Pathway to Japanese Literature

Tokyo was deep in late autumn, thick with mist.
The city dawned from mist only to fade back into mist as night fell.
In the shadow of this chillingly squirming veil—is there something lurking?
Is something truly happening?—Each time Tokyo’s mist thickened, he found himself seized by this abstract notion.
It was a grotesque sensation—yet at the same time, a kind of terrifying notion.

One early morning, he walked through the city shrouded in thick mist toward the factory district.
From somewhere far, far away, the footsteps of dawn crept closer in silence.—With a bone-grinding screech, the streetcar lurched into motion.
A dog announced its hunger from the deepest depths.
Car horns shook drowsy heads awake.
The hurried sound of a door opening.—Faint tangled noises from within the mist drew near to the danger zone around him only to retreat, then crept up right behind the veil as if threatening when they withdrew again.

By the sound waves of footsteps kicking up the cobblestone path, the mist dissolved faintly.
From that fissure emerged a barracks-like building.
The road soon came to a bridge.
The black wooden bridge trailed its end faintly, ever so faintly into the deepest recesses of the silken veil, like a pathway to some dream country.
And in the sky above, high-rise buildings loomed hazily like a mirage.

“You!”
“Oh!”
“You!”
“Did you come back to pick me up?”

He stopped and turned around with eyes wide in surprise.
The woman in a white kimono who had been standing at the bridge’s edge leaped at him with a cry.

“You really came back for me, didn’t you?
So what should we do about our baby?”

She showed her white teeth as she spoke, clutching his arm.

“Aren’t you mistaking me for someone else?”

He said while quietly prying loose her hand gripping his arm.

“You don’t need to use such fine words with me.”

“Ha ha... You think I should do something about it?”

“Well of course you should. Everything—if we trace it back—it’s all because of you.”

“Are you saying I’m to blame?”

“The one most at fault isn’t you, but you’re still to blame. Why on earth did you keep running away like that?”

“Ha ha... You're quite a handful.”
“I haven’t been running around anywhere at all.”
“I’m just about to head to the factory now.”

“The factory?
“At least don’t go to the factory.”
“You still mean to go to the factory?”

Her eyes gleaming, she clung to his arm again with both hands.

“It’s all right. I won’t run away—it’s all right.”
“You’re really not going? No matter what happens，you mustn’t go to the factory.”

Having said that, she quietly released his hand.

“Even if I don’t want to go, I’ll dry up here if I don’t—will I not?”

“How could you! Are you still feeling that way? You’re impossible. Don’t you know what we went through while you were running around? Even though you know everything, how can you spout such nonsense?”

“You’re mistaking me for someone else, aren’t you?”

“Why do you keep saying ‘you’ like this? Why don’t you say it like before?! Why don’t you say it? I want you to call me ‘you’ like before! I want you to say it like before!”

“Ha ha... You're quite a handful. Please stop this already. I’ll be delayed at the factory…”

“You’re unbelievable. Are you still talking about the factory? Do you truly know nothing about what happened while you were running around? You can’t deceive me and try to run away again. No matter what happens, you absolutely must not go to that factory. No matter what happens, you absolutely mustn’t.”

She grasped his hand firmly again.

“You’re impossible.
Ha ha... You’re quite a handful.”

“Do you truly not know anything?
If you truly don’t know, I’ll tell you.
Now, you must listen to me!
You see?”

She said this while pulling him.
He allowed himself to be pulled to the bridge’s edge.
There lay scattered several square-cut granite blocks where bridge construction seemed about to begin.
She sat down on one while still gripping his hand.
He settled beside her.

“Listen, you—can’t you hear that crying?”
“Can’t you hear it?”
“My baby’s crying… can’t you hear?”

She said this and pointed toward high-rise buildings floating like a mirage above the mist while straining her ears.

"I don't hear any such crying sound," he said. "Haven't you lost your mind?"

"Are you saying I've lost my mind?" Her own mind had teetered on collapse. She'd felt sanity slipping away completely. But until finding him—until finding him—she'd forced herself to stay whole. "I had to remain sane long enough to tell you everything."

She was earnest. Upon closer reflection, she did appear sane. For one thing, she kept herself meticulously groomed. With eyes shining with an intensity rarely seen in ordinary people, she fixed her gaze on her companion almost fiercely—though this stemmed from her earnest nature rather than anything else. Her pallid, gaunt cheeks spoke less of abnormality than of life's relentless hardships. Her jet-black hair lay perfectly combed.

“Hey, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Just listen quietly.”
“No matter what happens, you absolutely must not go to that factory anymore.”

She proceeded with her story while intently watching his face.

She was drawing water from the communal well.
At that moment, a young factory boy came running in from the factory.

“Hey, he can’t come home tonight ’cause of night shift work.”

The young factory boy said while panting.
And he snuffled wetly, sucking back bluish-black snot.

“Matsushima?”

“Yeah.”

The young factory boy dragged his oil-stained sandals with a heavy clatter as he headed back.

She entered the house in a foul mood.
She thought this night shift story was pure nonsense.
"Who would fall for such a lie?" she wondered.
There had never once been a notice from the factory about night shifts keeping him away.
She became convinced he'd gone to another secret meeting behind her back again.
"Why did he need to keep secrets even from his wife?" The thought made her want to claw at something.

Her foul mood persisted until the next morning.
She would pinch his crotch every time her baby wet himself.
Whenever he nursed poorly, she would strike his head with her palm.
Then she handled all the household items roughly—because even by the next morning, her husband still hadn't returned.

The next morning, another messenger came from the factory there.
This time, instead of a young factory boy, it was an elderly laborer.

“Oh!
“This Matsushima-san here, see, got hurt workin’ the night shift last night.”
“So he went to the hospital, see? Don’t you go frettin’ none over it.”

“He was injured, you say?”
“Was it serious?”

“I didn’t see it myself, so I don’t know how bad it was, but it ain’t nothin’ serious.”
“Anyway, just don’t you go worryin’ none about it, see…”

“So, could you tell me which hospital that would be?”

“Who knows?”
“Dunno nothin’ ’bout that.”
“Anyway, just don’t you go worryin’ none about it, see…”

The old factory worker left with those words.
She did not believe the account of her husband’s actions that the old factory worker had delivered.
because she reasoned that if his injuries were severe enough to prevent him from returning home, there would be no reason not to disclose the hospital’s name.

She couldn't focus on her glove-knitting side job at all that entire day.
And she hated her husband.
It was an experience that had repeated itself countless times since their marriage.
Yet she wasn't hating him for taking days off work without considering their difficult circumstances.
She hated him for keeping all meeting-related matters secret - for deciding such things could never be understood by a woman.

That evening, the old factory worker stopped by again on his way back from the factory.

“This morning, see, I couldn’t tell you the truth ’cause I was comin’ as the factory’s messenger.”
“But about Matsushima-san here, see...”

“Even this morning, you didn’t really come from the factory, did you? Matsushima’s gathering everyone somewhere again, right?”

“Naw! What folks are sayin’… it’s downright awful. Yeah, the story’s that it’s downright awful.”

“So he really was injured then?”

She asked back in a tone of surprise.

"If it were just some regular injury, that’d be one thing, but this Matsushima-san here got eaten by a machine—his torso was crushed like miso paste, ain’t that right!"
"It’s just what people are sayin’, but."
"I didn’t see it myself, though."

“Is that truly… true?”

Her chest jolted.
When she considered it at that moment, there could be no doubt that all the blood in her body had begun rushing back and forth between love for her husband and practical survival concerns with the high-speed reciprocating motion of a piston rod in the most powerful express train.

“It’s just people’s talk—I ain’t seen it myself.”

“Please don’t say such frightening things. Matsushima has always had his nose buried in books—he isn’t accustomed to factory work. If people keep saying things like that, he might actually go and do it!”

She denied the old factory worker's words.
If such a thing had happened, she thought, there was no reason the factory wouldn't have informed her.

“But hey, even if it’s just people’s talk, it isn’t a lie.”
“They say even after his torso was crushed like miso paste, he kept twitching and writhing all the way to the hospital, growling like a bear or something.”
“And then when the doctor tried to peel off his clothes from the belly, he let out one deep groan—and that was it, so they say.”

“Mister!
“Is that the truth?”
“Is that the truth?”

She said this while carrying the baby on her back and rushed out of the house without waiting for the old factory worker’s reply.
And she kept running all the way to the factory, jostling the child on her back up and down as she went.

When she reached the factory gate, she wondered which was true?
Once more she reconsidered with doubt.
But the three great smokestacks issuing no smoke, the absence of clashing machinery noises, shot the declaration of her husband's death into her like an arrow.

"I would like to see Matsushima's corpse."

She suddenly said to the gatekeeper.

“Matsushima-san’s… what was that?”

“Excuse me, did he work the night shift last night?”

“Here, unlike other factories, we don’t perform night shifts.”

“What?!
“How strange!
“Then what has become of Matsushima’s corpse?”

Reliving the emotions she had felt before the gate, she asked in a voice verging on a shout.

“Mr. Matsushima’s corpse, you mean?”
“Matsushima Jūzaburō-san, is that right?”

“What has become of Matsushima Jūzaburō’s corpse?”

“Are you saying Mr. Matsushima has died?”
“Critically injured persons or corpses aren’t taken out through the back gate except at night, you see.”
“According to the gatekeeper’s ledger here, Mr. Matsushima is recorded as having retired as of yesterday, but...”

The gatekeeper calmly flipped through the ledger.

“Then who should I ask to find out?”

“Please come back tomorrow.”
“Return tomorrow and meet with the supervisor.”
“There’s no one left at the factory anymore.”

Beyond the sturdy iron lattice gate lay only a large black building sprawled like a whale.

If he truly died, then he was murdered!
Murdered? — She had been growing increasingly convinced in such a manner.

Even if he wasn't accustomed to factory work, he wasn't the sort to make such a blunder! He was murdered!—so she believed. Yet strangely, she shed no tears and felt no sorrow. In her deepest heart, she hadn't fully convinced herself of it. Rather, she'd even begun thinking he would surely come home any moment now.

Late that night, after eleven o'clock, the factory supervisor came to visit her.
When she realized it was the factory supervisor, she preempted him.

"What on earth has become of Matsushima's corpse?"

"…………"

The supervisor bowed silently.

"If he was injured, why couldn't you notify me immediately then? I simply can't comprehend that."

"To tell the truth, we had meant to inform you straightaway, but as the state was too dreadful, it was determined better not to show you... so we sent it directly to the hospital..."

"You're handling him like merchandise! Isn't this excessive? This is outrageous! So is it truly confirmed he's dead?"

“Truly, I don’t know whether to call this unfortunate or...”

“Please tell me the truth.
“In truth, you had him removed because Matsushima’s presence was inconvenient for you, didn’t you?”

“No—!”
“He truly passed away.”
“This is just a small amount from the factory as condolence money—a funeral offering, if you will. But I’d like you to consider this as the most concrete proof.”

The supervisor said this and placed an envelope before her.

“What?!”
“Are you saying that’s proof Matsushima died?”
“Why won’t you let me see the body even once?”

“As I mentioned earlier, it was truly horrific, so we thought that showing you would leave the image haunting you forever—that’s why we decided it’d be better to let you see him after he’d been cremated… That was everyone’s opinion.”

“But I won’t believe it unless I see him.”

“To tell the truth on our side, we had wanted to inform you that he was initially slightly injured, and that this gradually worsened until he passed away.”
"We wished to avoid startling you as much as possible."

“Why won’t you tell me the truth?”
"You’re so afraid of the other workers finding out that you carried him out through the back gate instead of the front, and even though he was critically injured, you claim it was just a minor injury that didn’t require worry, or put on a face that suggests there’s still hope for recovery when he’s already dead—isn’t that right?"
“That may be convenient for you, but because of it, I’m left with this lingering half-baked feeling that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
"I truly cannot bring myself to believe it."
"I simply can’t bring myself to believe that Matsushima has died."
“I keep feeling like he’ll come walking back from there any moment now.”

“From our side, we rather thought it better for you to keep believing that way so you wouldn’t be discouraged all at once.”

"No—! On your part, you're terrified of the other workers learning the truth. Even I can grasp that much."

“Admittedly, that is also a factor.”
“However, I have no intention of concealing that matter even from you.”
“Having laid everything out truthfully like this, we’ve brought what you might term hush money, hoping you’ll stay silent for the nation’s sake.”
“From President Asada’s side—though it’s only a modest sum—he’s sent over this wrapped package.”
“…We ask that you please ensure this doesn’t reach the other workers…for the nation’s sake…”

The supervisor said this and took out another envelope.

“For the sake of the nation, you say?”
“That’s quite absurd, isn’t it?”
“If hiding Matsushima’s death truly serves the nation’s sake, then I’ll gladly keep quiet.”

“Well, you see, if they hear about this, the other workers will take offense—it’ll dampen morale, so to speak. That’s why we’d like you to relocate somewhere far from here as soon as possible.”
“If you stay here alone, in time you’ll naturally come to accept Mr. Matsushima’s death.”

“That’s impossible!”
“That’s impossible.”
“I have to make my living solely by knitting gloves from now on, so I can’t move.”
“Because if I move, I’ll lose my job.”

“If you were to relocate, the company is supposed to provide funds for that as well.”

“Is Matsushima really dead?”

She once again thought Matsushima might have gone somewhere.
She had come to suspect they might be trying to make her move while he was away and erase everything.

“It is true, I assure you.
“Well, as proof of that, we’ll deliver his remains by tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.”

“Even if I see the ashes, I... I still won’t be able to believe it—I just can’t shake this feeling.”

“In any case, this is the condolence payment, this is the hush money, and then this is the remainder of his salary.”

The supervisor pushed three envelopes in front of her and left.

After burying Matsushima's bones in his hometown, she returned to Tokyo.

When she returned after completing the funeral, the money she had received at that time was already almost gone.
She continued knitting gloves every single day, from early morning until deep into the night.
And her life grew steadily more difficult.

She sometimes remembered Matsushima and sobbed.
It was not out of mourning the dead husband.
Even though she had buried her husband’s bones, she still felt as if he were alive somewhere, driven to tears by the lonely feeling of continuing to wait for him.—At that time, had she doubted the bones delivered from the factory, she could have found endless reasons to distrust them.

One day, into this life of hers came the factory supervisor from before.
It was a request for her to become the wet nurse for the baby born to President Asada’s household.

“You see, President Asada insisted that she must have considerable education, be physically healthy, and moreover possess beauty, so we were at a loss because no matter how much we searched, we couldn’t find anyone.”
“It’s just that we happened to remember you right at that moment, so…”

“It’s just like the conditions for looking for a bride, isn’t it?”
“To such a demanding position, is someone like me really suitable?”

“With you, there’d be no complaints whatsoever!
You’re perfectly suited.”
“Actually, before approaching you, I had consulted President Asada.”
“However, since he feels profound sympathy for your situation, it was decided that we must entrust this to you.”

“Then I shall come.”
“If someone like me is truly acceptable?”

She answered with humility, even gratitude.
Though she was of course displeased by the supervisor's greeting—the kind one might give to someone employed professionally as a wet nurse—she pushed even that aside and clung to President Asada's benevolence in having specifically chosen her.

"Well then, in the spirit of mutual aid, I earnestly request your cooperation."
"He says he'll pay any amount as compensation, so..."

From the very next day, three times each at morning, noon, and evening, she walked the twenty-chō road—over two kilometers—to bring her milk-filled breasts.

During nursing intervals at home, the baby clinging to her meager breasts drained them so swiftly it made her nipples ache.
Then walking back along those two kilometers took forty minutes or more—sometimes nearly an hour—but even that time never fully replenished her milk.
And since she had to present abundant breasts again within three or four hours, she had no choice but to supplement her own infant with formula.
Yet she didn’t find this particularly sorrowful.
For it meant their livelihood was secured at last—a bright sun seemed dawning even over her child’s future.

She hired a neighborhood girl living in the same tenement building to mind her home, entrusted her own baby to that girl, and day after day commuted between the opulent mansion on the hill and the ragged tenements of the slum district.

On the fifth morning after she began commuting to President Asada’s residence this way, her baby—perhaps from suddenly stopping breastfeeding and being put on formula milk—developed a fever.

However, though worried, she entrusted her baby to the girl and left for work at the Asada residence.
In the morning it hadn't been so severe yet, but by noon when she departed, it had already become a terrible high fever.
Still, she had no choice but to go.

She heard the three o'clock chime and hurried out through the gate of the Asada residence. The moment she stepped out of the gate, the sound of an automobile came from behind. The automobile came to an abrupt stop. In it was riding President Asada.

“Matsushima-san, your house was on the way to the factory. Since I’m passing by anyway, come on and get in here.”

Asada stuck his head out the window and said.

“……”

She smiled while bowing and hesitated.

“There’s no need for hesitation.
Since I’m passing by anyway—come now, there’s no cause to hold back.”

“……”

She bowed again.

“Now then—pay it no mind and get in here.”

“Then I must trouble you…”

She first felt joy for her own baby.
Once her husband had declared: “They’re heartless puppets of capital!”
Those very words he’d hurled in condemnation now acted upon her in precisely the opposite manner.
Before this human being who possessed both blood and tears, she had become a small lump of gratitude.

"Matsushima-san—this might be rude to say—but aren’t you terribly troubled?"

“……”

She bowed in a nod-like manner.

The automobile kicked up white dust, cutting through the parched autumn air as it raced through the sun-scorched streets.

“If you’re struggling, wouldn’t you want to be taken care of by someone?”

“……”

“You possess such beauty, such cultivation… yet for a woman to make her own way must be terribly hard.”
“……If you have any inclination to remarry.”
“Rather than that—”

“After all, I have a child to consider.”

Her face had flushed somewhat.

“Having a child isn’t an issue.
Even with a child—rather than remarrying—if you were properly provided with a household and cared for, who knows how much better that might be?”

“……”

She lacked the confidence to divert Asada’s talk onto a tangent.
How rude! How utterly vile!
While continuing to scream inwardly, she remained silent.

“Driver! Make a detour to Koto Hotel.”

“Oh! If you’re heading that way, I must take my leave here.”

She looked up with eyes wide with surprise.
This was because from there to her home, she could walk in the same time it would take the automobile to reach Koto Hotel.

“It won’t take long even with the detour. There happens to be an engineer from a port in Hokkaido staying at Koto Hotel—he came to inspect Express Cement—so I just need to stop by and have you accompany me there. That’s all…”

“But I am in a hurry.”

However, the automobile paid no heed to her words and continued speeding along, turning onto a broad riverside avenue with sparse pedestrian traffic. She grew frantic. She was worried sick—absolutely beside herself—about her feverish baby. However, she thought this required secrecy. Because she believed that commuting from beside her feverish child violated their hygiene standards.

“Speaking of that port engineer—Matsushima-san, have you no interest in marrying him?”
“If you’d just agree to that, I tell ya, there’d be no problem with the cement inspection at all!”
“It’ll pass without any inspection!”

She again recalled the words her husband had hurled at them. "Heartless puppets of capital who know neither shame nor human feeling!" She thought that was exactly right. Wasn't this akin to offering others as human sacrifices for their own transactions? Thinking such thoughts, she considered forcing herself to get out of the car.

"Anyway, what do you say? Don't you want to meet that man and talk?" "Might as well."

"It's very kind of you, but I must take my leave now as I'm in a hurry today."

“When it comes to marriage, I’ll naturally cover all the expenses for you…… Though come to think of it, these modern women nowadays seem to prefer the ease of mistress life over being some stiff formal wife……”

The automobile pulled up sideways to Koto Hotel’s entrance.

“It won’t take long...”

Asada got out of the automobile and went to the reception desk.
Then, after exchanging a few words in a brief chat, he returned.

“Do come down for a moment. It shouldn’t take long, but waiting here would be dull. Let’s have some tea…”

“No. I must take my leave here.”

“No—it’s all the same, and undignified.”

She reluctantly got out of the automobile.
And, as though driven onward, she climbed the hotel stairs.

When she raised her head from sleep as heavy as mud, exhausted, her husband was no longer there.
She lay curled up alone like a dog on the double bed.
She looked about in alarm.

Yet what had occurred was no dream.
She remembered everything with perfect clarity.
—First, Asada had left her waiting in this room and never returned, no matter how long she waited.
She endured sitting motionless in the chair for almost an hour.
But thinking of her feverish baby sent shudders coursing through her body.
She paced the room like a caged zoo bear.
She could endure it no longer.
She threw herself against every door she could find.
Each remained firmly locked.
Determined to escape, she wrestled desperately with the doors.
As she struggled, she noticed the north window’s upper section lacked wire mesh.
She climbed onto the table and smashed one glass pane.
Yet only her head could pass through.
Sticking her head out to gaze down at the street below, she saw her husband passing by chance.
Again and again she shouted his name in a ringing voice.

Her husband looked up and waved his hand.
Believing her husband would come to rescue her, she paced around the room in circles.
Soon there was a knocking sound, and her husband entered.
She was so overwhelmed that words failed her.
Her husband also remained silent.
The two collapsed onto the bed while locked in an embrace.—It was no dream.
She clearly remembered.

She looked around the room once more.
The standard lamp with its violet shade kept vigil, pale mauve light swimming through the air.
Her husband was still nowhere to be found.
She leapt down from the bed.
Then raced about the room like a beast in its cage.

She climbed onto the table again and thrust her head through the shattered glass window.
The city lay deep in night's grip, fallen silent.
Then came a knock from behind her.
The door opened to reveal a man's face.
There stood her husband clad in immaculate Western attire.

"Ah!"
"You!"
"Where were you!"
"Where did you go?"

She lunged.
But in that instant, her husband nimbly concealed himself behind the door.

"What's gotten into ya?
"Huh?
"What's gotten into ya?"

With these words, it was Asada who emerged instead.

“You!
You mustn’t go!”

She tried to rush out in pursuit of her husband who had hidden behind the door.

“What’s gotten into you?
Huh?”

Asada grabbed her and tried to forcibly drag her toward the bed.

“Let me go.
Let me go.”

She raged wildly, dragging Asada along with her.

“What’s gotten into ya?
Huh?
So you did that with the port engineer from earlier too?
This is troublesome!”

“Let me go, I said!”

She thrashed wildly.
She scratched Asada's hand.
After shoving Asada away, she dashed into the corridor.
Yet her husband remained nowhere in sight.
Still wearing white tabi socks on bare feet, she raced out into the night streets.

She collided with her husband at the street corner.
Unbeknownst to her, he had changed into a kimono and pulled a soft cap low over his eyes.
She grabbed onto that sleeve.
Her husband looked at her as if questioning her actions.
With eyes that seemed to ask what she thought she was doing, he brusquely shook off her hand and started running.
She chased after him.
When she dashed on to Yotsuji Crossing, an automobile came speeding from the side.
Inside it sat her husband letting his cigar smolder, face buried in his coat’s collar.
She called out loudly to him and ran toward the automobile.
Yet he merely glanced her way before it sped away.
She chased after the vehicle while shouting his name.
Soon she lost sight of it.
This time he emerged from a dark alley wearing a hunting cap and workman’s coat.
She clung to his arm with all her strength.
But seizing her moment of vulnerability, he threw her to the ground.
Then ran off.
She immediately scrambled up and resumed chasing him.

Her husband kept changing his form and appearing everywhere.
She chased after it and grabbed hold.
She would grab hold and try not to let go.
But no matter what excuse he made, her husband kept slipping from her grasp wherever they were.
She chased.
Until dawn broke, she chased her husband.

“Auntie!”
“Auntie!”

The neighbor girl, holding the baby, called out to her repeatedly and chased after her while crying.

“Auntie!
“The baby… the baby…”

Even after catching up to her, the girl kept crying.
However, it wasn’t out of sorrow.
It was because the baby who had been suffering such a terrible fever had safely recovered.
In other words, the girl was crying from sheer joy.

“Baby! Baby!”
“Has your illness been cured?”
“Is it cured?”
“Baby!”
“That’s wonderful!”

She jiggled the limp baby’s cheeks to rouse him, but he kept sleeping contentedly in his lethargy, never breaking into a smile or even moving his eyes.

“Baby!”
“Why won’t you laugh?”

“Auntie!”
“The baby...the baby...”

The girl was trying to say something through her sobs.

At that moment, a hunting cap peered in.
It was her husband.
He was the baby’s father.
Even though he kept escaping from her grasp, he must have wanted to see his own child's face.
The one who had been fleeing so frantically had now returned without notice and was peering into the baby’s face.

“You!
My, what kind of person are you?
Come on, stop running away and hold the baby for a bit.”

She thrust the baby at her husband.
Her husband looked at her with eyes full of bewilderment.
A face like a Tosa dog’s!
But twisting that dog-like pointed mouth into a scornful smile, her husband ran off.

“You!”
“Don’t run away!”
“Where are you going?”
“You!”
“You!”
“You!”

She chased after her husband.
Holding the baby who continued to sleep like a sleeping doll, she ran as much as she could.

The paved path swelled its grid pattern like a globe's distended belly.
The city's high-rise buildings revealed sharp-angled slopes from both sides that seemed ready to collapse at any moment, their rooftops arrayed like an exhibition of hats - circular, triangular, oval, square.

Before a small oval-crowned building that broke rank from its row, she was seized by a man clad in black.

"What are you doing?"
"Let me go!"
"Let me go!"

However, the man in black clothes did not release her.
She thrashed about like a bird caught in a dog’s jaws.
More men in black approached, clattering long silver rods as they came.
She realized those were Asada’s limbs and frantically tried to escape while she still could.

“Let me go! What are you doing? Let me go, please?”

She thrashed about wildly, trying to escape the men in black.
She scratched their hands to pieces.
But the men in black absolutely would not release her.
Not only that, but the men in black even took the baby from her.
They took him away completely.
And so, under Asada’s orders, they tried to take her to the hotel where Asada was waiting—however, because she thrashed about so violently, the men in black couldn’t bring her to the Koto Hotel where Asada waited.
Instead, they took her to another hotel nearby.

That hotel was as sturdy as a prison.

The maids were all wearing white clothes.
Several menservants in black clothes were there.
She was thrown into a room by many hands.—From somewhere came her husband's voice.
There was also the sound of the baby crying.
The baby—who had been sleeping—had been awakened by such rough handling.—She thought she had to escape before Asada arrived.

Before long, menservants in black and maids in white came stomping in.
They must be taking her to Asada's room.
She resisted.
She thrashed wildly.—But they were too many.
When they carried her out to another room, they stripped her naked and bound her tightly with leather straps to the pure white bed.
Now she had no choice but to resign herself to Asada's violation.

However, the one who unexpectedly entered was not Asada.
He was a tall, slender man wearing white clothes.
However, surprisingly, the man only made her open her mouth to look at her tongue and stroked her chest and abdomen.
No matter how many times the man came, he repeated only those same actions.
Sometimes they would bring a black rubber tube and press its tip against her abdomen or chest, but that was all they ever did.

She couldn't understand—what purpose did this hotel have in keeping her confined like this? Yet both her husband and baby were imprisoned somewhere within these walls in the same way. Her husband's screams pierced through the air. The infant's wails gouged at her heart. They kept filling her mind with ominous hints—they must be planning to sell them somewhere. Human sacrifices for port construction! This hotel truly engaged in such business. Then suddenly, her husband had escaped from the hotel. Hearing his desperate cries, she too had fled to join forces with him and reclaim their child.

“—It’s near that window.
“There—you can hear it, can’t you?
“There—can’t you hear it? Our baby’s crying from above those clouds!”

She raised her hand and pointed at the high-rise buildings floating like a mirage above the parting mist.
Her fingertip continued trembling like a single white strand of silk—tiny, rapid, nervous, and yet terrifying.

“There—you see?
“That crying sound—it’s our baby, isn’t it? Oh!”
“How pitiful.”
“There—he’s crying so terribly now.”
“Can’t you hear it?”

She listened intently.
He too furrowed his brows and strained his ears.
But he couldn’t clearly discern the noise coming from beyond the cold, trembling curtain.

“Oh! They’re here!”
“They’re here!”
“Please help me!”
“Please help me!”
“They’ve come to drag me away again!”
“There they are!”
“They’re here!”

She suddenly cried out and clung to his arm.
Just then, five or six nurses in white uniforms and attendants in black happi coats came clattering over.

“This time, she’s convinced this gentleman is her husband.”

One of the nurses approached her and said:

“Whenever she sees a man, she thinks he’s her husband—what a troublesome case.”

The attendant said with a laugh, then tried to drag her away.

“Please give back my baby.”
“Please give back my baby and Matsushima.”

“This woman still believes the dead baby is alive.”

The nurse said with a pitying smile.

“So, what exactly happened to this Matsushima person she keeps talking about?”
“Is he alive?”
“Did he die?”

The attendant asked with a serious face.

“If we can clarify that matter completely,” said one of them with a pitying smile.