Pathway to Japanese Literature

“Oh, where’s the patient who was lying here?”

“Oh, where’s the patient who was lying here?” shouted the Apple-Cheeked Nurse.
In front of her stood an empty bed.

“Hey, you.
You don’t know?”

She asked the nearby Bloated-Faced Nurse.

“Oh my, I don’t know a thing.”

With that, she stopped knitting and looked at the bed with its tangled sheets.

"Oh my," she said.
"You're right."
"He's not here."

"Wh-where could he have gone?"

"Maybe he went to the restroom."

"Oh! To the restroom?"
"That might be..."
"But that's strange."
"This patient isn't allowed to use it!"

"Oh my! Why ever not?"

"Why? Because this man... well... hemorrhoids."
"We're treating them with radium."
"You understand?"
"We've inserted radium into his anus—he mustn't go!"

“Oh, because he’s in the middle of treatment, right?”

“That’s true, but if he were to go relieve himself and it were to fall out—that radium’s so small—there’s a risk we’d never find where it went.”

“That’s true. Radium’s awfully expensive, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The head nurse said so. That thing—no thicker than a pencil lead and barely a centimeter long—is worth fifty or sixty thousand yen on the market, they say. Oh no—this is awful! If that’s gone, it will be a disaster! I’ll go check the restroom. But if by any chance it isn’t found… what am I supposed to do, don’t you think?”

“Instead of worrying about that, hurry up and go look!”

“Right.”
“Oh no—this is awful!”

The Apple-Cheeked Nurse, whose complexion had been as rosy as an apple, suddenly took on the greenish pallor of an Aomori-grown one and rushed out of the room in a fluster.

But no sooner had she left than she returned in less than five minutes—or rather came bursting back in.
Her face was utterly drained of color, pallid—.

“Oh my, he’s nowhere to be found!”
“What should I do?!”
“Aaaah!”

She threw herself onto the empty husk of a bed and began wailing loudly, heedless of her surroundings.
Startled by the strange wailing, the Head Nurse came running.
Colleagues gathered around.
Finally, the door to the medical office opened, and the chief physician along with his staff came out, their white surgical gowns fluttering,

“What’s this? What’s this?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

they came forth toward the source of the wailing.

As for the commotion that ensued within the hospital, it hardly required elaboration.
After all, a patient who’d had radium worth thirty-five thousand yen inserted into his anus had gone missing.
Regardless of the patient’s situation, on the assumption that the radium might have fallen somewhere in the corridor, not only the janitors but even the nurses all turned out to search frantically.

“It’s not here…”

“We just can’t find it.”

“This is such a mess.”
“But what we’re searching for is just too small.”

Before long, a large notice was posted in the corridor.
The headline "Reward," stamped with a double circle in red ink, declared in vivid black brushstrokes: "To whoever discovers said radium, five hundred yen shall be awarded."
With this notice displayed, the commotion intensified further.

But ultimately, what could not be found remained unfound.
Even the formidable incentive of a five-hundred-yen reward failed to bring forth the radium.
After all, being no thicker than a pencil lead and barely a centimeter long—if it had fallen in a corridor, the wind might have swept it away; if it had dropped into a toilet and been flushed out, tracing it would prove impossible; and crucially, if it had stayed lodged within the patient’s body, locating him would have been imperative.

In one of the hospital rooms, an emergency meeting of those in charge was convened.
Ultimately, the prevailing theory held that someone had come intending to steal the radium, but the head nurse, for her part, worried that if the patient unknowingly kept that radium inserted in his anus for over thirty minutes, the surrounding anal area would rot beyond recovery from the radium’s effects, ultimately becoming life-threatening.
But as for who had stolen it—that detail remained beyond anyone’s grasp.

As for the aforementioned incident—I wonder if you still retain some memory of it even now?
The incident known as "The Case of the Missing Patient with Radium" was reported in the newspapers over five years ago.

There must have been those who took an interest in that incident and looked forward to subsequent articles, but such individuals were surely disappointed.
For there was neither any report of that patient having been arrested thereafter, nor any article about a janitor discovering the radium and receiving five hundred yen.
The coverage of that incident ended right there, with any subsequent story vanishing without a trace.

Today, more than five years later—

Here, I must express my gratitude to you all for being unexpectedly granted this opportunity to reveal the truth of "The Case of the Missing Patient with Radium" and recount its aftermath.

Now then—what became of that radium worth thirty-five thousand yen at market value? And then, what became of that patient with the radium?

As for those concerned about the patient, above all else, they must first be reassured. As for the concerns so kindly entertained by Ms. Head Nurse and my dear newspaper reporters—those ultimately proved to be groundless fears. In other words, that patient had managed to survive without having his life taken by the radium. And he’s still alive and kicking. Not only is he alive and kicking—here he sits before manuscript paper, moving his pen.

That missing patient, you see, was none other than the one who now addresses you as I.
I might as well give my real name.
Maruta Marushirō—this was my real name.

Now that I’d given my name, I imagined the very first question people would ask was,

“Why did you disappear from your hospital bed?”

To this, I wished to answer honestly as follows.
“That had all been part of the prearranged plan…”

It had all been part of the prearranged plan.
In other words, after having the radium inserted, I had waited to be kept still, even if just for a little while.
The doctors and nurses never doubted their belief that I remained nailed to the bed.

“Please do not move.
“It’ll just be a short while.”

the doctor said to me.
And then, turning toward the nurse,

“Listen now.”
“It’s twenty minutes... I’ll be in the doctor’s office, okay?”

“Yes…”

Soon after the doctor went off in that direction, the nurse said to me.

“Please do not move.
“It’ll just be a short while—”

Having said that, she pressed a movie magazine featuring Mr. Chiezō against her apple-like cheeks as though overcome with nostalgia, then clattered away in that direction.
Probably, the time had unfortunately come for her to return that Mr. Chiezō to someone.

Thus, quite naturally, I rose from the bed and seized the opportunity to escape.

Nearby, another bloated-faced nurse was busily knitting, but she was simply enjoying her knitting hobby and showed no interest whatsoever in the comings and goings of me lying on a bed outside her jurisdiction.
Therefore, I made my exit from that room with all due majesty.

I immediately went to the toilet.

After firmly locking the door, I groped with my fingertips at a certain part of my body I had long since become well-acquainted with.
Sure enough, there I found two sturdy thin strings hanging down.

“Ugh…”

While steadying my breathing, I pulled the strings taut with my fingertips.
Sure enough, there was resistance.
What eventually came slithering out was the radium encased in a slender container resembling a rifle bullet.
I placed it on the blank paper and smirked.

“Even if I have to dump it… thirty thousand ryo for sure.”

I rolled the blank paper into a tight curl and casually tossed it into my kimono sleeve.
And clamping a hand over my chest buzzing with excitement, I slipped successfully through the crowd at the main entrance—the deed done.

Thus, my long-studied scheme had proceeded exactly as scripted.
With this, I quivered with delight at the thought that I too could wash my hands of being a lowly clerk with no future prospects and retire to the countryside to live a life of leisurely comfort.

“So then—did you dispose of that radium right away, I suppose?” I will be asked.

Disposing of it immediately would be the commonplace tactic employed by any self-respecting thief.
And at the same time, it’s an inept tactic.
As for me—I did not adopt such a tactic.

Thus, I transitioned to my second-stage plan.
It was an exceedingly outlandish plan.
Right then and there, I went straight to a certain department store in Nihonbashi.
When I went to the jewelry department there, I shoplifted in such a way that anyone would notice.
Sure enough, I ended up being arrested.
That was exactly as it should be.

For losing my physical freedom from that very day meant that, from that very day, I came under police protection.

The charges of habitual shoplifting were exceedingly clear.
Once the preliminary hearing was completed, my person was immediately transferred to a nearby prison.
Before long, the sentence was handed down.

“The defendant is sentenced to five years of penal servitude!”

I officially became a full-fledged member of the prison population.
I settled into my proper place and felt greatly relieved.

By that time, society had completely forgotten about the "Radium-Implanted Patient Disappearance Incident." The hospital had given up hope of it ever resurfacing. As for the police—whether by accident or design—they had imprisoned me, the true culprit, under charges of habitual shoplifting, so no matter how much they combed the streets, there was no chance of their net ever catching the criminal. Thus, that incident came to be skillfully concealed within a blind spot.

That had gone remarkably well, but a single troublesome issue had arisen.

“Is there anything unusual?”

The prison guard peered into my solitary cell through the window.

“Ah, I’m in a bit of trouble here…”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

“It’s hemorrhoids, sir. They’re causing me pain—I can’t sleep properly at night either.”

“Can’t sleep? Anyone new here has a bit of trouble sleeping at first. Hemorrhoids? Quit your lousy act.”

“It’s not an act, Mr. Guard. Please watch right here—I’ll take off my loincloth and show you.”

With that, I reached for my persimmon-colored loincloth.

“Y-y-you idiot!” the prison guard bellowed in a fluster.
“Even if I look, I can’t tell.”
“I’ll file a report, so wait it out a day or two!”

With a clang, he shut the window cover and went off.

Grimacing, I lay down heavily on the bed with nothing but a straw mat.

Looking back, it was no wonder my hemorrhoids had worsened.
When I had been attending that hospital, my condition had truly deteriorated.
From that point onward—what with engaging in one sweat-drenching activity after another and spending considerable time using that flesh pocket as a hiding place for the radium—the cumulative toll had become truly substantial.
As a result, the affected area worsened.
Was it because I had fiddled with it too much, or because I had kept the radium pressed against the afflicted area for too long?

Now that I think of it, when I officially became part of the prison population, I had undertaken a thousand-to-one gamble.
At that time, all my possessions had been confiscated, and I had been stripped stark naked.
Until then, I had been frequently taking the radium out from one pocket and putting it into another.
If I left it in the same place for too long, even through layers like clothes or undershirts, the radium would cause burns on the nearby skin.
However, when I was stripped completely naked and then issued this persimmon-colored uniform with a number on its collar, I could no longer leave the radium as it was.
It would have been fine to simply place it in a part of my clothing, but if left in the same spot for five years, the fabric would fray, and the radium would naturally roll out through the gaps—or so I had reasoned.
I had also considered drilling a hole in a button and embedding the radium inside it, but the radium’s formidable power would reduce both the clothing fabric and buttons made from horseshoes to tatters all the same.
――In the end, when putting on the persimmon-colored uniform, there had been no better method than to place the radium back into that flesh pocket and skillfully smuggle it into the solitary cell.

In this way, the ailment of my flesh pocket had worsened further.
Radium, when applied to the affected area for an appropriate duration, healed with astonishing speed; however, exceeding that limit led to disastrous consequences.

“Hey, Number 1994, come out!”

“Ah—.”

“Come out—we’re taking you to the infirmary.”

“Ah—.”

I hid the radium in the bristly mess of a cleaning broom and was then led outside by the guard.

(Hmm, hmm)

Number 1222 across the way stuck his face out of the small window and signaled to me.
He was the first friend and senior I'd made since entering this prison.
His real name was Igarashi Shōkichi - a pickpocket by trade, they said.

From that day onward, I began receiving treatment for my hemorrhoids.
While every other part of the prison proved far more wretched than the outside world, the infirmary alone retained some semblance of normalcy.

"It'll hurt some, but tough it out."

said the Head Doctor.
Sure enough, the surgery was so painful that tears as large as broad beans came streaming down.
Even when I returned to my solitary cell, the pain kept me from getting up.
I thought that if this continued, I might lose the use of my legs.
At that moment, I remembered the radium hidden in the broom.
I took out the radium twice a day, morning and night, and applied it to the affected area.
And I repeated this every day.

“How about that? You’ve recovered astonishingly fast, haven’t you?”

the Head Doctor said, twitching his smug nose.

“Heeey.”

I put on a show of gratitude, but inside, I snorted with laughter.
It wasn’t that the Head Doctor was skilled.
It was my own radium therapy that worked—and so, in this way, my hemorrhoids were soon cured.

From then on, the days continued in utter monotony.

At first, I thought there was no dwelling as peaceful and carefree as prison and was quite pleased with myself.
However, I finally grew sick of the utterly monotonous life within the prison.

Admittedly, we weren't just sitting around with our hands tied.
Our group was pasting paper balloons.
Across the wide earthen floor where thin boards had been laid out, four clusters of workers gathered daily in one corner for this balloon-making task.
This was the most vibrant handicraft within the prison.
Waxed paper in lurid colors—red, blue, yellow, then purple, pink, sky blue and green—lay scattered about.
It might as well have been a scene of sitting amid a flowerbed in mid-April spring.
In the far corner, prisoners splicing hemp threads kept stealing glances toward the balloon workshop, greedily drinking in their furtive excitement.

To make a balloon, one first cut full sheets of multicolored wax paper into elongated petal-like shapes according to their respective sizes and stacked them up. Then small circular pieces resembling oblate disks were cut out and stacked up. These served as reinforcement patches applied to both the opening where breath was blown into the balloon and its opposite end. For the side receiving breath, a small hole was made; these alone constituted the balloon materials, yet they were amply prepared and kept on hand.

The paper balloon process began by first creating combinations of those petal-like materials. For instance, to make a balloon with red and yellow alternately pasted, one prepared two types of such petal-like pieces. Then, one by one, they were carefully separated, laid out, and coated with rubber glue. This constituted one task.

When moving to the next step, they would attach those petal-like pieces alternately one by one at a speed where the rubber glue hadn’t dried. Then, a lantern-like object without a base formed. This served as another task handled by four or five people.

Next came the dried portions being taken from those, folded in half, and formed into bowl-like shapes. This was another task.

Then came the task that Igarashi Shōkichi and I handled: between us sat an object resembling a football-shaped mold with legs attached. First, Igarashi would take the folded paper balloon and abruptly drape it over this football-shaped mold. Then I, holding oblate paper coated with glue, smoothly stuck a round colored sheet onto what resembled the balloon’s anus-like opening. Without a moment’s delay, Igarashi would remove the balloon from the mold, flip the bowl-like form inside out with a swift motion, and place it back—causing the anus-like opening on the opposite side to emerge—whereupon I would stick the oblate with the small hole over it. Thus concluded the paper balloon work.

After that, Igarashi would pile up the completed paper balloons like stacking bowls, thudding them one after another.
Then, occasionally, the inspectors would come around and haul away the mountain of balloons to the other side.

Igarashi and I worked in perfect sync—

“Ha—” Tap.

“Ngh—”

Tap.

And so we went on pasting the paper balloons’ anus-like openings as if beating a drum.
But this kind of work—if you kept at it for even a month—was enough to make anyone sick of it.

However, time flies, and before I knew it, I had welcomed five New Years in prison.
When February arrived, I would finally become a free man of the outside world.
After that, that radium spent five years in the broom in my solitary cell without ever being suspected.
A new light of hope gradually began to burn brightly within me.
In the dead of night, I would roll that radium—no larger than a pencil lead—on my palm and envision scenes of back alleys aglow with red lights.

However, on January 25th—with my release now just three weeks away—two unexpected visitors came to my solitary cell.

“Hey, Number 1994—you awake?—”

Two visitors in suits entered behind the prison guard.
I immediately sensed they were messengers for my bail release.

(Hm?) I wondered inwardly.
Of the two visitors, one was the Medical Director I recognized.
The other was a tanned, tall man who looked like a sportsman.

"This is the man, sir.
When he first arrived, he had truly severe hemorrhoids, you see. But thanks to my usual treatment method, they healed far more quickly than expected."

“Hm, hm.”

“Please do speak freely about whatever you wish.
Later, I will show you this man’s affected area.”

“No, there’s no need for that.”
“Just a brief talk will suffice.”

“Please do feel free…”

That unfamiliar gentleman asked me various questions about my hemorrhoid condition.
I endeavored to reply without hesitation.
But I never mentioned that hospital.

The gentleman left without asking any significant questions and departed together with the Medical Director.
After that, I dejectedly sat down on the chair constructed over the toilet with its lid closed.
(Something was off…)

The gentleman asked questions that at first glance seemed only those a doctor would ask, but somehow I felt he lacked that certain doctor-like quality. The realization struck my scarred shin with a sharp pang.

(A detective, perhaps...)

A sudden anxiety made my chest begin to tremble.

(This is bad.)

The first thing I considered was how to dispose of the radium. Given how things were going, I felt it was clearly dangerous to carry it out hidden in my flesh pocket. They would surely inspect my flesh pocket before my release. That would surely be the critical moment. ―I urgently had to devise a different hiding place for the radium.

It was Igarashi who called out, “Hey, Maruta,” in the workshop.
“Quite some guests you had last night.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know that young guy, huh?”

“You mean the tall guy?—Don’t know him.”

“Don’t know? Ha ha ha. You’re such an idiot. That’s Detective Homura.”

“Detective?”
“So it was after all.”

“So? Anything come to mind, huh?”

“Yeah… No, nothing.”

“D-don’t lie!”
“I’ll help you out.”
“Among your jobs, there’s still one the police don’t know about, huh?”

“No! There’s nothing!”

I rejected this closest friend's kindness unlike ever before. No matter that he was a five-year companion, this alone I found impossible to confess.

After that, we worked in silence.
It was an unusual situation for us.
The two of us typically worked while exchanging light jabs or teasing remarks during this task, even if we didn’t resort to parables.

Because of staying silent, I finally discovered something brilliant.
That was the method to safely transport the radium outside the prison.
It was an idea that seemed reasonably certain to work.

That day, once lunch was finished, the prisoners were temporarily returned to their individual cells and granted a brief period of rest.
Soon, with the tolling of the bell, they once again formed a sluggish line and entered the workshop.
At that moment, I took out the radium in its bare form.
I placed it into the seam at the waist of the persimmon-colored uniform.

Upon entering the workshop, I ordered everyone to prepare.
Because I was the group leader, I was permitted to go here and there at the start of work to look after everyone.

“Hey, show me the materials.”

I said to the skinny young man.

“Here’s how many we’ve got done.”

I untied the bundle of paper balloon petals and began riffling through them one by one, but—

“Hey, we’re one sheet short.”

“Huh?”

“Nah, it’s fine, it’s fine,” I said as I approached the corner where defective petals lay crumpled in disarray.
From among them, I took one persimmon-colored petal.
“Let’s put this one in.”

“That won’t do.”

The persimmon-colored petals were in fact meant to be rejected.
This occurred when pink had been mistakenly double-printed over yellow wax paper.
The overlapping of these two colors created an unexpected persimmon-hued paper.
Originally, slight color variations were tolerated since these were children's toys, but because persimmon matched our prison uniforms' color, we inmates ourselves had taken to discarding them—a practice the guards knowingly overlooked.

“Nah, it’s just one sheet.”
“This’ll do.”
“Toss the rest.”
“Take this scrap pile and go dump it now.”

With that, I added a single persimmon-colored petal into the bundle. Having one extra sheet added didn't particularly inconvenience the work.

When that was done, I returned to my workbench.
There, Igarashi was waiting with an innocent look.

The work began.

I waited with bated breath for the persimmon-colored paper balloon bearing its petal to arrive, my neck craned in anticipation of its coming at any moment.

(Ah, here it comes.) The persimmon-colored paper balloon finally made its way to us.
Igarashi carelessly folded it in two and briskly placed it over the sphere.

“There.”
Plop.

And I attached the round balloon’s base patch.
But there—though not quite one-in-a-thousand odds—no sooner had I attached the bare radium to the glued section than I flipped it downward and plopped it onto the persimmon-colored paper balloon. In other words, the radium—about the size of a broken pencil lead—was deftly sandwiched between the balloon’s petal and base papers.

“Ah—” Tap.

Igarashi flipped over the radium-containing balloon in the same manner.
I glanced briefly at his face—his mouth hung slackly open, eyes half-closed as if drowsy.
He didn’t seem to have the slightest inkling of my audacious plan.
Feeling thoroughly relieved, I attached the round colored paper with a plop.
Igarashi didn’t so much as glance at the persimmon-colored paper balloon, swiftly extending his arm sideways to stack it onto the pile of completed ones.
Just then, as if on cue, the inspection team arrived and hauled that entire stack of paper balloons away.
I rejoiced inwardly, nearly leaping for joy at my success, and let out a sigh of relief.

And so, the radium, still nestled within the persimmon-colored paper balloon, slipped from my grasp.

The events that followed aren’t worth detailing separately. I was released from prison about two weeks ahead of schedule. When I was released, under the supervision of that detective Homura or whatever his name was, they meticulously inspected my body cavities—but it only served to disappoint them. After I was released, imagining how my prison uniform and solitary cell were being turned upside down by a crowd of guards in a frantic search, I almost burst out laughing.

The wind of the outside world was truly splendid. A dry wind whistled through as I turned up my overcoat collar high against it.

Ah, how cold.

To feel winter's bite through prison-thinned skin—what exquisite fortune that was! I gripped my envelope of prison wages tight while drinking in every unfamiliar sight.

A round taxi appeared through the swirling dust. I flagged it down for Asakusa—my first ride since that fateful day long past. Reaching into my coat's inner pocket, I fished out a naked 50-sen coin from the creased envelope.

“Sir, where in Asakusa are we heading?”

“Ah, Asakusa—right, near Asakusa Bridge is fine.”

“If it’s Asakusa Bridge, we’ve overshot it a bit.”

“No need—anywhere nearby’s fine.”
“Let me out here.”

I stepped down onto the clean paved road.
But somehow, the concrete road surface was reminiscent of the prison workshop.
I felt disgusted.

So I started trudging along.

The destination was Marufuku Shoten, a toy wholesaler in Shichikencho.
Going this way and that, I floundered quite a bit, but I finally managed to find the shop I had in mind.
The storefront had kites and shuttlecocks hanging busily, along with celluloid trumpets, sabers, paper-crafted iron helmets, and so on—various items crammed so densely they hung from the ceiling.—I unceremoniously took a seat at the front of the shop.

“Welcome.”
“What can I get for you?”

asked the shop clerk.

“Ah, I want paper balloons... I have a bit of a special request, so could you show me a variety of them?”

“Certainly. As for paper balloons—they’re around here…”

And the shop clerk pointed.
What was this? Before my seated knees lay a mountain of those dear persimmon-colored paper balloons.

(Oh—)

My chest began pounding like a frantic bell.
I was seized by the impulse to gather up all the balloons with both hands and press down hard on them.
But even I had grown strangely jittery from my prison life.

“Yes…”

Forcing myself to stay calm, I began inspecting the mountain of balloons from top to bottom.

(The persimmon-colored balloon?)

No, no.
It wasn’t that there weren’t any—
Every paper balloon from my prison was supposed to be bought by this Marufuku Shoten.
That was because the prison’s bidding process had once again awarded this year’s paper balloons to Marufuku.
So that persimmon-colored paper balloon had nowhere to go but stay in this shop.
Had it been sold?

“……Are there really no more balloons?”

“At present, just these…”

“I see.
Then… aren’t there any stored away somewhere?”

“No.”

The shop clerk said something disheartening.

I was utterly dejected and lacked the energy to stand up. At that moment, someone who appeared to be the manager called out from the back.

“Yoshimatsu.”
“Didn’t some come in from over there just now?”
“Bring that out for him to see.”

“Ah, right, that’s correct… Please wait a moment.”
“We had some that came in today.”

“Did they come in today?”
“Ah, I see.”

I couldn’t control the shape of my face melting away like candy with joy.
The shop clerk vigorously ripped open the large kraft paper package.

“What might this be…?”

“Ah—”

I spotted the persimmon-colored paper balloons stacked there at a glance.

“Ah, this one’s just the thing.”
“I’ll take this one.”

I tossed out a ten-yen bill and bought a large number of balloons.
Even while the shop clerk wrapped them up, I was on pins and needles, worried someone might come to interfere.
But that was nothing but needless worry.

I left the store carrying the package of balloons.
But just five or six ken past the storefront—not even that far—I froze in alarm.
A familiar man was approaching from the opposite direction.
That could only be Detective Homura.

(This is—) I hardened my resolve in that split second, though fortunately the detective appeared absorbed in examining the rows of toy wholesalers' signs lining the street.
Slipping smoothly behind a utility pole, I finally dodged that incompetent investigator.

I immediately hired a one-yen taxi and had it rush to Ryōgoku.
I got off in front of the Kokugikan, entered an alley, and there was a one-yen inn called the Kōraku-kan.
I pushed the door there.

I went up to the third floor, and even shooing the maid out of the room felt agonizingly slow.
After receiving the lodging fee and tip, the plump sparrow-cheeked maid left, and I shed my overcoat and jacket.
Then I ripped open the package I’d brought with a violent tearing sound.
No time to bother with a knife.
I clawed through everything using just my fingernails.

There it is, there it is!

"The persimmon-colored paper balloon!"

The other paper balloons scattered into the room like a carnival blizzard of blossoms.

“This is it, this is it!”

It was the persimmon-colored paper balloon I had finally found.
My eyes, overwhelmed with emotion, suddenly clouded over.
While wiping away those tears with the sleeve of my shirt in a sideways swipe, I probed the paper balloon’s rounded base with my fingertips.

"Huh?"

What was wrong?
At the base where there should definitely have been a hard object to touch, I simply couldn't feel anything.
It was as flat as an ice rink.

"That's impossible!"

No longer able to restrain myself, I hooked my fingertips onto the base and ripped it off with a tearing sound.
I turned it completely inside out and checked.
However, I still couldn't find anything.
Thinking I might have confused the base with the mouthpiece where you blow air in, I tried tearing off that part instead.
But still—nothing.
Impossible.
That's impossible.
But no matter what, it just couldn't be found.

“Aah—!”

My hips crumpled limply onto the floor.
If this is a dream, wake up, I thought.
God, let’s stop with these jokes already! I shouted.
Time! Return before you tear through this paper balloon! I bellowed.
But what good would that do?
Despair—despair—utter despair.
From tens of thousands of pores, all energy left my body like escaping steam.
I became like a cast-off kimono lying crumpled on tatami mats for eternity unmeasured.

How much later that was, I know not.
I finally came to my senses and sat up on the floor.

When I thought about it, it was an utterly absurd affair.
The ¥35,000 radium that I had hidden so skillfully had finally gone missing.
But until that day, the radium had been in my possession.
It should still exist somewhere on Earth even now.

As I thought this, bitter tears came trickling down once more.
I ground my teeth, refusing to accept that I could lose that radium—the one I'd staked my life's honor on—so easily.

"Where in blazes did I lose it?"

I tried to reconstruct in writing everything that had happened since that day.
I turned over countless possibilities, but ultimately nothing solid came to light.
Yet it made no sense—the radium I'd glued between those paper layers shouldn't have fallen out so quickly. And this was unquestionably the same balloon.
A patched-together mess of mismatched persimmon-colored scraps like this couldn't possibly exist anywhere else.

I turned the same thoughts over in my mind again and again, countless times.
While turning those same thoughts over in my mind, I suddenly realized something!
"Oh, that might be it!"

I bolted upright.

"No—it must be that!"
"Yeah, that's right."

The blood throughout my entire body suddenly surged.
My arms and legs began trembling violently.

"Alright, damn it..."

I ran out into the darkness outside.

Now, how should I convey what happened after that to you all? Having grown somewhat weary of telling, I think I will simply state the conclusion. As for that conclusion, I imagine it is already clearly visible before your eyes. If saying that doesn’t make it clear, I’ll state it more plainly.

I believe you all saw the February 20th morning edition of the newspaper.
In its society section, what do you suppose shocked you all the most?

That goes without saying.

Under the headline **“Mysterious Corpse Discovered in Mountain Foothills’ Dilapidated Hut”**, the article read: **“On the 19th at 8:00 AM, X University student X attempted to rest inside a dilapidated hut in the foothills of Mount X, whereupon he unexpectedly discovered the completely naked corpse of a man estimated to be 42 or 43 years old.** Upon receiving the alert, Superintendent Ōeyama of the Metropolitan Police Department's Investigative Division and his team rushed to the scene accompanied by forensic investigators. At the scene, what appeared to be the same man’s kimono and loincloth had been discarded, but in addition, a long hemp rope—its purpose unclear—had been abandoned. Other than that, there were no belongings. The corpse was autopsied that same day, and it was determined that the man’s cause of death was primarily starvation. Additionally, as a distinguishing feature of the corpse, a significant ulcer was discovered beneath the left rib. However, the cause and other details remain unknown; in any case, it has drawn the attention of authorities as a significant mystery related to the heinous act.

Later report.—The victim’s identity had been ascertained.
He was Igarashi Shōkichi (39).
He was a villainous pickpocket with twelve prior convictions who had been released from XX Prison ten days earlier.
He had left prison and gone missing after getting into a car that was waiting at the main gate, and a missing persons report had been filed with XX Station by his family.
The culprit remained unknown, but it was presumed to likely be revenge by someone who bore a grudge against him.
"The Metropolitan Police Department is rigorously investigating the automobile and driver that took him away, etc."

As for Igarashi Shōkichi having been brutally murdered and the presence of that inexplicable ulcer beneath his left rib—do you all have any inkling about that?

He was a master pickpocket.
I had completely forgotten about that for ages.
No—there was something else I'd forgotten.
I'd labored under the delusion that prison was like school—that it would be full of upstanding folk and brimming with noble camaraderie.

When I placed the radium into the balloon, Igarashi flipped it over—my timing was late, his was early—and he must have deftly used his nimble fingers to pickpocket the radium.

Having now realized this, I disguised myself as a driver in front of the prison and skillfully abducted him—freshly released—right there at the prison gates.
And when I took him into that dilapidated shack, I deprived him of his freedom and subjected him to various tortures, but that stubborn bastard absolutely refused to confess.
In my rage, I finally resorted to the final measure.
After winding hemp rope around his body in tight coils, I rolled him roughly onto the floor.
I left him just like that for several days.
Of course, I didn’t give him a single drop of water.
And so, he ultimately died from starvation and cold.

I waited for his body to grow cold and untied the rope.
And then I stripped him naked and examined his entire body.
It was then that I discovered that ulcer beneath his left rib.

“There, see?”
“Even if you don’t spill where the radium is, isn’t your body blabbing it clear as day?”
“Serves you right!”

I promptly probed the bottom of his left pocket and finally pulled out the radium I had been after.
Of course, even if he had not confessed, I had taken into account from the very beginning that an ulcer would likely appear on his body before long due to the power of this radium.

But I too ended up killing someone over something trivial.
Now I regret it.
I still have that radium just as it was.

For the sake of converting it into money and seeking my new world, tonight I will leave Japan.
I will likely never return to Japan.
I intend to convert that into money, cultivate a flower field beneath a crimson sun, and spend the remainder of my life living leisurely.