Pathway to Japanese Literature

Eccentric Medical Student

Medical student Fukiya Ryuji had been thinking of nothing but intestines since morning that day as well.

When the clock struck three in the afternoon, he went out.

The house he lived in was an extremely peculiar residence—merely shaped like a dwelling—beneath the arch of an elevated railway line.

This Fukiya Ryuji, who lived in such a peculiar house, was himself an exceedingly eccentric medical student—one who, though not even an assistant, had already been enrolled in the university’s medical department for seven years, making him a long-term student of unparalleled duration in all Japan.

That this was the case stemmed from his original policy of taking only the subject-based coursework exams he fancied, adopting as his motto to never be greedy. Therefore, even though he had already spent seven years since enrollment, he still had around five failed subjects remaining.

He rarely attended school and generally lived a quiet life in his eccentric home, which stood right in the midst of the usual commotion.

There had probably been no more than three people who had ever peered into his house.
One was the landlord, and the other was the person he was about to call regarding the intestine—in other words, someone like Dr. Kumamoto.

He wore long hair clumped like a lion’s mane atop his bluish face, his exceedingly frail body wrapped in a black uniform with gleaming worn-out gold buttons, and approached the public telephone booth in front of the station.

The place he was calling was the affiliated hospital of XX Prison, which housed 2,700 male inmates.
Since female nurses were not permitted there, everything was handled by male nurses of the same sex.
That exposing male prisoners to women was ill-advised had already been a well-known fact.

“Yes, this is XX Prison Hospital.”

“Ah, so this is XX Prison Hospital, eh?”
“Hmph. Get me Dr. Kumamoto.”
“Me? Just tell them I’m Inomata or something.”

And so, for some reason, he used a pseudonym, spoke with an imperious tone, and left the operator trembling over the copper wire’s extension.

“Ah, Kumamoto.
“I—you know without me saying it.
“Everything set for today?
“No slip-ups?
“You did prepare the intestine like I told you.
“Third window from the south.
“Get it wrong and I’ll make sure you lose your job—then starve.
“Not a threat.
“Just keep nodding ‘Yes sir’ and do as I say.—Going now.
“Count on it.
“Eleven sharp.”

With that, he ended the phone call—one that anyone would find outrageous.

Speaking of Dr. Kumamoto, he was the chief surgeon of XX Prison Hospital whose beautiful character was praised by society. He had a wife as beautiful as a mannequin doll at home and had amassed considerable savings, making him a medical scholar who seemed the very embodiment of happiness.

Yet for some reason, Fukiya had a bad habit of summarily dismissing the doctor without hearing him out. According to him, Dr. Kumamoto was nothing but a despicable fraud who couldn’t be tolerated upwind—a scheming intellectual who needed to be thoroughly tormented in heaven’s stead, he claimed.

While disparaging him in this way, medical student Fukiya fully utilized Dr. Kumamoto—who was dozens of steps his senior academically—benefiting considerably from the doctor’s favors, yet he constantly employed him like a slave.

“You did prepare the intestine for me, right?”

Earlier, Fukiya had made such a phone call, but from this, it seemed he was once again resorting to intimidation tactics against Dr. Kumamoto.
But what exactly was this “preparing the intestine” about?
What was he plotting now—and what was he thinking?

The answer would not come until eleven o'clock tonight.

Third window

It was already 10:58 PM.

A university student’s body thudded heavily against the small iron gate of XX Prison Hospital.
“Hurry up and close it!”
With that complaint, he pushed against the iron gate.

The iron gate opened easily.
It wasn’t locked with a padlock; instead, there was merely a concrete block placed beneath the iron gate as a counterweight, keeping it slightly in place.

“Hey—”

The guard, greeted by Fukiya, bowed promptly.
For reasons unknown, the guard charitably interpreted that this medical student—who audaciously referred to the hospital’s great authority, Dr. Kumamoto, without honorifics—must be descended from an old feudal lord’s lineage like Dr. Kumamoto himself, despite his uncouth appearance; thus, at this gate, he always rendered the first formal salute.

Hmph—with a snort, Fukiya Ryuji, the disheveled medical student with a lion’s mane of hair, passed before the guard and walked toward the dark hospital’s shrubbery. He quickened his steps briskly and walked, weaving through the dark garden with owl-like deftness. Before long, the Fourth Ward appeared before his eyes.

(It was the third window from the south.)

He approached the window fearlessly. There lay something resembling a mandarin orange crate. This must be another one of Dr. Kumamoto’s services—he decided—and used it as a stepping stool. And with a grunt, he thrust the heavy window upward.

The window pane smoothly slid upward. Rightly so—Dr. Kumamoto had oiled the pulley shaft supporting the window, which was why it rose so easily.

Therefore, Fukiya Ryuji, the medical student, was able to snatch up an unusually thick glass tube, roughly one meter long, from the table right before him with an eagle-like grasp.

“Well, well, it’s in here!”

Medical student Fukiya held the hefty glass tube up toward the streetlamp glowing atop the wall and peered through it.
The glass tube was filled to its brim with a clear liquid, and submerged within it was a viscous, mud-like mass of a murky color somewhere between gray and pale violet.

“Yeah—the thing I’d been wanting had finally come into my possession. This thing was truly fantastic.”

Fukiya lowered the window pane back into place with a self-satisfied grin.
Then, grasping the thick glass tube he had stolen in his right hand like a cane, he descended to the ground.

“Ah, a night garden stroll is quite pleasant, isn’t it?”

As he passed in front of the gatehouse, he offered a greeting utterly unbefitting him.
But he must have been extremely pleased with the organ obtained that night.

“Oh! M-my deepest respects!”

The guard stiffened his entire body and returned the greeting with genuine awe.

When he exited the gate, he shouldered the thick glass tube and strode off briskly, still in his geta.
And after three whole hours, he finally returned home.
The town lay quiet and still, as though exhausted from its earlier commotion and collapsed.

He was able to enter the house without being seen by anyone.
He turned on the light.

“Hmm, truly magnificent.”
“What a splendid intestine.”

He lifted the glass tube, held it up to the electric lamp, and sighed three times in admiration.

In a slightly bluish-tinged liquid, the thing he called an "intestine" lay thickly settled.

“Ah, it’s alive!”

The pale violet intestine, upon closer inspection, was squirming and writhing.
It was performing peristalsis in Ringer’s solution.

A living intestine!

The thing that Fukiya Ryuji, the medical student, had been earnestly pleading with Dr. Kumamoto for over a year now was indeed this living intestine.
Even when complying with other requests, Dr. Kumamoto had stubbornly refused to grant this one wish regarding the living intestine.

“What’s this, Doctor?
“You’ve got 2,900 male prisoners there, don’t you?”
“Among them there’ll be ones who get executed, ones who die of appendicitis or sudden unnatural causes—right?”
“Out of that number, you shouldn’t be unable to fudge a mere hundred centimeters of intestine.”
“Hey, you! If you won’t listen, maybe I should go ahead with that thing we both know about, huh?”
“If you don’t like it, just do as I say!”

Through such blackmail, he had finally acquired the long-coveted living intestine after a year of waiting.

Why had he wanted to obtain such a grotesque living intestine?
Was it to satisfy his obsessive collecting habit?

No!

Life in Ringer’s Solution

A living intestine—such a thing was not particularly rare in the literature.

If one consults a physiology textbook, they will find guinea pig intestines, rabbit intestines, dog intestines, and even human intestines—all alive in Ringer’s solution—described in such overwhelming numbers that it becomes tiresome.

Even as a specimen, a living intestine was not particularly rare.

What Fukiya Ryuji, the medical student, secretly prided himself on here was that this magnificent, broad large intestine—longer than a walking stick at 100 cm—continued its lively peristalsis within a thick glass tube filled with Ringer’s solution.
Such a splendid specimen probably didn’t exist anywhere in the world.
“Truly, my Dr. Kumamoto has his merits,” he declared, offering a reverent salute toward the glass tube.

He decorated the living intestine in the center of the room.
He hung a string from the ceiling and tied the mouth of the glass tube to it.
Underneath, he constructed a stand to support the base of the glass tube.

Medical student Fukiya’s room—already cluttered with mountains of musty medical books and a mysterious jumble of rusted surgical tools and instruments crammed into its narrow space—had always presented a bizarre spectacle. But now, with the arrival of this extraordinary guest, the “living intestine,” its grotesque appearance was finally complete.

Fukiya brought a high-legged tripod chair to the front of the glass tube hanging from the ceiling.
He perched himself atop it, crossed his arms as though profoundly affected, and stared fixedly at this strange fragment of human anatomy squirming within the clear liquid.

Squirm... squirm, squirm.

Shudder, shudder, shudder.

As he watched, the intestine—with a complexity of expression that no human face could ever convey—bent and contorted the entire surface.

“How strange.”
“But when I look at this one like this, it feels like a higher creature than humans.”

And then Medical Student Fukiya abruptly uttered an exceptional insight that transcended logic.

From then on, Medical Student Fukiya—as if he himself might become a living intestine—remained frozen like a stone statue before the glass tube, never once tearing his gaze away from the living intestine.

As for meals—to put it indelicately—he seemed to have drastically reduced even his excretion.
Even for just a minute or two, he disliked leaving the living intestine’s presence.

Such a state continued for three days.

And so it came to pass.

Exhausted from days of tense living, he had apparently fallen asleep on the tripod chair and awoke with a start to the sound of his own loud snoring.
The room was pitch black.

He was struck by an ominous premonition.
Immediately he jumped down from the chair and twisted the light switch.
Because he thought the precious living intestine might have been stolen.

“Hmm… Well, that’s a relief.”

The glass tube containing the intestine was still hanging from the ceiling.

But he soon let out a shriek-like scream.

“Oh no!
The intestine isn’t moving!”

He thudded onto the floor, landing hard on his backside.
He clawed at his hair like a madman.
A jet-black storm of despair!

“Wait a minute—”

He flushed red by himself and stood up.
He took a pipette in hand.
And climbed onto the tripod chair.

He drew the clear liquid from the glass tube into the pipette until it was full.
And he poured it into the drain.

After that, he took down a bottle labeled “10,000-fold choline solution” from the chemical shelf and inserted the empty pipette into it.

The solution was drawn up from below.

He nimbly leaped back onto the tripod chair again.
And then, he gently transferred the pipette holding the choline solution into the glass tube.

The liquid dissolved quietly into the Ringer’s solution.

His eyes staring fixedly into the glass tube were terrifying.
But, after a while, a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“It started moving.”

The intestine once again began to twist... twist, twist with peristalsis.
"I must be losing it, forgetting the choline like that."

He let out a deep sigh while blushing like a bashful girl.

“The intestine is still alive. But if I don’t start the training immediately, it might die partway through.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and thrust his arms into a soiled surgical gown hanging on the wall.

Magnificent Experiment

He became as lively as a different person.

“Alright, time for training!”

What kind of training could this be?
He walked around the room, gathering hoses, purifiers, stands, and various other items.

“Alright... In this greatest experiment since the dawn of medical history, I’ll surely claim victory!”

He continued muttering to himself as he gathered more retorts, wire meshes, Bunsen burners, and other equipment.

Before long, he stood amidst the gathered tools and began assembling the experimental apparatus like a stagehand preparing theater props.

Swiftly, the grand construction of glass, metal fittings, and liquid took elaborate shape.
The structure appeared to be centered around the glass tube containing the living intestine.

The light switch was flipped, and the pilot lamp changed from blue to red.
In the room's corner, the pump motor began rotating with a low rumbling sound.

The eyes of Fukiya Ryuji, the medical student, took on an increasingly sinister gleam.

Just what was he about to begin?

Electricity flowed, and a pale blue flame was lit on the Bunsen burner.

Into the glass tube containing the living intestine, two thin glass tubes were inserted.

From one of them, small bubbles bubbled up.

Fukiya Ryuji hung a large drawing board-like object around his neck with a string and, while licking the tip of his pencil, moved back and forth between the ammeter, hydrometer, and thermometer, marking the graph paper hung around his neck with colored pencils.

Curves of red, blue, green, purple, and black gradually stretched across the graph paper.

As he did so, he tilted his head slightly before the glass tube and gazed intently at the intestine continuing its wriggling.

He had literally forgotten to eat and sleep as he persisted in this grueling experiment. His exertions defied all human limits.

When he compared the intestine’s condition at six o’clock that morning with its state at six in the evening, there was indeed a subtle shift in its appearance.

And when another twelve hours had passed, some new alteration would invariably be discerned.

As the experiment advanced, the temperature of the Ringer’s solution crept upward degree by degree, while its concentration dwindled in gradual increments.

On the fourth day of the experiment, the liquid inside the glass tube containing the intestine had become almost entirely water.

On the sixth day of the experiment, the liquid inside the glass tube had vanished, replaced by a pale red gas that swirled cloud-like.

Inside the glass tube, unaware that the liquid had vanished, the intestine continued twitching rhythmically with peristalsis.

The medical student Fukiya’s face wore a rigid smile, like a Noh theater mask from a madman’s frenzied dance.

“Hmph, hmph.
No—even getting this far means I’ve splendidly shattered the annals of world medicine!”
“A living intestine thriving in a gaseous environment!”
“Ah, what a magnificent experiment!”

He prepared one new device after another, discarding the old ones each time.

On the eighth day of the experiment, the gas inside the glass tube had turned completely colorless and transparent.

On the ninth day of the experiment, the Bunsen burner's flame went out.
The gas that had been bubbling came to a stop.

On the tenth day of the experiment, even the sound of the motor came to an abrupt stop.
The laboratory fell silent as a ruin.

That occurred precisely at three o'clock in the morning.

For an additional twenty-four hours, he left it untouched with meticulous care.

It was three o'clock in the morning the day after those twenty-four hours had passed.
He hesitantly brought his face close to the glass tube.

Inside the glass tube, the intestine now continued its vigorous squirming in atmospheric conditions of normal temperature and humidity.

Through his uniquely devised training method, Fukiya Ryuji—the medical student—had succeeded in an experiment no medical student worldwide had ever attempted: sustaining an intestine's survival in atmospheric conditions.

Cohabitation

The medical student Fukiya learned to play with the living intestine that lay sprawled on the table before him.

To his astonishment, the living intestine even began to show reactions resembling emotions.

When he used a pipette to add a small amount of sugar water into one end of the living intestine, the intestine would immediately begin lively peristalsis.
And before long, part of the intestine stretched up from the table toward him,

“Give me more sugar water.”

Chiko made such a gesture.

“Ah ha, so you want more sugar water, do you?
“I’ll give you some.”
“But just a tiny bit now, okay?”

With that, Fukiya gave another drop of sugar water to the living intestine.

(What a higher-order creature!)

Fukiya clicked his tongue in silent awe.

And so, even as he played with the living intestine he had trained before his very eyes, he occasionally felt it all might be some fantastical dream.

For years now, he had nurtured one revolutionary theory.

If a fragment of intestine could survive immersed in Ringer’s solution, then surely—even without Ringer’s solution—it should endure within any other nutritive medium.

In essence, one only needed to provide survival conditions equivalent to those that Ringer’s solution gave to the living intestine through another nutrient medium.

Having arrived at that point, he reasoned that if a human intestine were indeed alive, it must possess nerves and could undergo physiological changes to adapt to its environment; therefore, he theorized at his desk that as long as appropriate nourishment could be provided to the living intestine, it might not be impossible to make that intestine subsist in atmospheric conditions.

Based on such fundamental concepts, he conducted exhaustive research.
As a result, it was only about a year ago that he finally gained something resembling true confidence.

His experiment finally achieved great success.
And moreover, through what one might call surprisingly simple labor—

A certain experimental scholar once remarked that rather than agonizing over contemplation, acting first leads to victory.
That was indeed true.

Yet when he thought about how this “living intestine”—a notion that had first struck him during his contemplations as utterly preposterous—now squirmed round and round alive on the table before his very eyes, it all felt like a dream.

However, there was another matter that demanded special emphasis: the intestine he was now cultivating in atmospheric conditions was displaying a variety of fascinating reactions he had never anticipated.

For instance, as already explained, he had never anticipated that this living intestine would display gestures suggesting it wanted more sugar water.

That was not all.
As he played with the intestine, he continued to discover one after another that this living intestine exhibited various reactions.

When he pressed the tip of a thin platinum rod against the living intestine and transmitted a 600-megacycle oscillating current through the rod, his living intestine abruptly oozed thick mucus.

Then, Fukiya applied sound waves of precise frequency—produced by a tuning fork—to a section of the living intestine’s intestinal wall in a specific sequence, eventually discovering that part of that wall had become acutely sensitive to sound.
First, it seemed a capability resembling a human eardrum had developed there.
He grew convinced he would soon be able to hold conversations with the living intestine.

The living intestine, due to its existence in atmospheric conditions, had gradually dried out on its surface.
And an epidermis-like substance peeled off repeatedly.
In the end, the living intestine’s appearance came to be mostly covered by skin that closely resembled slightly faded human lips.

Around the fiftieth day after the living intestine’s birth—"birth" here referring to the day this intestine began inhabiting atmospheric conditions—the new organism had developed to the point where it could freely wander about Fukiya Ryuji’s room, whether across tabletops or books.

“Hey Chiko, I’ve made some sugar water here.”

Chiko was the affectionate nickname for the living intestine.

With that, Fukiya clapped his hands by the shallow dish filled with sugar water, and Chiko—seemingly delighted—arched its "back" (?) mountain-high.
When Chiko developed an appetite, his creature would slowly crawl alone to the ashtray and drink the sugar water with splashing sounds.
The sight was a terrifying thing to behold.

And so, Fukiya Ryuji, the medical student, first brought the cultivation experiment of the living intestine Chiko to a temporary conclusion, then resolved to draft a grandiose academic paper from this point onward—one that would make the world’s medical scholars collapse in shock.

One day—it was the 120th day since Chiko’s birth.
He resolved to finally begin writing his grand academic paper starting the following day, and before that, he thought he would go out for a bit.

Before he knew it, autumn had deepened; outside, the withered leaves of plane trees raced along the pavement with the wind. It was growing colder. If it had been just him alone—but this winter he had to live with Chiko—he thought of going into town to find a properly functioning electric stove and such. Moreover, the stockpiled canned goods had completely run out, so he wanted to replenish those as well. For Chiko’s sake, he would go search out all sorts of soups.

For these hundred-odd days, he had not once set foot outside the threshold.

“I’m going out for a bit.”
“I’ve made plenty of sugar water on the corner table, okay?”

Suddenly longing to go outside, he gave Chiko only a cursory reminder about meals, locked the entrance, and dashed out into the street.

Miscalculation.

Fukiya Ryuji, the medical student, ended up spending seven whole days carousing outside.

The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, a world of splendid joy and solace awaited him.
His instincts suddenly coursed down his spine like a flood.
He followed his instincts, swimming through pleasure districts night and day without rest.
And on the seventh day, he came to his senses a little.

He became slightly concerned about Chiko’s meals.
When he counted the days, that sugar water should have been running low by now.

“Ah well, one more day shouldn’t hurt.”

Having thought that, he continued to carouse.

That evening, for reasons unknown, he turned his steps toward ○○ Prison Hospital.
And then he visited Dr. Kumamoto.

Dr. Kumamoto was astonished to see Fukiya sitting in the reception room transformed into an all-too-human human.

“What became of that matter from before?”

Dr. Kumamoto inquired softly.

“Ah, you’re talking about the living intestine.
“I’ll publish that eventually, heh heh heh.”

“How many days was the matter active for?”

“Ah hah, I’ll publish it eventually—but you see, Dr. Kumamoto.”
“That intestine thing expresses emotions, you know.”
“It’s like it shows some kind of affection toward me, you know.”
“It’s true.”
“Absolutely astonished—by the way, what prisoner’s intestine was that?”
“Tell me.”

“……”

Dr. Kumamoto did not respond.

Had it been the usual Fukiya, he would have berated the doctor outright for not responding—but on that day alone, he seemed in an exceptionally good mood, stroking his chin with a grin.

“And then, Dr. Kumamoto—compile the literature on hormones and give it to me.—Speaking of hormones, what happened to that beautiful telephone operator who used to work at this hospital? That girl who was still single and holding out even at twenty-four—the one I’m talking about.”

With that, Fukiya peered into Dr. Kumamoto’s face with a strangely suggestive smirk.

“Oh—that girl—”

Dr. Kumamoto’s face suddenly changed color.

“As for that girl, she’s already dead—from appendicitis, you know. Q-quite some time ago.”

“Oh, she died?”
“If she’s dead, then there’s nothing to be done.”

Fukiya uttered a voice as if having suddenly lost all interest in that girl.
Then, saying he would come again, he strode briskly out of the room.

At one o'clock in the morning of that late night.

Fukiya Ryuji, the medical student, finally returned to the front of his home on the eighth day.

He awkwardly inserted the key into the entrance lock.

(I might've overdone it a bit...
Living intestine - right, I did name her Chiko.
Wonder if Chiko's still alive.
Ah well, even if she dies - doesn't matter.
Anyway, I'd already gathered enough research material to make every medical scholar in the world lose their pants.)

He removed the key from the entrance lock.

And then he opened the door and went inside.

A pungent, moldy smell struck his nose.
Mingled with it, he thought he detected something like a woman’s body odor.

(That’s odd.)

The room was pitch-dark.

He groped for the wall switch and twisted it.

The light flared to life.
He looked around the room with eyes that seemed dazzled.

Chiko was nowhere to be seen on the table either.

(Oh—did Chiko die?)
(Or did she slip out through a crack into the street?)

He wondered—then abruptly noticed—and turned his gaze to the glass bowl of sugar water he’d prepared for Chiko before leaving.

The bowl still held half its contents.
He gasped in shock.

“Huh? I thought the sugar water would’ve been completely empty by now—what the hell did that thing Chiko do?”

It was such a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment.

Before Fukiya’s eyes, something resembling a white cane let out a groan and came flying at him with a whoosh.

“Gah!”

No sooner had he thought this than it coiled around Fukiya’s neck.

“Ugh—”

Fukiya’s neck was constricted with tremendous force, squeezed tight.
He clawed at empty air and collapsed heavily where he stood.

The medical student Fukiya Ryuji’s body was discovered half a year later.
It was only when the landlord came to collect the rent—which was supposed to be paid once a year—that anyone found out.
His body had already turned into a skeleton.

No one knew the cause of Fukiya Ryuji’s death.

And furthermore, no one knew about the groundbreaking experiment concerning “the living intestine Chiko” that he had left behind.

The experiment on “the living intestine” was left entirely blank.

Only Dr. Kumamoto occasionally recalled the “living intestine” he had supplied to Fukiya.
In fact, that intestine had not belonged to any prisoner.

Just whose abdominal cavity had “the living intestine” been extracted from?

It was that of a twenty-four-year-old virgin telephone operator who had worked at XX Prison Hospital.
She had died of appendicitis—and since it was Dr. Kumamoto who had performed the surgery, the rest requires no explanation.

The fact that the “living intestine” severed from a virgin’s abdominal cavity had coiled around medical student Fukiya’s neck and killed him was something even Dr. Kumamoto—who secretly rejoiced at his death—did not know.

Let alone could he have imagined that Chiko—the “living intestine”—had cohabited with Fukiya for 120 days and developed an intense attachment to him; that upon hearing his voice when he returned on the eighth day, she had leaped at his neck out of sheer delight and, tragically, strangled him to death.

That medical student Fukiya Ryuji—who never realized the “living intestine” was, of all things, the intestine of such a woman—had truly done a pitiable thing.