Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“Hey there, old man—where’re you from?” called Soukou, the artisan-type man, addressing the elderly rickshaw puller beside him. The elderly rickshaw puller was well past fifty, likely nearing sixty. Starving, his voice feeble and trembling from the cold,

“I most humbly beg your pardon—I’ll be sure to mind myself from now on. Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He was thrown into a fluster and panic. “Old man, don’t you panic. “Look, I ain’t no police officer. “Hey now—poor thing’s still shaken up bad, ain’t ya? Damn, you’re way too timid.” “There’s no call for them to tie you up or nothin’, so you don’t gotta be shakin’ in your boots like that.” “Just listenin’ to one side of it got me so damn riled up I couldn’t take it no more.” “So, old man—heard they chewed you out over your shabby getup, but even so, that’s one hell of a scolding—what’d you do, mess somethin’ up bad? Huh, old man?”

When questioned, the elderly rickshaw puller let out a sigh,

“Yes, sir, I was truly startled. “Being reprimanded by the Officer was this old man’s first time—yes, sir—and I was so beside myself I didn’t know what would become of me. “Though I’ve no courage left to speak of, in its place I’ll never do anything underhanded. “There was truly no particular misconduct just now—it’s simply that my loincloth tore, exposing my legs below the knees, so he says it looks unsightly—yes, sir—I’m not unaware of the regulations, but I couldn’t manage to mend it in time—yes, sir—then suddenly he barks ‘Hey!’ “and being shouted at like that gave me such a fright that my heart’s still pounding even now.”

Soukou nodded repeatedly.

“Mmm, s’pose that’s right. Timid folks from before the Restoration are the type to go scared o’ cops, ya know. What’s the damn fuss? Just ’cause he ain’t got no loincloth—no call to rake ’im over the coals so hard. It ain’t some master’s rickshaw he’s drivin’—hmm, meddlin’ where they ain’t wanted, eh old man? Even if them lot don’t say nothin’, in this cold we’d wanna be wearin’ our own loincloths, but when folks can’t afford ’em on their own account, they just can’t wear ’em. Ain’t sayin’ you’re wearin’ nothin’ at all. And it’s a pitch-black night where you can’t see nothin’ beyond your own damn lanterns, ain’t it? What’s manners or appearances got to do with it? Just ’cause that bastard’s freezin’ his ass off on the job don’t mean he’s gotta take it out on decent folks. Hmph! Winter Crow bastard. Bastards like that are rare enough—if it were some backwater with little traffic, even in broad daylight they’d turn a blind eye to a bit o’ loiterin’. Infuriatin’. It ain’t like I need to meddle in others’ business, but if this were some young buck, maybe—but a poor totterin’ old man? Damn shame. Hey now, don’t go gettin’ all riled up—honestly, draggin’ a rickshaw in this state? Can’t imagine what’s driven ya to it. Tch! Bastard—if it weren’t for that saber, I’d beat the stuffin’ outta ya! Quit actin’ so damn high an’ mighty already! Hmph! That’s your precious Moat Patrol route! One wrong move an’ I’ll hoist you up like a sittin’ duck!”

Having cursed the long-departed officer with every imaginable insult while venting his fury—even unconsciously rubbing his own arms in agitation—Soukou was struck speechless with pity when he saw the elderly rickshaw puller’s wretched state: the man now replenished the candle in his soot-blackened Yotsuya Association lantern before weakly taking up the shafts again. “So old man—you got no one but yourself workin’? Not even grandkids?”

Spoken to kindly, the elderly rickshaw puller teared up. “I am most grateful for your kindness—indeed, I’d been fortunate to have one dutiful son who worked hard for me. You see, sir, on nights like these I’d have been unworthy to sleep warm with a hibachi at my feet. But my son—ah, sir—was taken into the army this autumn. Now my daughter-in-law and two grandchildren do their best to care for me, yet we struggle to make ends meet. Like father, like son—my old man too once plied this trade—so even at my age, I know a thing about pulling rickshaws. But these days they compete with ones that’re sturdy, clean, and cheap—all three virtues combined! For a rickshaw like mine, only tea masters or exceptionally charitable customers would ever ride it. They say poverty can’t catch hard work, but no matter how much I earn, we barely scrape through each day. Naturally, I can’t mind my appearance—and so I end up troubling the Officer like this.”

Soukou, having listened to the exceedingly long-winded complaint without finding it tedious, was deeply moved, “Old man, not that he had any call to say it… Hmm, but you’re right. From what I hear, they’ve gone and drafted your only son into the army—probably sendin’ him off to war, ain’t they? If that’s how it is, don’t just sit there mum—raise hell about it! Make ’em cough up some drink money to make up for all the trouble they’re causin’!” “Oh, you flatter me—though I did mention that very matter in my defense, I received no consideration whatsoever.”

Soukou’s indignation swelled ever greater, his pity deepening all the more—

“What a stubborn mule—that cruel Winter Crow bastard. But what’s the use in sayin’ it now? By the way, old man—won’t take but a moment—let’s walk together up that way. Let’s have five gō by the hibachi! Don’t be shy—there’s something I want to discuss.” “Well, ain’t that just fine.” “That trade ain’t suited to you.” “That bastard! Grabbing an old man like this and snarlin’ like a rabid dog—what’s he think he’s doin’, huh? Let him so much as point a finger at you now, and I’m your guardian now!”

Where the gaze filled with indignation, contempt, and resentment fell—around the earthen wall of the British Embassy in Kōjimachi Ichibanchō—a corner lantern, half-hidden by willow groves, moved southward. Its light in the dark night was like the eye of a beast.

II

That beast making its rounds near the embassy was the police officer named Yoshinobu Hatta. He had departed from a certain town’s police box at noon on December 10, Meiji 27 (1894), and embarked upon his one-hour alternating patrol route.

His gait—as though governed by some fixed law particular to this police officer—advanced down the road neither lagging nor hastening, each step deliberate and measured. His body stood rigidly upright, not a hair’s breadth out of alignment to left or right, while his resolutely composed demeanor radiated an unassailable dignity. Under the visor of his police cap, the fiercely concealed gaze shone with an uncanny gleam—a blend of nimbleness, sharpness, and severity. When surveying left and right or peering above and below, he neither shifted his face nor twisted his neck—yet his pupils rotated freely, performing their function as he pleased.

Thus, every trivial matter along his path—the faintly visible white patches of trampled grass along the moat’s edge marked with snake-like trails of footprints; the reddish-black glow of lamplight cast upon a second-floor windowpane of the British Embassy; the two gas lamps before its gate burning slightly dimmer than the previous night; a single frozen straw sandal abandoned mid-street, rigid with frost; the withered willows lining the roadside rustling with a swish as a gust of northwind bent them uniformly southward; a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney of the distant Electricity Bureau—none of these minutiae could escape the patrolman’s scrutiny.

Moreover, after leaving the police box and reprimanding an elderly rickshaw puller on the street, he had not once looked back from that point until arriving here.

He focused his gaze so sharply, minutely, and severely upon the path ahead that he seemed utterly oblivious to all behind him. For this was because he had already inspected what lay behind with his own eyes once and, having deemed it devoid of abnormalities, dismissed it from consideration. Were there a ruffian swinging a naked blade to stab him from behind, the patrolman would not have realized another soul stood at his back until his final breath ceased. In short, he believed that once his eyes had scrutinized a matter—even were it as minute as the eye of a lotus thread—not a shred of doubt could linger.

Therefore, he maintained composure and dignity—free of ulterior motives, devoid of concern—and was able to calmly focus his attention solely on the path ahead.

His boots—crunching frost in the profound depth of night, footfalls echoing through the empty valley as they carried him onward—had just advanced near Ichibanchō’s bend when his customary gaze fixed upon a crouched form beneath a crown-gate to the right, stirring at the sound of his approach. Officer Hatta fixed his gaze upon her—a woman of extreme emaciation. Holding an infant—perhaps having let her guard down in the deep night’s absence of onlookers—she had loosened her sash to press the child against her bare skin and was using the tattered quilted garment she wore as a cover to impart whatever meager warmth she could. What must have been in that mother’s heart?

Even if one gave not a single coin to that mother and child, who would not pity them? Yet the police officer stomped his feet two or three times at the woman’s bedside, “Hey! Get up! Get up!”

he declared in a voice that was deep yet filled with force. The woman hastily jumped up and hurriedly adjusted her appearance.

“Yes,” she answered, her teeth chattering out of sync as she buried her head in the dirt.

The police officer declared in a grave tone sharpened to a blade’s edge: “That ‘yes’ means nothing. You can’t sleep here. Move along—what a disgraceful spectacle.” The woman buried her shame beneath trembling breaths: “Y-yes, sir—terribly sorry, sir.” At this abject apology’s precise moment, the infant—ripped from dreams—remembered hunger and cold forgotten in sleep, but even its subsequent wail withered into exhausted silence. The mother, heedless of prying eyes, desperately pressed the child to her breast while—

“Since it’s late at night, I beg for your mercy, sir.” “Please, sir, deign to see with your own eyes.”

The police officer remained impassive, “The law makes no distinction between night and day. You can’t sleep here under the eaves.” Just then, a fierce gust of wind raged with bitter coldness, tearing at the exposed skin of the woman’s limbs as though to rend it to shreds. She trembled violently, curling into a ball-like huddle, “I can’t bear this, sir—please, I beg you.” “Please deign to let me stay here for just a little while longer.” “If I go out into this cold, exposed to the biting wind at the moat’s edge... th-this child would be pitiful, sir.” “I’ve encountered so many misfortunes, and as a sudden charity case, I cannot make sense of my circumstances…” she began, then choked back her words.

Were one to entreat the owner of this house, his consent remained uncertain. However, the police officer would not consent. “No good. Once I say no, no amount of pleading will change it. Even if you were Kannon’s incarnation, you can’t sleep here! Now get going!”

III

“Uncle, you must take care.”

As they came from the direction of Hanzo Gate and were about to turn at the moat’s edge, a young woman warned her elderly companion about his unsteady, drunken steps. In her left hand wearing a knitted glove, she dangled a paper lantern. With her other hand guiding the elderly man. The old man referred to as “Uncle,” steadying his wobbling legs, “Bah, I’m fine.” “Think I’d get drunk on that dribble of sake?” “Anyway—what’s the blasted time?”

The night had deepened. The sky hung heavy and still, with no wind to stir the air. The thoroughfare along the moat stretched into view—ending once at Miyakezaka, then connecting to a stretch of trees and brick buildings that demarcated this portion of Tokyo—this small realm lying silent, where only the stars shone with cold precision. The beauty glanced back with a look of longing for human presence. A hundred paces away stood a dark figure; footsteps echoing, it approached with deliberate slowness.

“Oh, the officer has come.”

The man called Uncle, upon turning and recognizing the shadow of the square lantern, immediately adopted a disagreeable tone,

“What’s with the officer? You look awfully pleased with yourself,” he said, fixing her with his gaze—one eye blind, the other piercing. The woman flinched. “Because it’s terribly lonely out here—could it already be around one o’clock?”

“Yeah, maybe so. Can’t see a single rickshaw around.” “It must be nearly that time, after all.” They walked on in heavy silence. His drunken legs stumbled while approaching footsteps grew ever nearer. The old man raised his voice, “Oka,” he asked with a thin smile playing on his lips, “how was tonight’s wedding?” The woman answered quietly,

“It was truly splendid, Uncle.” “No—not just splendid. What did you think when you saw that?”

The woman looked at the old man's face. “What do you mean?” “You must’ve been green with envy,” the voice mocked. The woman didn’t answer. She seemed to shrink from the icy remark’s sting. The old man struck a pose that screamed “I told you so,” “Well? You were jealous, weren’t you?” “Hey, Oka—you know why I dragged you to that wedding tonight?” “What? I... I do.” “No you don’t.” “Do you even understand my reason?”

The woman remained silent. She did not lower her head. The old man grew increasingly strident. “You wouldn’t understand—no, I daresay you wouldn’t understand at all. “It wasn’t to make you learn the ceremony, nor did I have any mind to treat you to a feast.” “Just to make you envious, to make you feel wretched—to see that face of yours crying inside. That’s all I wanted. Hahaha.” His alcohol-laden breath made facing him unbearable; the woman turned away in desolation. The old man placed his hand on her shoulder,

“Well, Oka? That bride was beautiful—truly a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle.” “Her in that three-layered white-and-red robe, sitting there all bashful-like—that’s a woman’s single glorious hour.” “The bride’s fair enough—but you? You’re nine parts wretched to her one.” “The groom’s a decent sort, but he falls short of that patrolman.” “Imagine if it were you and the officer up there.” “Now that would’ve woken the dead with envy!” “Hey now—if I’d just nodded yes when that patrolman came sniffing after you...” “...with him being life-or-death earnest about it? Might’ve been your blessed day!” “But this floating world won’t have things as we want ’em.” “Me being the meddler I am—I refused him crisp and clean.” “Made the fool dance proper!” “Should’ve known his place from the start—Hatta’s got no foresight in him.” “Officer oaf!”

“Oh, Uncle!”

With a trembling voice—lest it reach the patrolman behind her—she turned around with deliberate care, and the figure that appeared before her eyes... unmistakable even through night’s obscurity.

“Oh!” The word escaped her lips unbidden, leaving her stunned. Officer Hatta became as if struck by a single beam of electric light.

IV

The old man paid no heed to this sudden act performed before him, nor did he show any sign of concern, “Hey, Oka—you must think I’m a merciless bastard.” “Having you resent me is my greatest desire.” “Go ahead and resent me to your heart’s content.” “Anyway, being this cruel, I probably won’t die well—but that’s been my expectation from the start.” The grave demeanor with which he spoke could not be attributed to drink. The woman finally opened her mouth,

“Uncle, what are you saying out here on the public street? Shouldn’t we hurry home?” As she pulled at the old man’s sleeve to hasten away and avoid the patrolman—trying to keep her uncle’s unbearable words from reaching his ears—the uncle paid no heed whatsoever, speaking calmly, even deliberately loud enough to be heard: “That patrolman must think I refused because I’m holding out for some high-ranking official or moneybags—quaking at his measly eight-yen salary. But my reasons aren’t so base.” “If it were someone you despise—the kind who’d suck your lifeblood if you were together—say a leper, a moneylender, or some repeat-offense thief, I’d gladly hand you over.” “If he were a beggar—why, I’d become a beggar myself, surrender all my wealth to him, and make you his wife.” “Hey, Oka—I’d relish watching you suffer like that.” “But that patrolman’s the man you truly loved, isn’t he?” “A man so obsessed he’d think life worthless unless he could have you.” “That’s precisely why I grasped the situation fully—and refused him outright.” “What kind of man lacks ambition so utterly?” “Once I’ve refused, ordinary folk would tell you to abandon all hope—but that’s not my way.” “When Uncle here forbade it—‘Well, I can’t help it either’—and made you renounce everything without cause that day, my grand designs turned to bubbles, vanished completely.” “Mind you—love isn’t some trifling thing.” “You see—the bolder sort grows bolder still when danger strikes; obstacles only deepen their passion. Knowing full well he can’t possibly let go—that’s where the amusement lies.” “Well? Can you let go? Hmm—Oka—have you forgotten that man by now?”

The woman remained silent for a moment, “I… I… no,” she stammered out.

The old man laughed loudly and contentedly, “Hmm, quite right. If you could abandon things so easily, my cruelty would lose all its value. I’m pleading with you now—don’t you dare give up. That’s still insufficient—I want you to pine for that patrolman even more.” The woman could no longer restrain herself and lifted her face,

“Uncle, what could possibly displease you to make you say such wretched things? I…” Her voice caught. The old man scoffed emptily, “What? What displeases me?” “Don’t speak such nonsense—it’s beneath you.” “What nonsense—there’s likely no one I’ve taken a liking to as much as you.” “First off—your looks are fine, your nature’s fine, you’re gentle. Everything you do, down to the way you eat your rice—I’ve taken a liking to it all.” “But such things give no reason to do this or that with the patrolman.” “Even if you saved my life someday—even if I thought of you as my very savior—I’d never hand you over to that patrolman.” “If you were some hateful woman, I wouldn’t go interfering—but since you’re so damn adorable, I went and did it like that.” “Enough with this ‘liking’ or ‘not liking’—spare me your nonsense!”

The woman bristled slightly, “Then you… do you bear some grudge against that person?” Having uttered this, she turned around. The patrolman had now drawn steadily closer—near enough to overhear whispers.

The old man shook his head,

“Well now—I’ve always been rather fond of him.” “Sticking fast to his eight yen and acting like there’s no higher calling than being a patrolman—how absurd!” “The way he obsesses over duty—so cruel, so utterly heartless—not caring a whit about his rotten reputation, never letting slip the smallest transgression… I’m damned fond of that merciless streak of his.” “Well, there’s eight yen’s worth there, I suppose.” “Eight yen ain’t steep—can’t call him a salary thief—a right splendid Eight-Yen Sir, that one.”

The woman, unable to bear it, looked back, slightly bent her waist, raised one hand, and bowed to the Soto Patrolman. However much Oka strove to ensure her uncle would not notice this gesture. In an instant she turned her head back again—and Hatta knew not whether he had made any response to her.

V

“Well now, Eight-Yen Sir has no shortcomings, but I simply cannot hand you over.” “Now, if that guy were some fickle philanderer who’d just gotten briefly led astray by passion—‘If you dislike me, fine then, I’ll try my luck elsewhere’—that shallow sort, I might’ve given my approval. But when I looked into it, this Yoshinobu fellow turned out different from those other men.” “Once he latches onto something, he’s the type who absolutely cannot let go—just like you, seems ready to commit suicide over it.” “How deliciously cruel this is—ha ha ha ha ha!” he sneered.

The woman’s voice trembled, “Then Uncle—what am I supposed to do?” she asked in a voice choked with desperation.

The uncle nonchalantly replied,

“It’s absolutely impossible.” “No matter what you do, it’s absolutely impossible.” “It’s absolutely impossible; don’t say another word. I won’t yield no matter what—Oka, just think of it that way.”

The woman burst into loud sobs. She had even forgotten that she was in the midst of it all.

The uncle paid no heed whatsoever, “Listen—I’ve resolved to say this just once in my life, never hinting at it to you or anyone until now, but since the moment’s here, I’ll make you hear it.” “Listen here—your deceased mother—” The moment she heard the word “mother,” the woman suddenly pricked up her ears, “What? Mother…?” “Hmm… I was completely in love with your deceased mother.” “Oh my… Uncle!”

“Well now, there’s nothing to be shocked about—nor any cause for doubt.” “That mother of yours—your father stole her away.” “Well? Do you get it now?” “Of course your mother never knew who I was, and her brother likewise remained unaware.” “I’ve never spoken it aloud either—but in my heart, in my heart—well now, Oka—you must have that understanding.” “Because I know what a patrolman is.” “When I attended their wedding, when I spent days and nights watching their affection—well now, what do you suppose I felt?”

His voice grew hoarse—the alcohol-reeking, pockmarked face with its high cheekbones taking on a truly monstrous aspect through its single blind eye—as he mustered brutal force to seize Oka’s shoulders and shake them,

“I still haven’t forgotten. That bitterness simply will not fade. That’s why I abandoned all my undertakings. I abandoned my honor as well. I abandoned my home as well. In other words—your mother stole all my life’s happiness and hope. I’d lost all will to live in this world—but I wanted revenge. Not the blade-crossing kind, mind you. No, I clung to this worthless life just to make your parents understand—to force them to know—how deep the agony runs when love betrays you. Yet against those two lovebirds sharing their perfect hopes… I found no way to make them taste that bitterness. If they’d lived a bit longer, I’d have devised a way to make them understand—but alas, whether to call it misfortune or happiness, both vanished, and all that remained was you. Since there was no one else to act as kin, I took you in—made you into this fine woman through three generations’ worth of vengeful obsession. In your parents’ place—well now, Oka—I wanted to make you understand. Fortunately, that Hatta fellow’s become the man you love—so now I can finally achieve my wish. So—with this twisted karma between us, even if you offered me all the riches in the world, I can’t possibly agree to what you’re asking. Steel yourself! It’s utterly hopeless. Ah—you’re covering your ears now, aren’t you?”

Her eyes brimming with tears, Oka trembled violently as she pressed both sleeves to her ears, striving at least to avoid hearing the death sentence—yet the uncle cruelly pried them away. “Ah!” he sneered, forcing his mouth to the ear she twisted away from,

“Well? Do you understand?” “By any means necessary, I’ll make you feel the agony of disappointment even more keenly.” “If you ever forget about that patrolman even a little, I’ll flaunt weddings before you like tonight’s, hold sickening conversations—do everything to torment you.”

“Oh, Uncle—I... I... p-please show me mercy!” “Let go—oh, whatever shall I do?”

Unconsciously, she let out a cry. Officer Hatta, who had been patrolling at a slight distance, involuntarily took a step forward. He had likely intended to pass by that place. Yet he did not advance. He stopped, and after a moment, recoiled backward in hesitation. The patrolman had tried to avoid this location. Still he did not withdraw. In the next instant, Officer Hatta stood motionless like a wooden statue. Then, with renewed austerity, he began walking solemnly forth at his measured pace.

Ah, love is life. How excruciating it must have been for the patrolman to hear those words from the old man—words that sought through indirect means to bring about his demise. Had he quickened his pace even once, Hatta might have swiftly passed them by; or had he deliberately slowed his steps, he might have expelled them beyond his field of vision. However, to strictly adhere to his duties, there existed a complete set of regulations he himself had established for ordinary times. After departing the police box and patrolling several winding roads until returning once more to the station, his step count totaled approximately thirty-eight thousand nine hundred sixty-two. To detour for sentiment, to sprint, amble, or halt—these were acts he deemed unworthy of the responsibility owed to his duties.

VI

The old man still did not release his grip on the woman’s ear and walked as if dragging her along, “Oka—though I say this—I don’t hate you. You look just like your dead mother and are unbearably cute.” “If you were just some hateful wretch, there’d be no value in me takin’ revenge.” “So then—eat what you want, wear what you like—I’ll clothe you even if I ain’t got a stitch myself.” “I’ll indulge every whim of yours—but that one thing I’ll never allow, no matter what. So mark my words.” “I’m at the age where death could take me any day now—you might think you’ll get your way after I’m gone, but I ain’t lettin’ that happen smooth-like. When I die, you’re goin’ with me.”

The moment Oka heard those final words spoken by the uncle in his terrifying voice, she could endure no longer—with all her strength she wrenched free from his grip on her shoulders, stumbled into a desperate run, and in the blink of an eye leapt bodily onto the moat’s embankment. Oka threw herself! Panicking, the old man lunged to pull her back, but his drunken vision misjudged the footing; he slid sideways across the frost and plunged into the water with a splash.

Even before she could see Officer Hatta—who had leapt swiftly for rescue and come rushing—

“Yoshi!” she cried breathlessly, pressing her forehead into the patrolman’s chest as though forgetting both herself and all others, clinging to him with desperate force. The dead tree—ivy still clinging to its trunk—remained coldly unresponsive. Standing rigidly atop the embankment, he brandished his square lantern in one hand and stared fixedly down at the water. The cold defied description: as far as the eye could see—frost-white expanses giving way to water blacker than ink—fierce bubbles erupted where the old man had sunk, thin ice cracking around the disturbance.

Officer Hatta saw this and hesitated for but a second. He set down the square lantern in his hand—when he noticed a single flower hairpin hanging like a badge upon his chest, and Oka’s chest—its heartbeat so fiercely pounding it seemed to sway—pressed flush against his own, making separation unthinkable. He calmly shook her off and, “Step aside.” “Huh? What are you going to do?” Oka looked up at the patrolman’s face from below.

“I’ll save him.” “Uncle?” “Who fell if not your uncle?” “But you—” The patrolman, with austere dignity, “It’s my duty.” “But you—”

The patrolman coolly declared, “Duty.” Oka’s heart seized suddenly, and she turned even paler. “Oh—and you! You can’t swim at all, can you?”

“It’s my duty.”

“But that’s—”

“No good—it’s no use! Even though I want to kill that old man so much—it’s my duty!” “Give it up!” thrusting his hands forward only for her to cling onto them desperately,

“You mustn’t! You mustn’t! “Oh—someone! Please come!” “Help! Help!” she cried out, but the earthen walls and stone embankments stood silent, with not a soul to be seen for ten blocks in either direction. Officer Hatta steeled his voice, “Unhand me!” When he resolutely shook her off—her strength proving insufficient to maintain her grip—the patrolman leapt forth in an instant, casting himself into the water as though discarding his own being. Oka gasped and collapsed. Wretched Hatta—as a police officer seeking to discharge the debt society had imposed—struggled to save this demon who had persistently sought not just his death but his annihilation, all while abandoning neither life nor love in freezing waters at midnight’s depth, though he knew not how to swim. In later days, society at large praised Officer Hatta as benevolent. Ah, was this truly benevolence? Yet how can none praise the relentless devotion of this man—he who with cruelty both callous and severe punished an elderly rickshaw puller deserving compassion, who harshly reprimanded a pitiable mother and child?

(April 1895, "Bungei Kurabu")