane, he tried to keep moving forward—when at that very moment, the policeman from earlier burst out from behind the black curtain. “Pistol Bandit Shimizu Sadakichi! You’re under arrest!” No sooner had he shouted than he lunged at the blind man. The blind man instinctively braced himself—then his eyes snapped wide open. “The only flaw is those eyes being too small,” Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi smiled faintly, passing this rather juvenile critique in his mind.

On the stage, a fight scene began.
The Pistol Bandit, true to his nickname, properly prepared a pistol.
Two shots, three shots—the pistol continued to spit fire.
However, the policeman bravely managed to tie a rope around the fake blind man.
The soldiers couldn’t help but stir.
But still, not a single voice rose from among them.

The lieutenant colonel directed his gaze toward the General.
General N once again gazed fixedly at the stage, his attention unwavering.
However, his face was filled with far more gentleness than before.

Just then, onto the stage from one side came rushing over the police chief and his subordinates.
However, the policeman who had been struck by a pistol bullet during his struggle with the fake blind man had already collapsed unconscious.
The police chief immediately attempted to revive him.
In the meantime, his subordinates swiftly seized the pistol bandit by the rope.
What followed was a scene of lament between the police chief and the policeman, reminiscent of old-fashioned melodrama.
The police chief asked if he had any last words, like a famed magistrate of old.
The policeman said he had a mother back home.
The police chief again told him not to worry about his mother.
The police chief asked if there was anything else he was concerned about in his final moments.
The policeman had nothing to say; he stated that capturing the pistol bandit was his utmost satisfaction.

At that moment, in the hushed hall, General N’s voice rang out for the third time.
But this time, instead of a rebuke, it was a deep exclamation of emotion.

“That’s a noble man.
That’s what makes a true Japanese man!”

Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi once again quietly directed his gaze toward the General.
Then, tear tracks glistened on the general’s sunburned cheeks.
“The general is a good man.”—Amidst his mild contempt, the lieutenant colonel also began to sense a bright goodwill.

At that moment, the curtain, bathed in enthusiastic applause, was drawn slowly and grandly before the stage.
Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi seized that opportunity to rise alone from his chair and walk out of the venue.

Thirty minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi, with a cigarette in his mouth, was walking through a vacant lot on the outskirts of the village with Major Nakamura, also a staff officer.

“The Xth Division’s entertainment was a great success.”
“Your Excellency N was very pleased.”

Even as he spoke these words, Major Nakamura was twisting the end of his Kaiser mustache.

“The Xth Division’s entertainment?
“Ah, that Pistol Bandit one?”

“It wasn’t just the Pistol Bandit.
“Your Excellency then summoned the entertainment troupe and ordered them to perform an additional act on the spot.
“This time it was Akagaki Gennozō, though.
“What was that called again?
“The Parting of the Tokkuri?”

Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi surveyed the wide field with smiling eyes.
Over the bluish-green soil where sorghum grew, a faint heat haze now shimmered.

“That was also a great success—”

Major Nakamura continued talking.

“Your Excellency will have the Xth Division’s entertainment troupe perform vaudeville-style acts again tonight starting at seven, I hear.”

“Vaudeville-style? Are they going to have them perform comic monologues or something?”

“Ah, it’s supposed to be kōdan.”
“Mito Komon’s Journey Through the Provinces—”

Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi gave a wry smile.
But the other man, indifferent, continued in a lively tone.
“I hear Your Excellency is fond of Mito Komon—‘As a subject of the Emperor, I hold Mito Komon and Kato Kiyomasa in the highest esteem.’ He was able to say such things.”

Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi did not reply and looked up at the sky above his head. Between the willow branches in the sky, thin mica-like clouds drifted. Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s spring, even here in Manchuria.”

“Back home, they’re probably already wearing lined clothing.”

Major Nakamura thought of Tokyo.
He thought of [the] wife skilled at cooking.
He thought of the child attending elementary school.
And then—he grew slightly melancholy.

“Over there, apricot blossoms are blooming.”

Lieutenant Colonel Hozumi, looking pleased, pointed at a mass of red flowers clustered on a distant earthen wall.
Ecoute-moi, Madeline………――Before he knew it, the song of Yugo had surfaced in the lieutenant colonel's heart.

IV. Father and Son

On a certain night in October of Taisho 7 (1918), Major General Nakamura—then Major Nakamura, an army staff officer—was leaning back absentmindedly in an armchair in a Western-style parlor, a lit Havana cigar in his mouth.

Over twenty years of leisurely days and months had made the major general into a lovable old man.
Perhaps because of his Japanese attire tonight, the areas around his receding forehead and the sagging flesh of his mouth bore an even more pronounced air of a good-natured man.
The major general, still leaning back in his chair, slowly looked around his surroundings.
Then—he suddenly let out a sigh.

On the walls of the room, wherever he looked, there hung what appeared to be photographic prints in frames—reproductions of Western paintings.
One of them was a portrait of a lonely girl leaning against a window.
Another was a landscape where the sun could be seen through cypress trees.
All of them, under the electric light, imparted to this old-fashioned parlor a strangely chilly, solemn air.
But, for some reason, this air did not seem pleasant to the major general.

After several minutes of silence had passed, the major general suddenly heard a faint knock at the door.

“Come in.”

At the same time as that voice, a tall young man in a university uniform appeared in the room.
When the young man stood before the major general, while reaching for the chair there, he said bluntly:

“Do you need something? Father.”

“Yeah. Well, take a seat there.”

The young man obediently sat down.

“What is it?”

To reply, the major general cast a suspicious look at the gold button on the young man’s chest.

“What about today?”

“Today was Kawai’s—you probably don’t know him—a fellow liberal arts student like me. There was Kawai’s memorial service today, so I’ve only just returned now.”

After giving a slight nod, the major general exhaled a thick cloud of Havana smoke.
Then, finally appearing reluctant, he began to speak of the important matter.

“This painting on the wall—did you replace it?”

“Yes, I hadn’t informed you yet, but this morning I was the one who replaced it.”
“Is that not acceptable?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, but I do think I’d like to keep His Excellency General N’s portrait hung here.”

“In here?”

The young man involuntarily smiled.

“Is it not permissible to hang it in here?”
“There’s no reason it can’t be done—but that would be strange, wouldn’t it?”
“Isn’t there a portrait over there as well?”

The major general pointed to the wall above the hearth.
On that wall, within a frame, Rembrandt—in his fifties—calmly looked down upon the major general.

“That’s different.
“It can’t be placed alongside General N.”

“Is that so?”
“Then there’s no help for it.”

The major general readily conceded. But while exhaling cigar smoke, he quietly continued speaking.

"You—or rather, what does your generation think of His Excellency?"

"Nothing particular. I don't think much of him."
"Well, he was a great military man."

The young man sensed in his aged father's eyes the effects of evening drink.

"He was a great military man, but His Excellency also possessed a truly magnanimous, affable character..."

The major general nearly sentimentally began recounting an anecdote about General N.
This occurred after the Russo-Japanese War when Major General Nakamura visited General N’s villa in Nasuno.
Upon arriving at the villa that day, he learned from the caretaker that the general and his wife had just departed for a stroll in the hills behind the estate—or so the story went.
Since Major General Nakamura knew the path, he promptly set out for those hills.
After walking a couple of hundred meters, he found General N standing there with his wife, dressed in a cotton robe.
Major General Nakamura chatted with the elderly couple for some time.
Yet General N showed no inclination to leave the spot no matter how long they lingered.
“Do you have business here?” When the major general inquired, General N suddenly laughed aloud.
“The truth is,” he said, “my wife here needs to relieve herself. The students accompanying us went to scout a suitable spot.”
It was that time of year—when spiky-husked chestnuts already littered the roadside.

The major general, with his eyes narrowed, smiled happily to himself.
Just then, from within the autumn-tinted woods, four or five energetic middle school students came rushing out all at once.
They paid no heed to the major general, and upon surrounding General N and his wife, they all began reporting in unison about the spot they had found for her.
On top of that, they even began an innocent competition to have his wife come to their respective spots.
“Then I’ll have you draw lots.” After saying this, General N once again showed a smile to the major general.…

“That’s an innocent story.”
“But you don’t hear such stories about Westerners.”

The young man also couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, in that way, even twelve- or thirteen-year-old middle school students would become as attached to His Excellency General N as if he were their uncle simply by addressing him as such.”
“His Excellency is by no means a mere military man, as all of you imagine.”

The major general, having finished speaking with apparent enjoyment, once again gazed at the Rembrandt above the hearth.

“Is he also a man of character?”

“Yes, he is a great painter.”

“What about someone like His Excellency General N?”

A look of confusion appeared on the young man’s face.

“It’s difficult to say exactly—but well, he’s someone whose sentiments feel closer to us than someone like General N.”

“Are you saying His Excellency is distant from you all?”

“How should I put this?
“Well, let’s take this point—for example, Kawai, the man whose memorial service was held today, has still committed suicide.”
“But before he committed suicide—”

The young man looked earnestly at his father's face.

“It seems there was no time to take a photograph.”

This time, a look of confusion flickered in the eyes of the major general—who until then had been in good spirits.

“There’s no harm in taking a photograph.
It also serves as a final memento, and—”

“For whom?”

“There’s no one in particular—but don’t we all want to see His Excellency General N’s final visage, starting with ourselves?”

“That, at least, is something I believe General N should not have considered.”
“I feel I can somewhat understand the general’s state of mind when he committed suicide.”
“However, I don’t understand why they took a photograph.”
“Surely he couldn’t have imagined that after death, that photograph would be displayed in every storefront—”

The major general almost indignantly interrupted the young man’s words.

“That’s harsh.”
“His Excellency is not such a vulgar person.”
“He was a man of utmost sincerity through and through.”

However, the young man remained as composed as ever, his complexion and voice both calm.

"Of course he wasn't a vulgar person."
"I can imagine he was a man of utmost sincerity."
"It's just that this sincerity of his doesn't quite come into clear focus for us."
"And I don't believe it will resonate any more clearly with those who come after us......"

Father and son continued an awkward silence for some time.

“It’s a difference of eras.”

The major general finally added.

“Well, uh…”

The young man, having started to say this, assumed an expression as if listening intently to something beyond the window.

“It’s raining, isn’t it? Father.”
“Rain?”
The major general, keeping his legs stretched out, cheerfully changed the subject.
“I just hope the quinces don’t fall again,……”

(December, Taisho 10)