Pathway to Japanese Literature

A shrill cackle tore through the air—its staccato rhythm dissolving into guttural shrieks.

An indescribably strange sound suddenly pierced through the air, plunging everyone in the tatami room into silence.

It was a tatami room brimming with utmost festivity.

The inner tatami room of the Kagawa household.
In the spacious adjoining room measuring ten and twelve tatami mats, a crowd of guests in formal crested hakama drank sake and made merry.
Some chanted strange Noh melodies; others sat singing popular ballads while bouncing in place... A gathering of country folk radiating pure simplicity, untouched by even a shadow of unease or ill omen.
Then they all suddenly fell completely silent.

“What in tarnation was that... That voice...”
“That voice...”

“Some kinda beast?”

“Some kinda bird?”

“Some kinda cross between a monkey and a human…”

“But shrikes shouldn’t be crying come early spring…”

Everyone turned their faces toward the direction of the voice and strained their ears.
In the two-ken alcove hung Tanyū’s portrait of Shennong-sama paired with pine and bamboo in a triptych.
In front of these were the groom and household head Sumio Kagawa and the bride Hatsue.
To the lower right of them sat the village headman and his wife, serving as the groom’s parental substitutes.
On the opposite side sat the bride’s biological father—Tonno Yōhaku, an antique-like emaciated man with a goatee—and his portly elderly second wife.
The wedding officiants—Dr. Kurino, chairman of the county medical association, and his wife—sat before the veranda’s shoji screens bathed in a shaft of western sunlight, impeccably attired in frock coats and crested formal kimono with round chignons as befitted their station.
The rest—village office staff, police station personnel, ward chiefs, fire brigade captains, youth association presidents, and their secretaries—about a dozen prominent young and old figures of the village persisted in the lower seats, devouring the rustic dishes crammed before them while circulating three sets of large ceremonial cups borrowed from the tutelary deity: 5-gō (0.9L), 1-shō (1.8L), and 1.5-shō (2.7L) capacities.
Though everyone was quite drunk, it could still be said that the gathering in the tatami room was merely in its initial stages.

The wedding officiants Dr. Kurino and his wife, seated by the veranda’s shoji screens, had been anxiously trying from the start to have the newlyweds withdraw, but Sumio—the groom unaccustomed to rural customs—kept fidgeting yet showed no sign of rising.
Just as he finally seemed poised to rise, yet another guest would arrive bearing a cup, forcing him to settle back down.
And then, just as he had finally gauged the moment when the cups ceased and was seriously attempting to rise, an eerie shriek—different from before—pierced the air, forcing him to slump back down once more.

“Gah... gah... gah... Ebe... ebe...”

“What’s that?”
“Ain’t that th’ mute woman’s voice?”
“Th’ mute woman outcast must’ve come beggin’ fer somethin’.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s comin’ from th’ entrance.”

“Ah! That startled me. I thought they were skinning a live monkey again!”

“Shh… Don’t go talking ’bout monkeys now.”

As if to drown out such talk, a hulking man rose from the lower seats.

“Hey there, groom.”
“Now listen here, Young Master.”
“The bride is truly smitten with you, I tell ya.”

It was Denrokurō Kuroyama—this village’s deputy mayor and its foremost heavy drinker—who thrust a 1-shō capacity ceremonial cup before the groom.
A hulking bald man with a ruddy complexion—veritably a mountain of flesh—sat cross-legged with a warrior’s imposing demeanor before Sumio’s dining tray, but having spread his hakama’s stiff waist panel beneath his buttocks, when the bride Hatsue noticed this, she turned crimson and looked down.

Sumio reverently accepted the large ceremonial cup, but when Denrokurō filled it to the brim with three full bottles of heated sake, he appeared daunted and set it down to wipe his mouth.

Denrokurō planted his elbows and fixed his gaze.
He unleashed a thunderous voice that shook every corner of the tatami room.

“Hey there, Young Master.”
“Now listen here, Dr. Sumio.”
“It ain’t just the bride who’s smitten with you, I tell ya.”
“Every last girl in the village is smitten with you!”
“Even I’m smitten!”
“Right?”
“You’re the first university graduate this village’s ever had, see?”
“And when you’re talkin’ ’bout the Silver Watch honor for top graduates—there’s only one in all of Japan, see?… Right?”
“It ain’t just book smarts either.”
“Things like tennis and whatchamacallit—penis—they called you top of the class in mix-ups and dick-ups at school too!”

The wedding officiants Dr. Kurino and his wife, the elderly Tonno couple, and the newlyweds doubled over with laughter.
Because the young crowd in the lower seats once again burst into raucous laughter, Denrokurō twisted his monk-like head toward them and licked his lips.

“What’s… What’s so funny? What’s so funny? What’s so funny about my English? I still know plenty more, you bastards! Hey, Dr. Tonno. That’s how it is, ain’t it? If we’re talkin’ manly demeanor, he’s a damn sight better man than that Lloyd fella from the talkies, I tell ya. Not even Sakomae or Ryūnosuke could keep up! This talkie nonsense can’t keep up with my words—it’s only just begun, I tell ya… Yeah. Don’t laugh! Don’t laugh! Have you bastards ever even seen the likes of talkie films? The hell you have! You ignorant mountain monkeys! You King Kong drooling dregs…!”

“Ahahaha… Enough, enough, I yield!”
“Spare us your wit already, Mr. Denroku.”
“My guts’ll twist clean off!”
“Ahahaha…”

“Oh ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho!”

“Now now—don’t go sayin’ such things.”
“Just knock back that cup in one go now.”
“Now then, Young Master.”
“I ain’t uttered a single needless word.”
“This here’s me tellin’ everyone to listen up proper.”
“Now then… Young Master’s the only doctor in this whole village.”
“But for this dirt-poor mountain hamlet, he’s too fine a university graduate.”
“Even if old Dr. Nakahaku hisself said it—that herbal quack who never saw a schoolhouse—it wouldn’t wash!”
“Thanks to our medical chairman’s pull, we got Dr. Tonno’s daughter from next village… graduated top of her girls’ school as Science… Yeah… What’s so damn funny?”
“Idiots!”
“What’s… Scien?”
“Y’sayin’ Scien’s the real McCoy?... Morons!”
“Droopy-bearded fools!”
“It’s just that pesky ‘s’ stuck on or not!”
“Bush warblers versus minnows… Barracudas versus sickles… Worlds apart! Whole damn worlds apart!”
“‘Science’ beats ‘Scien’ six ways to Sunday!”
“That’s what stirs trouble!”
“As proof—you think such a beauty exists anywhere else in Japan?”
“Now then, Dr. Kurino sir…”
“‘Science’ here means the belle of the ball!”

“Like they say—the Western Helen of Troy, so to speak… Heh heh.”
“There, see?”
“My English is the real deal, I tell ya!”
“Listen up, I tell ya!”
“Lloyd’s what they call a handsome man, I tell ya.”
“Imported Narihira, I tell ya.”
“Don’t mistake him for Celluloid!”
“Japan’s own Narihira and Ono no Komachi are gettin’ married right here in this village.”
“He’s opening a new-style hospital.”
“Thanks to this, every single villager will live long lives. I tell ya… There’s no greater blessing than this, Dr. Kurino.”
“The deceased doctor would be overjoyed too.”

Denrokurō looked up at the two framed pictures hung side by side in the alcove.
Within the tarnished gold frame, an extremely crude oil painting showed an elderly couple in kimono smiling witheredly.

“Ah.”
“They’d be delighted. They’d be delighted.”
“Ah, Old Doctor...”
“You’ve already become paintings and passed on, but still… Old Doctors.”
“You, our esteemed couple, were the life-giving parents of this village.”
“I’ve been serving this village forty years—I know full well.”
“We’ll never forget your kindness, I tell ya.”
“Never ever will we forget… I tell ya.”
“If only I could’ve lived at least another year and a half now…”
“I wish I could’ve had you seated at this very gathering today.”
“I wish I could’ve reassured Young Master and his bride by telling them this Denroku’s right here with them.”
“To repay all your past kindness…”

Denrokurō’s voice gradually rose in pitch and became choked with tears.
Just as the entire room had fallen into a hushed silence, becoming Denrokurō’s one-man show, a small woman’s silhouette scurried out before the western sunlit shoji of the veranda and knelt.
She cracked open the shoji screen just enough to let the glaring western sunlight peek through.

Dr. Kurino, the chairman of the medical association and matchmaker, pressed his salt-and-pepper head against the gap in the shoji screen, listened to the girl’s whispered words, then nodded lightly two or three times and stood up.
After that, Dr. Kurino's wife stood up following him, and the bride and groom—likely intending to see them off—stood up in turn.

“No need for that.”

Dr. Kurino turned back and waved his hand.
Old Mrs. Tonno, the bride’s mother, started to half-rise to intervene, but Old Man Tonno—seeing the newlyweds insist on proceeding—stroked his goatee and restrained her.
He whispered in a low voice.

“Old woman.”
“Don’t stop them. Don’t stop them.”
“Enough now, enough now.”
“Let them stand. Let them stand.”
“It has been established since olden times that one does not stand to see someone off during such ceremonies, but the young people today have different ways.”
“There’s no need to worry about it.”

At the front of the alcove, Denrokurō—stunned into silence after having his story interrupted—noticed the large ceremonial sake cup left behind by the groom,

“What a waste.”
“The sake’ll get cold.”

With that, he lifted it with both hands, brought his face close, and started gulping it down in one go, causing the lower-seat crowd who were watching to burst out laughing raucously.

When they reached the dimness of the central corridor near the entrance, Dr. Kurino turned back toward the newlyweds with a beaming face.

“No.
“This is most kind of you.
...Truth be told, there’s talk of a peculiar patient having come to the entrance. I came forward thinking it best you both shouldn’t trouble yourselves with such a one today.”

“Ah! I’m deeply obliged. To trouble you with such matters as well...”

The groom’s manner and words—so characteristically efficient like the academic prodigy he was—were being gazed up at adoringly by the bride Hatsue from behind. Dr. Kurino noticed this yet feigned ignorance.

“No— Well, you see... That patient appears mentally ill.”

“Wh-what... A lunatic...?”

“That’s right. They say she’s sitting at the entrance and won’t budge. Just for today, leave it to me.” He continued, “It’s still somewhat early, but since the tide’s right, we’d better withdraw to the detached room now... Even those drunkards can’t drink freely when you’re sitting there all proper-like.”
“Ha ha ha...”

"...Yes..."

“We’ll be heading to the detached room ourselves shortly, so you two should have some tea and wait here.”
“There remains one more ceremony to attend, you see.”

“Y... yes...”

The bride and groom bowed deeply together in the narrow, dark space.
They remained standing to see them off.

The entrance's twilight gloom had been swept clean with white sand spread in one long stretch all the way to the national highway before the gate.
On both sides of the fresh green lattice fence—inside and out—almond blossoms, white peach blossoms, and pear flowers lay scattered like snow across the entire estate.

Beneath the crossed national and youth association flags at the entrance, a strange-looking being of indeterminate gender knelt prostrate, hands planted firmly on the ground.

Her head bore a tangled mass of coiled hair that seemed ready to ignite at a spark.
Against bare skin clung a pilgrim’s robe of white cotton thickly stamped with vermilion seals, while below the waist hung a grime-blackened loincloth pieced together from assorted rags—a sight suggesting this might be a young woman.
Though sunburned reddish-black overall, from the plump cheeks with their fine pores down to her neck—all slathered in gray mud meant to mimic face powder—her wide-eyed gaze framed by long lashes, crimson lips parted over gleaming teeth in an innocent smile formed a grotesque spectacle without equal.

As Ichisaku—the servant of this house who had just emerged from the kitchen—attempted to drive her away with a single red bean rice ball, the woman abruptly knocked it to the ground and, pointing at her own distended lower abdomen, shook her head from side to side.
She forced out a strange sound that belonged neither to beast nor bird.

She gurgled frantically, a wet rasping from her throat.
She shrieked hysterically, the sound tearing from her throat over and over.

“Damn you! You mute woman came to cause trouble, didn’t you?”
“What’s a damn mute like you doing here causing trouble?”
“Ain’t you gonna scram?”
“I’ll kill you!”

When Ichisaku brandished the firewood-splitting axe, the mute woman pressed her palms together in supplication while violently shaking her wildly tangled head from side to side.
She screamed once again while stroking her lower abdomen to show it.

She wailed—first in drawn-out moans, then erupting into frantic, staccato shrieks.

At that moment, Dr. Kurino and his wife came out to the entrance.

“Now now—you mustn’t resort to violence. We must handle this calmly and send her away properly.”

The mute woman suddenly turned and pressed her hands together toward Dr. Kurino’s frock-coated figure.
She continued pointing at her lower abdomen and emitting shrill screams.

“What’s this? She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

Ichisaku removed the hand towel from his shoulder.
He used the axe as a walking stick and bobbed his head deferentially.

“Yessir.”
“This one here, Doctor—”
“This mute woman here is the daughter of the lame old man from the back mountain and was someone who lived in the village headman’s vacant storehouse over there, but…”

“Hmm. She’s still a young girl, old man.”

“Yessir.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know her exact age, but…”
“Yessir.”
“She lived in these back mountains until around the end of summer last year, and her father—the lame old man Monhachi—worked as a messenger for the village office and a guard at the isolation hospital, but…”

“Hmm. Was she the village nuisance?”

“Yessir. Well, if you put it that way, he was that sort of man—but then when autumn came last year, this dumb woman here—his precious daughter—apparently disappeared somewhere. Old Man Monhachi went dragging his lame leg all over the village and beyond searching for her, and then after some time passed, they found he’d hanged himself in that storehouse. Caused quite the uproar, I tell you.”

“Hmm.”

“After that, not a single person has seen this dumb woman… Yessir…”

“Hmm.”
“Who let her escape? Can’t they figure it out?”

“Yessir.”
“That would be the case, sir.”
“As you can see, not only was the mute girl sexually deranged—when she spotted young men passing through the mountains from the second-floor window of that storehouse in the back hills, she would beckon them and make lewd gestures—so whenever Old Man Monhachi went out, he would always leave food inside and lock it securely from the outside, or so they say.”
“Even so, when Monhachi would bring back things like red cloth scraps he’d picked up on his way home, this Hanako wretch—that’s this girl’s name, sir—she’d be overjoyed something fierce. Seeing her so pitiful like that, Old Man Monhachi would sometimes scrounge up what little coin he had to buy cheap face powder or lipstick for her… or so they say… or maybe not… Truly, it was a pitiful pair of parent and child beyond words, if I may say so.”

“Well…” Dr. Kurino’s wife sighed and blinked her eyes.

“Hmm. Then perhaps some village youth who had his way with this woman was the one who opened that storehouse door for her?”

“Yessir. That may well be, sir, but perhaps Monhachi with the lame leg simply forgot to lock the door. He’d grown quite senile, you see… So when his daughter ran off, it weighed heavy on him. With no joy left in his twilight years, folks say that’s why he hanged himself, but…”

“Hmm.”
“Hmm. That may well be the case.”
“In other words, the one who let this girl escape might as well have killed Old Man Monhachi.”

“Yessir.”
“Well… if you put it that way, it might be something like that…”

“But since then—it’s been nearly a year now—where on earth could this woman have been hiding…”

“Yessir. Well… I reckon she’s been wandering far off as an outcast with no place to go, ended up carrying someone’s… well… and then started missing her old man Monhachi something fierce after all this time. So she comes back home, but that storehouse in the back hills is all ruined to bits—nothing left of it. Just when she’s at her wit’s end, she happens by your honorable doorstep here, and that’s why she came begging for help… or so I figure…”

“Hmm. But even when given things, she says she doesn’t want them—just keeps pointing at her belly and making some demand, doesn’t she?”

“Yessir. She might’ve started having pains now that it’s her due month, but…”
“If we count from when she disappeared from this village… it’s about ten months. So… if that’s the case… the one who got her pregnant might be a young man from this village… Heh heh…”

“Hmm.”
“What a troublesome wretch.”

“What’re ya s’posed to do? She’s a dumb woman, and a lunatic to boot—can’t make heads or tails of ’em.”

“But she must understand this is a doctor’s house.”

“Well…”
“Does she understand? I don’t know.”
“Hey there, Flower-chan.”
“It’s ’cause it hurts here,”

Old Man Ichisaku pointed to his own stomach and peered into the mute woman’s face.

However, the mute woman Ohan did not answer.
She seemed to have realized that the ongoing conversation between the two concerned her, and with an innocent yet earnest gaze, she alternated looking between their faces; then, noticing the pale face of Sumio Kagawa—the groom standing at the forefront of the bridal couple peering curiously from behind Dr. and Mrs. Kurino—Ohan’s eyes widened in an instant, and her mouth fell agape.
With her mud-caked limbs flailing, she sprang up like a puppy, raced up to the entrance platform with her dirtied feet, shoving Dr. Kurino aside, and clung desperately to Sumio’s hakama waistband.
At the same moment that the bride Hatsue let out a small “Ah!”, Mrs. Kurino, holding her from behind, led her away down the corridor.

Sumio gasped, losing all composure.
Without even a moment to glance back at the bride, he tried to push away the mute woman’s hands and leap backward—but it was too late.
He firmly seized the woman’s arms that had gripped his obi and twisted them back with equal force—her eyes rolled back to show only the whites, and her tongue lolled limply.
She must have been trying to compose herself.
In her panic, she kept gulping at her tongue and blinked rapidly.
The mute woman looked up at his face from below and beamed with joy.

“Kee-kee... kee-kee-kee-kee-kee...”

Sumio’s refined face—befitting a young master—transformed before their eyes into an expression resembling a wrinkled demon hag or perhaps a blue demon with bristling hair in response to that laughter.
Conversely，it was Sumio who now appeared as though he had gone mad.

Dr. Kurino and Old Man Ichisaku also lost their composure along with Sumio.

"Hey, hey! Won't you get back?!"

"Hey! You damn freak..."

As the two shouted in unison, Ichisaku grabbed the woman by the nape of her neck—the back and side seams of her aged pilgrim’s garment ripped apart with a tearing sound. While repelling that hand with tremendous force, the mute woman Ohan shed tears profusely. She pointed at Sumio’s face, then at her own abdomen, let out a pitifully shrill cry, and apprehensively glanced around at the three men.

“Ebe-ebe… awa-awa.”
*“Awa-awa-awa-awa…”*

Sumio’s face twisted in utter desperation.
He bit his lips until they bled, his shoulders bristling sharply.

“Heeey!”
“Now this is auspicious!”

With a wildly absurd shout, Denrokurō leaped out from the corridor behind Sumio.
Having gulped down another massive sake cup and appearing gloriously intoxicated, he had stripped off the championship belt he boasted of winning from a grand sumo champion, now flaunting his splendid muscular physique.

“Whoa there!”
“Now this is auspicious! A knocked-up woman at the wedding gates—auspicious indeed! Hey… ain’t you that Flower Girl from the back hills?”
“You damn freak.”
“You’re a cripple who don’t even know your own parent’s dead—where the hell’ve you been lurking, huh?”
“Where’d you get knocked up by some ******* bastard?”
“Yeah.”
“This... this...”

With that, he slipped his hands under Ohan’s armpits and lifted her effortlessly.
Ohan, desperate not to be pulled away, made various gestures with her one hand and began to thrash like a sparkler.
Her tattered loincloth fragment teetered on the verge of slipping off as she continued to scream.

“Awa-awa-awa.”
“Ebe-ebe-ebe-ebe.”
“Aaaaaah aaaaaah aaaaaah aaaaaah aaaaaah!”

“Ah ha ha, got it got it.”
“How commendable.”
“Mmm, mmm.”
“Ebe ebe ebe!”
“Ugh! Ugh!”
“You stink… Ah ha ha ha!”
“Got it got it.”
“So since a kid’s gonna pop out soon, you’re sayin’ you wanna ask this Young Master here to let you squeeze it out… Mmm, mmm.”
“You’ve got a real good grasp of things.”
“*Ebe ebe.*”
“How commendable.”

“*Ebe ebe ebe ebe ebe.*”

“Yeah. Don’t cry, don’t cry.”
“Bad omen.”
“Mmm, mmm.”
“Got it got it. I see I see.”
“There there now.”
“I’ll handle it for ya, I’ll handle it.”
“Behave yourself now.”

“Ebe ebe ebe ebe.”

“Hey, Young Master.
“There’s no need to be alarmed.”
“This here’s an auspicious occasion, I tell ya!”
“Even if she’s a mentally ill person or a mute woman or whatever—this here’s a god of good fortune, I tell ya!”
“She came here knowin’ nothin’—she’s today’s honorable messenger princess of celebration, I tell ya.”
“Just put her in a corner of the storehouse or wherever’s fine, I tell ya.”
“Normally this oughta be handled by the village office, but seein’ as this here village ain’t got the facilities, eh Doctor?”
“It’s an act of merit, I tell ya… Anyone who’s come to today’s celebration oughta think there’s some fate at work here… Young Master… There ain’t no more auspicious occasion than this, I tell ya!”

“……………”

“Now then... here, Young Master.”
“Your hospital’ll thrive just from the reputation of this act of merit, I tell ya!”
“Ah ha ha… Hey, Flower Girl.”
“O auspicious Young Pine Lord… come on… there.”
“Hey, Flower Girl.”
“Let go of this hand.”
“Behave yourself and let go of this obi.”
“This Young Master deigns to examine you, so…”

Each time the bare-chested Denrokurō, leveraging his renowned strength, attempted to wrench Ohan’s wrist away, Sumio—whose obi was being clutched—staggered unsteadily on the ceremonial platform.

“Hey, hey.”
“I told ya to let go.”
“You’ve got some fearsome strength there.”
“Hey hey, I told ya to let go here… Since you won’t listen, I’m at my wit’s end.”
“The hakama cord’s gonna tear.”
“Hey, Young Master.”
“Take off this hakama and obi.”
“I’ll take care of the rest, so…”

Sumio, who had been on the verge of fainting while dripping with sweat and staring intently into the mute woman’s eyes, finally seemed to regain his composure and turned crimson upon seeing Denrokurō’s face.
With eyes brimming with unshed tears, he turned to look at Dr. Kurino behind him and bowed his head slightly.
With great effort, he managed to make his lips tremble.

“I sincerely… apologize for the imposition, but might I trouble you for a small amount of morphine… About one pro… would suffice…”

“Oh!
“If it’s morphine you require—if you’ll pardon the presumption—I shall prepare it.”
“Having been made to keep watch over this hospital for so long, I know its layout well...”

From behind Dr. Kurino, the elderly Tonno thrust out his goatee.

“It was on the right end of the second shelf.”

Even as he spoke, Old Man Tonno nodded two or three times to himself, grandly grasped both sides of his hakama, and toddled into the pharmacy beside the entrance. Seeming to truly know the layout of this house, he opened the glass door of the medicine cabinet at the dead end, took out an old-fashioned secret medicine box made of black persimmon wood, and placed it atop the preparation shelf. From within it he extracted a small syringe, filled it about seven-tenths with distilled water, poured the white powder from a small vial in the corner of the box onto a medicine wrapper, then carelessly pinched some with his fingertips and twisted it into the syringe bit by bit. He swiftly attached the stopcock and needle, rocked the liquid inside in a seesaw motion, returned the remaining medicine to the vial in the box, then emerged from the pharmacy holding alcohol-soaked cotton and an adhesive bandage in his right hand.

“Heh heh heh.”
“I’ve always had gallstones.”
“Drink too much and my chest starts aching.”
“When it hurts, giving myself this injection and sleeping becomes a pleasure.”
“Heh heh.”
“With my measuring eye, it’s surer than any clumsy balance scale.”
“Practiced this with my life on the line.”
“Here... made it.”
“One part of a six-percent solution makes exactly one gram at one percent.”
“Given who it’s for, should work well.”
“There...”

Sumio received Old Man Tonno’s proudly performed feat without showing any particular surprise.
He casually grabbed the madwoman’s right arm and injected her.

The mute woman Ohan showed no pain. Instead, she seemed almost pleased as she smiled vacantly between the syringe and Sumio’s face. When the injection finished, she abruptly released her grip with unexpected gentleness and stood—dragging her tattered undergarment along the floor—as Denrokurō and Ichisaku led her away through the now pitch-black eaves to the rear storehouse.

By the time they reached the storehouse entrance, drowsiness appeared to overtake her. She sank onto the bedding of old straw and frayed mats that Ichisaku had prepared in advance, closing her eyes. Her left arm fell across her swollen belly, and soon she breathed peacefully in sleep.

The ten-tatami detached room—once serving as resting quarters for the feudal lord during his falconry expeditions—stood with newly replaced shoji screens, an old-style pine and bamboo arrangement in the alcove, and two heirloom golden screens of profoundly weathered elegance positioned around its perimeter. Within lay grandly spread silk crepe bedding adorned with an interlocking wheel crest and an ink-painted horse, while an old-fashioned purple-tasseled pillow rested atop the bed and a red-lacquered high pillow with golden tassels had been placed beside the headboard.

Near the bedside, steam rose with a hiss from the iron kettle placed atop the scale-patterned long brazier.

Bride Hatsue, having been regaled by matchmaker Dr. Kurino with Denrokurō’s antics toward the mute woman—complete with gestures, mimicry, and voice imitation—forgot all propriety and burst into loud laughter.

And then,

“Now now, do take good care of him.”
“A doctor’s reputation is built on handling such matters, you see… I’ll soon file the paperwork with the prefectural office to have her admitted to a wayfarer infirmary…”

Upon hearing Dr. Kurino’s explanation, Hatsue seemed completely reassured; pressing both hands to the floor, she bowed her head and let out a long sigh of relief.
Yet the groom Sumio kept both hands properly placed on his knees, his neck bowed low all the while, listening attentively without moving a muscle.

After the bed-sharing ceremony concluded with Dr. and Mrs. Kurino’s assistance and they were left alone, Sumio—who had maintained a gloomy expression all along—carelessly………………,………………………………………………………………………. He turned away from the lacquered pillow toward the alcove, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes stiffly while keeping his legs drawn up.

The bride Hatsue, having folded Sumio’s kimono and hung it on the clothes rack, …………………………………………, …………………, …………………….………………………………………………, in a voice as clear as crystal,

“I bid you goodnight.”

Having said this clearly, he kept his cheeks hardened like stone and coldly closed his eyes………………………………………………………, ……………………………………………………………, as quietly as possible………………………, ……………………………………….

However, Sumio did not move.
It was unclear even whether he was breathing as he remained utterly still.
Hatsue also softly pulled up the velvet bedding’s collar and, mindful of her dewy Takashimada hairstyle, covered her pale forehead and bluish eyebrows.

The sound of boiling water hissed sharply and filled the room entirely.

The bridegroom—Sumio—listened intently to the sound of simmering water while continuing to think solely of the mute woman sleeping in the storehouse.

It was the end of August last year.

After whiling away dozens of days of summer vacation at his rural home, he—having finally managed to complete his graduation thesis—set out for a walk toward the back mountain under a cloudless sky past noon.

His parents had already died of old age one after the other about three months prior.
The subsequent medical practice had been taken over by Old Man Tonno from the neighboring village—a friend of his father’s who had retired after passing the succession to his son—so he had only to devote himself to his studies and graduate from university.
Moreover, being naturally gentle and bright, he was doted on by each of his professors and had ample confidence in himself to graduate at the top of his class.
Once his graduation thesis was completed, he could say there was nothing left to worry about.

He had likely been raised within his parents' complete love.
He possessed not a single proper diversion beyond tennis.
Of course—being what one might call the saintly type, too timid to approach women himself—he had maintained complete chastity until just before graduating university at twenty-four.
This had been a secret pride during his university years.

Therefore his anticipation of the marriage approaching next year suffused his entire body—extremely healthy and somewhat corpulent as it was.
Even when catching the scent of a village girl's hair as she bowed while passing him on the rice field path, he would be struck by something akin to violent inspiration until his vision swam.

Therefore, fearing to encounter such things even now, he deliberately strayed from the path and wandered aimlessly into the sacred forest that rose thickly in the mountain shadows behind his house.
Even catching sight of a white butterfly crossing through the chill of shaded trees, or merely glimpsing the supple form of a calico cat crawling up the distant railway embankment, he ascended toward the back mountain along the sacred forest’s dead-end path—his entire body aching with ineffable, mystical torment—all while accompanied by cicada cries that fell like rain.

All at once, an unbearable swelter of grass and the sun’s aromatic steam rising from verdant leaves in the shade enveloped him like the terrifying body odor of a woman.
The further he went, the more intense grew that pungent, maddening scent of the sun.
He felt as though he were about to suffocate.

Of course, as a medical student, he knew exactly where this suffocating sensual torment was coming from.
At the same time, he was unbearably aware of a certain... temptation that could liberate him from that torment.
Therefore—now, amidst the sweltering fragrance of verdant leaves—the moment he felt that temptation reach its peak, he pressed his own hooked white hand to...
He pressed firmly against the sweaty, briny skin of his hand... tried to distract himself... but... even the pain welling up from the flesh of that hand transformed into an unbearable cocktail... that swirled through his entire body, whirling madly.

He suddenly closed his eyes, clenched his lips, and began charging blindly into the mixed-tree thicket.
As if fleeing some terrible temptation pursuing him from behind—or as though this were a mortification his weak-willed self must naturally endure as punishment—he charged blindly forward, disregarding the pain from pine and bamboo branches pricking his entire body through a single lined garment and from grass and woody thorns scraping and stabbing his exposed shins to inner thighs in relentless procession.
He became drenched in sweat and gasped for breath.
When his chest tightened and his vision began to spin, the resistance of the thicket blocking his path suddenly vanished, and he staggered unsteadily to a halt.

He still had his eyes closed.
Feeling the cool wind blowing against his bared chest and exposed legs, he listened to the sporadic calls of tsukutsuku cicadas coming from near and far.
He felt the mountain silence seep keenly into his very being.

Suddenly, a strange voice—neither bird nor beast—startled him with its cackling.

“Kekeke…”

He startled and opened his eyes wide.
He was standing at the edge of a mountain clearing.

It was a clearing atop a hill surrounded by giant camphor and hackberry trees.
This was the former estate site of the village’s ancient headman—a broad flatland entirely overgrown with low bamboo grass rustling thickly.
In a corner beyond stood a single storehouse, its roof choked with weeds and white walls crumbling away, half-rotted remains.

From the lattice window on the second floor of that storehouse emerged a white hand fervently beckoning him.
In the shadow of that hand could be seen a young woman’s face painted ghastly white, lips of eerie crimson, eyes shining with divinely pure radiance, and a profusion of hair tumbling wildly across her forehead.
In the intense light streaming through the window, white teeth gleamed beautifully.

“Kikiki… Heeheehee… Kekeke…”

That ghostly yet terrifying beauty… that sensual allure.
A dazzlement to blind the eyes… A fairy of daylight…

A chill ran through him to the very marrow of his bones as he looked around in all directions.
Above his head stretched a midsummer blue sky, crystal-clear and still, even the cicadas' cries grew intermittent.
The only things watching him were the trunks of trees surrounding the clearing on all sides.

He stiffened his entire body like stone.
He quietly parted the sasa grass and approached the storehouse.

The face in the window laughed shrilly with delight once more.
She quickly pulled back her hand, moved away from the windowsill, and was intent on going downstairs.

At the storehouse door, a simple hook ring was latched, with nothing more than a single flimsy dry branch inserted to secure it.
As he pulled it out, from inside came the sound of the latch being lifted with a click.
His vision blurred.
While panting, he opened the heavy wooden door with a thud.

“A shrill cackle pierced through—”

As he continued to think that far, he shrank further into himself within the bed.
While listening to the sound of the bride... Hatsue’s peaceful breathing behind him intermingled with the hiss of steam from the iron kettle, he continued to think.

……It was both his first transgression since birth and the final fatal blow to his conscience.

Afterward, when he heard that Ohan—the mute woman who was his counterpart in that grave transgression—had gone missing, and that her father Kadohatchi, the only one who could understand her words, had hanged himself in grief over losing her, he was, truth be told, deeply relieved.
Now, between heaven and earth, there remained not a single soul who knew his secret.
If he himself could only cleanly forget this single memory of his meager secret, he could wed Hatsue—that renowned beauty—as the same flawless virgin… the utterly immaculate youth he had always been.

O God.
God.
Please protect this secret.
Please forget this sin of mine.
I swear... I'll never... never do such a thing again...

And he—unknown to others in the shadows—had even clasped his hands in prayer, so much did he fear, tremble at, and regret those very memories.
And so, as he happily lived out his days one by one, he had nearly forgotten those wounds on his conscience.
He had cast aside all his social ambitions and desires, and was single-mindedly pursuing a dream so sweet it brought tears to one’s eyes—the dream of burying himself in the countryside with his beautiful wife, day and night, in perfect peace.

That sweet dream was now mercilessly shattered.

At this very hour... in this very moment... his faint past secret—forgotten without intent to forget, vanished without intent to vanish—suddenly transformed into a terrifying reality magnified a thousandfold, a millionfold, a billionfold, appeared before his eyes, and bore down upon him.

A wretched pregnant woman.
A deaf-mute who cannot speak.
Though she could not speak it aloud nor convey it through gestures, she had appeared in reality to prove and demand that she was his rightful wife.
It was undoubtedly a terrifying, irresistible retribution—absolutely incomprehensible to others, understood by him alone.

……If she could have uttered even a single word…… No, no.
If even one person could properly comprehend her gestures… And if bringing such terror, anxiety, and dread to this house’s entrance today—of all days—had been her deliberate plan…

That it had chosen such a cruel, ruthless timing and setting—as though planned with demonic intelligence—seemed utterly impossible to dismiss as mere coincidence.
It seemed as though she—with the feeble-minded persistence of a single ingrained memory—had targeted that precise moment in silence, biding her time.
Or it might not seem that way at all…

When he considered these impossible-to-judge matters, the terror, anxiety, and dread became layers upon layers more mysteriously intensified.

He shuddered involuntarily once again and hunched his body.
He snapped his eyes open wide and quietly turned around to see that the bride Hatsue lay with her face buried in the bedding’s collar, sleeping peacefully.

He slipped out from under the bedding with extreme care, moving slowly and stealthily.
He slid open the bedside shoji little by little, making no sound, stepped out into the corridor, and stealthily made his way along the covered walkway to observe the main house.

The entire house was silent and still, the servants’ footsteps having ceased as well.
The kitchen lights had gone out too, and all that could be heard was Denrokurō’s slurred, senseless babble—neither quite sleep-talking nor singing—from where he lay in the inner tatami room... Listening to that sound, he passed through the pitch-dark central corridor and opened the pharmacy door beside the entrance.

Outside the pharmacy’s three-sided glass windows glowed with a snow-like brilliance.
The almond blossoms, bathed in the dazzling light of the full moon sinking westward with crystalline clarity, drifted leaden shadows across the entire earth.

He stood before the central compounding table, entranced as he gazed at that white radiance.
And he continued to conjure and recall how countless so-called successful individuals—those paragons from inspirational tales he had witnessed or heard of—had trampled and crushed the weak through ruthless, merciless, and craven methods.

……I too must become one of them.
No, no.
I must become a much, much stronger person.
My precious lifetime... this intellect and knowledge... this young blood and flesh and rich sensibilities—how could I possibly exchange these for that unsightly, pitiful wreck of a mute woman’s existence?... This is only natural—the fundamental law of heaven and earth.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to be reproached for.
As long as I’m not caught by others… as long as I’m not suspected… that’s all that matters.
It’s of no consequence whatsoever.
It’s nothing at all.

As he was turning over such thoughts, before he knew it he began to feel a cold as if enveloped in snow’s radiance, so he snapped back to himself.

Though his mind's core felt unbearably drowsy, with only his consciousness remaining in razor-sharp clarity, he took out a small capsule from the front medicine cabinet's drawer. Then he opened the glass door of the cabinet at the far end, retrieved once more the black persimmon wood secret medicine box that Old Man Tonno had brought out earlier that day, and placed it on the compounding shelf. From within it, he plucked out the small bottle of morphine hydrochloride that Old Man Tonno had handled that same day, poured a modest amount of its white powder into the capsule while examining it against the moonlight—then evidently thinking it excessive—tipped back a minuscule portion into the bottle before firmly sealing the capsule's lid. Finally, he returned everything to its proper place and shut the medicine cabinet's glass door tight.

At that moment, when he thought he heard a faint, deep sigh in the darkness of the corridor left open behind him, he jolted rigid. Clutching the capsule in his right hand, he hurried on tiptoe into the corridor—yet there was no human figure to be seen. In the pitch-dark central corridor ahead, at one side of the covered walkway entrance he had forgotten to close, white peach blossoms glowed pallidly in the moonlight. This time, he himself was made to heave a deep sigh unbidden.

As if to steel himself, he smiled faintly alone. With deliberate calm, he returned to the pharmacy, picked up a small beaker, and filled it two-thirds full with plain water. Clutching both the morphine hydrochloride capsule and the beaker in his left hand, he felt with his toes for the pharmacy slippers. After unfastening the side door’s latch, he slipped out through the service entrance.

Moving soundlessly along the shadowed eaves, he edged past the new coal-tar-coated rain gutter at the kitchen corner until reaching the space where the bathhouse and storehouse eaves converged.

There, the moon sinking westward cast a deep shadow, carving a perfectly square section from the white-glowing storehouse wall immediately to the side.

He unfastened the storehouse door’s latch with utmost caution—making absolutely no sound… taking care not to rouse the mute woman who should still be anesthetized.

Then... in the darkness of the storehouse, a rustling of straw suddenly began.
An unbearable stench reeking of beggars assaulted him.
Before he could even process the thought—a beast-like monster with wildly disheveled hair… a hulking… … … …the mute woman came flying out and suddenly clung to him.
She laughed with genuine joy.

“Screech… screech screech screech…”

That shrike-like voice resounded through the moonlit building and the orchard surrounding it before vanishing.

He felt as though everything had been destroyed.
His chest pounded so fiercely it made his head spin.
While a cold sweat broke out all over his body, he quietly glanced around once more—but his frightened gaze was inexorably drawn to the new black rain gutter at the kitchen corner he had just passed.
At the same moment, all his nerves crystallized like quartz.

There, from the detached room, peered the piercingly clear face of the bride Hatsue, who seemed to have followed his actions.
Her face—still bearing last night’s thick makeup, with vividly defined lipstick and the alluring golden hair tie of her Takashimada bridal hairstyle, doll-like oval features framed by wide-open black eyes—remained carved in relief by the moonlight as it peered out more than halfway from behind the rain gutter, staring intently at his figure.

He thought that was a hallucination of almond blossoms illuminated by the moonlight.
With his right hand, he forcefully rubbed both eyes, then looked again carefully.

It was undoubtedly the face of the bride Hatsue.
Two or three stray hairs at her temples, disheveled across her cheek, could be clearly seen in the light of the tilting moon.
Her two black eyes stared directly this way while slowly blinking about twice.
At the same time, large teardrops from those pure white cheeks—glistening with moonlight—were seen dripping onto the soil.

He felt the earth beneath his feet tilting steadily in the direction where those tears fell.
He nearly dropped the beaker he held.

At that moment, the grotesque figure clinging to him raised her mud-caked left hand and pointed at Hatsue’s face.
She laughed triumphantly.

“Kekekeke… Ebebebebe… Kikikiki…”

The doll-like Takashimada-adorned face quietly withdrew from the shadow of the rain gutter.
Beneath the hem of her scarlet crepe underrobe—scorching bright and dragged long across the ground—white shins and white bare feet alternately reflecting moonlight drew near before his eyes.

He put the capsule into his own mouth.
He drank the beaker's water... gazing at the moonlight rippling within it... and gulped it down resolutely.