Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Osaka Keikichi

I

Dr. Akazawa's private mental hospital stood perched on a small ocher-soiled hill near M City's outskirts, its back to a dense grove of mixed trees as it overlooked the road leading to the crematorium. The old-fashioned single-story structure appeared less like a building and more like some enormous spider crouched low to the ground. Truly, as the saying goes about misfortunes arriving in succession, long before this recent atrocity of unparalleled cruelty occurred, a sinister air had already been intensifying within Akazawa Mental Hospital's rotting plank fence like an invisible miasma welling up—the entire establishment pursuing a relentless path toward ruin, much like a termite-riddled central pillar dragging down the whole structure.

According to Dr. Akazawa's firmly held theory, the nursing of mental patients presented an inherently formidable challenge—for many patients would frequently commit violent acts like assaults, escapes, or arson stemming from trivial motives or none at all; others might attempt unmotivated suicides or refuse food and medication due to petty emotional misunderstandings, thereby posing grave dangers not only to themselves but also to their caretakers and society at large. Therefore, he argued, such individuals absolutely required confinement in properly organized hospitals where they could be isolated from social freedoms and provided both custodial supervision and mental repose. Yet considering this from another angle, he conceded that most mentally ill persons—unlike ordinary patients or the injured—lacked awareness of their own conditions; being incapable of self-preservation and remaining nonchalant toward impending dangers regardless of origin, their care demanded extraordinary attentiveness and compassion. Consequently, he maintained that small-scale home nursing in meticulous domestic environments would yield better results than large hospital facilities, with the fundamental principle being that each patient must have one caretaker in constant attendance.

Director Akazawa’s ancestors—unsurprisingly, being natives of Iwakura Village in Kyoto, Japan’s foremost bastion of home nursing—had been quick to recognize this critical point. By reconciling these two mutually contradictory nursing approaches, they established what might be called a home-style small hospital. However, maintaining one caretaker per patient made this a remarkably expensive hospital. The founder apparently managed without incident. But financial difficulties began creeping in for the second director. And when it came to the third-generation head, he finally exhausted nearly his entire personal fortune.

When a new era arrived and a new municipal mental hospital was established, what few patients remained began diminishing rapidly from then on. As medal-laden generals and great inventors who had once animated the wards departed one by one, even their formerly cheerful singing voices grew strangely timid and lonesome—particularly on windy nights when an unbearable eeriness permeated the air—while caretakers too took their leave two or three at a time like fleeing refugees, until only a single elderly caretaker over fifty remained struggling to tend three patients with nowhere else to go. Though this number included a maid handling pharmacy duties along with the director and his wife—seven souls in total—their gathering remained too dreary to dispel the silence cloaking that desolate bald hill.

As sealed windows gathered cobwebs and empty rooms—tatami mats layered with dust and streaked with mold—increased in number, Dr. Akazawa found his mind filled with an agitation he could no longer conceal. At first matters remained manageable when he—while tending to bonsai he had recently become obsessed with—accidentally over-pruned new shoots, or when his regular rounds fell into severe disarray. But once his accumulated anguish found outlet in the patients through reckless abuse like “You crazy bastards!” or “You’re idiots—I’ll have to replace your brains!”, the caretakers and maids watching nearby began feeling greater unease toward the director than toward the patients themselves, quietly exchanging glances while making bitter faces. Yet at such times the patients would suddenly fall silent—as if trying through some taught lesson to parse the director’s words—and shuffle backward with strange upward glances.

The three patients were all middle-aged men; while they each certainly had their real names, there they had been given special nicknames. That is to say, "Ton-Ton" was the man in Room 1, who would lean against his hospital window daily—watching processions of cars heading to the crematorium or staring at crows perched on utility poles—all while maintaining his constant habit of tap-tap-tapping the wooden wall panel before him with the toes of his right foot. This habit proved extraordinarily persistent; consequently, the section of tatami under Ton-Ton’s usual window—where he performed his tapping—had become rough and bristled from the constant friction of his soles, grooved like a mortar’s trough.

The man in Room 2—(to clarify: after patient numbers dwindled, the three madmen previously scattered across various rooms had been consolidated into Rooms 1, 2, and 3 nearest the main house for nursing convenience, leaving all rooms from 4 through the remaining twelve completely vacant)—was called "Diva." Despite his fine bearded countenance, he wore women's kimonos and projected a delicate soprano voice as he endlessly sang old-fashioned pop songs likely memorized during his initial breakdown. He would clap his own hands vigorously to simulate encore applause, only to suddenly burst into shrill, meaningless giggles.

Next was Room 3’s occupant, referred to as the “Injured Man.” Though not actually injured anywhere, he claimed to have suffered major injuries, wrapping bandages from head to face and constantly lying on his back in his room under the pretense of requiring absolute rest. If caretakers tried to approach him, he would scream at the top of his lungs and vehemently refuse to let anyone touch his affected areas. Yet even he would defer meekly only to the director, periodically having his bandages changed to barely maintain cleanliness.

These three patients were all of a relatively mild and positive disposition, diligently applying themselves to their daily routines within the narrow fence confines, utterly indifferent to whether Akazawa Mental Hospital stood or fell. Yet as nursing grew increasingly slipshod and meal quality deteriorated, a dark shadow began seeping into both their vitality and complexions despite their remaining cheerful in manner. When this shadow collided with the director's perpetually mounting displeasure—itself an ever-present force—they displayed an acutely sensitive servility, until an indescribably unpleasant atmosphere swelled like a wind steadily thickening and darkening. And that wind grew ever fiercer and more violent, swirling up like a whirlwind until it finally came crashing down upon Akazawa Mental Hospital's tragic demise.

For some reason, it was a stifling morning—one where processions of cars heading to the crematorium had been frequent since dawn, and the base of the bald hill remained perpetually shrouded in a smoke-like haze.

The elderly caretaker Toriyama Ukichi awoke at six as usual and walked down the corridor leading to the wards with a toothpick clenched between his teeth, but as he walked, he casually noticed the back gate in the corner of the exercise yard by the plank fence stood open—gasping, he froze in place.

Allow me to briefly explain here: The grounds of Akazawa Mental Hospital spanned a total of 550 tsubo. Within the high plank fence stood an examination room, pharmacy, and the so-called main house where Director Akazawa, his wife, and other household members resided. A U-shaped ward building surrounded a patients' exercise yard of approximately 150 tsubo on three sides, with the remaining side abutting directly against the plank fence. Near this ward-side section of fencing was situated the aforementioned back gate facing the mixed grove. However, being a gate that connected directly to the madmen's exercise yard—unlike the kitchen entrance of the main house—it was absolutely never left open like the front gate and should have remained securely locked at all times. Though Dr. Akazawa did occasionally go out through here for morning walks in the back mixed grove, it occurred to caretaker Toriyama Ukichi that perhaps the director had gone out this way; thinking this, he tentatively walked toward the gate. However, even if the director were to go out for a walk, leaving such an important gate open—even for a brief moment—was absolutely impermissible. Toriyama Ukichi was thinking this as he reached the gate, then stood up and peered anxiously over the fence.

There was no one there. In the treetops of the mixed grove, unseen little birds were peep-peeping their morning song. Then Ukichi suddenly noticed something strange and unconsciously took the toothpick he had been clenching between his teeth. The soprano of "Diva," who always kept singing from early morning—now that he thought about it—couldn’t be heard at all this morning. Not only Diva’s soprano, but even Ton-Ton’s usually persistent and annoying tapping—for some reason, none of it could be heard. The deserted hospital ward had fallen into an unnervingly solemn silence, holding within its brightness a dead, eerie stillness. It was utterly silent. From within that silence emerged only the sound of Ukichi’s heartbeat—low and slow at first, but gradually growing faster and louder.

“This's... one hell of a mess!”

Toriyama Ukichi, who had unconsciously muttered this, turned visibly pale as he hunched over and dashed toward the ward.

Clatter... bang-bang... For a while, the sound of doors being opened and closed could be heard, until a sorrowful trembling voice crying “D-Doctor... it’s terrible!” burst from Room 4 through Room 1 along the connecting corridor before clattering away toward the still-sleeping main house.

“...It’s terrible... It’s terrible, ma’am! The patients have all run away...” Before long, the interior suddenly grew noisy with the commotion of startled people. “What about the Doctor? Where’s the Doctor?” “In the bedroom over there... You must wake him at once.” “He isn’t in the bedroom.” “He isn’t here?” “Never mind that—all the patients have escaped.” “What about the vacant rooms?” “They’re all empty.”

“Go wake the Doctor...”

“The Doctor isn’t here.” Before long, Toriyama the caretaker and Mrs. Akazawa, followed by three maids, came flying out into the exercise yard in disheveled states. —It’s terrible. They couldn’t remain like this.

They couldn’t remain like this. With Ukichi leading the way, the three men and women immediately began searching from inside the hospital to the mixed grove outside, their eyes bloodshot as they split up to look. But the madmen were nowhere to be found. And before long, the people—their faces on the verge of tears—gathered before the back gate. “But... what about the Doctor?”

The maid said nervously. The crows, startled by the noise, began cawing ominously from the treetops of the mixed grove. Ukichi stood bewildered with his knees quaking violently, but suddenly crouched down, “Oh! What’s this...?” “This...?” He shouted and lurched forward. Sure enough, just inside the gate lay something like a beer bottle—shattered into countless fragments and scattered about. Upon closer inspection, it was the glass deodorizer bottle installed in the ward’s toilet. And across the entire surrounding area, splatters of a dark red liquid—already dried and hardened—began catching their eyes here and there. The maid let out a shrill scream.

“Toriyama.” “Isn’t this some kind of drag mark?”

On the ground where Mrs. Akazawa was pointing, there was indeed a trail of drag marks from something heavy, faintly continuing toward the ward. As if stitching through them, dark red spill marks dripped... drip... The three gulped down their voices and began following the trail as though stumbling. They soon came along the plank fence to the toilet at the far end of the ward. A cement-covered earthen floor without floorboards. But when the three peered into that earthen floor, they let out a scream of terror beyond words like "Ah" or "Gah" and were frozen in place.

In a dirt-floored room transformed into a sea of blood lay Director Akazawa's ghastly figure at its very center—collapsed in a recoiling posture while still wearing last night's pajamas. Terrible lacerations running from face to head—likely inflicted by glass shards glinting coldly within the bloody pool—spurted jellied clots, but what made it unbearable to behold was the gaping hole stretching from forehead to cranium through which his brains had been extracted, leaving the skull hollow. Where had the removed brains disappeared? No trace remained anywhere...

II

From M City Police Station, which had received the emergency call, a team of officers led by the judicial chief descended upon Akazawa Mental Hospital—a full twenty minutes after the initial incident. After obtaining a full account from the extremely agitated Toriyama Ukichi, Inspector Yoshioka—the judicial chief—first ordered his subordinate officers to fan out in all directions and commanded the search and arrest of the three escaped madmen. Soon after personnel from the prosecutor’s office arrived, they immediately commenced brisk on-site examinations and preliminary judicial interrogations. Ukichi, Mrs. Akazawa, and the maid—clearly beside themselves—initially flustered the officials with their incoherent statements, but as they gradually composed themselves, they responded to questions about Akazawa Mental Hospital’s current state, that ominous atmosphere, the director’s deteriorating daily life, and even the distinctive quirks of the three madmen—haltingly yet dutifully.

Meanwhile, according to the police doctor’s assessment, the director’s time of death was estimated to be around 4 AM—a time when the family members were still asleep and had heard no noises whatsoever. It also came to light that the director was always an early riser and had habits such as doing exercises and taking walks still in his sleepwear. When the initial investigation concluded, the prosecutor said to the judicial chief.

“Anyway, the motive for the crime is clear. The question is whether these three madmen acted as accomplices, or whether one of them committed the crime and then—taking advantage of the open doors—the others scattered and fled separately. By the way, how many officers have been assigned to apprehend the criminals?” “For the time being, we’ve dispatched five officers.” “Five?” grimaced the Prosecutor. “And has there been any information?” “Not yet.”

“Of course not. “Five officers are far too few. “After all, there are three escaped madmen. “And they might be hiding somewhere...”

As he spoke, the prosecutor suddenly realized something terrible. His face stiffening visibly, he continued. "That's right—in this situation, it isn't a matter of catching them or not. No—this is going to turn into something catastrophic... Listen well—the culprits are three madmen, and not just ordinary lunatics at that. They've suddenly turned violent—a group you can't predict what they'll do next." "Good grief," the preliminary judge cut in, pale-faced. "...If those lunatics were to flee into the city filled with women and children...what then?"

“This is dreadful,” the Prosecutor said in a trembling voice to Inspector Yoshioka. “No—we absolutely can’t afford to waste any more time. Dispatch reinforcements immediately. Right—we must also send alerts to every police box in the city…”

Inspector Yoshioka, his eyes changing color, rushed in a fluster into the main house’s telephone room.

From the crime scene to police headquarters, from police headquarters to every police box in the city... A sudden surge of tension crackled painfully along telephone lines as Akazawa Mental Hospital's temporary investigation headquarters erupted into frenzied activity. The police reinforcements that had soon arrived were divided into two groups—one immediately dispatched into the city, another into the outskirts centered around the mental hospital's barren hill—and promptly sent out. However, no favorable information was forthcoming. Inspector Yoshioka impatiently clicked his teeth. The only small consolation was that no further heinous incidents had occurred.

But he couldn't afford to dawdle. They had to arrest them as quickly as possible and prevent the disaster before it occurred. Right—but even so, if the madmen had hidden themselves somewhere out of fear of people, this would be quite a difficult problem. Thinking this, the judicial chief grew increasingly impatient. From the perspective of a madman's mentality, would they hide in such a situation? But if they were to hide, where in the world would they go? Right—this wasn't something an amateur could figure out.

When no good news had come even by noon, the chief stood up resolutely. Then, after relocating the headquarters to the city police station and entrusting its oversight to the station chief, he came to the municipal mental hospital located in the suburbs on the opposite side from Akazawa Hospital. In response to the request, Dr.Matsunaga met him immediately. “What a terrible thing they’ve done.” Dr.Matsunaga—a ruddy-complexioned, good-natured-looking man who seemed to have already heard about the matter from somewhere—said this and offered the chief a chair.

“Actually, regarding that matter—I’ve come to ask for your assistance right away.” “Haven’t they caught all three yet?” “They haven’t been caught.” Inspector Yoshioka, his face twisted in frustration, immediately began speaking. “Doctor, “Doctor, would madmen even hide in a situation like this?” “Or else…”

“Well… Given they haven’t been caught, they must be hiding somewhere.”

“Then how exactly are they hiding? After all, it’s a dangerous matter, and we must hurry…” Dr.Matsunaga forced a bitter smile. “That’s a difficult question. However, that really can’t be determined without conducting a detailed study of each patient individually. Generally speaking, those people are low in both thought and emotion—but even within that lowness, there are various degrees. Each individual harbors their own arbitrary logic tinged with personal quirks.” “To state my opinion frankly, in this case, the issue hinges not on where or how someone hid, but rather on whether the director’s murder was a three-person conspiracy or the act of a single individual.” “If it were the act of a single culprit, that criminal might be somewhat cunning—but at least the remaining two would surely come creeping out of arbitrary hiding places once their excitement subsides and they get hungry.” “Well, once the excitement subsides, there should be no danger.” “But if this were a conspiracy…”

Dr. Matsunaga sat back down in his chair after saying this and continued in a suddenly heated tone. “...If it were a conspiracy, that would be rather troublesome.” “How so?”

Involuntarily, the judicial chief leaned forward. "In other words, if it were a single culprit's crime, just as that criminal alone would have difficulty emerging unscathed, for the same reason, concerns would arise about the well-being of all three." "...I don't understand... What do you mean?..." The chief's face reddened with a perplexed expression. "It's nothing serious," the doctor grinned slyly. "...I heard this from a pharmacist—apparently, Dr.Akazawa had grown terribly haggard recently and often used reckless phrases like 'replace your brains' when scolding his patients."

“That’s it. That’s the motive.” “Wait a moment… From what I’ve heard once or twice, I’m certain it was ‘replace your brains,’ not ‘take out your brains.’ You see, there’s a crucial difference between ‘replace’ and ‘take out.’” “…Hah…” The chief gave a vague reply that seemed neither comprehension nor confusion. Dr. Matsunaga pressed on. “Listen—a fool possesses comprehension commensurate with their foolishness. When a man who’s been told ‘Replace your brains’ extracts a clever person’s brains… what do you suppose he does next?…”

“...”

The chief stood up aghast in silence. And with trembling hands, he grabbed his hat and instinctively gave a quick bow to Dr. Matsunaga.

“Thank you very much. I understand clearly now.”

Then Dr. Matsunaga laughed cheerfully and,

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Dr.Matsunaga replied. “Then please apprehend that pitiful madman as quickly as possible—before he does something like crushing his own skull and dying.” As he rose from his seat, he added: “This case offers many lessons… Everyone ought to take heed…”

III

Inspector Yoshioka, the judicial chief who had withdrawn from the mental hospital, felt strangely relieved nonetheless. If one followed Dr.Matsunaga’s teachings, the danger of the escaped madmen committing violence against ordinary people was mitigated to some extent. The three madmen—or perhaps one among them—were obsessed not with harming others but first and foremost with replacing their own brains with those of “the Doctor” they had extracted. But what a terrifyingly insane thing this was.

Inspector Yoshioka, having traded one anxiety for another entirely different terror, broke out in a cold sweat as he returned to headquarters and continued frantically directing the investigation.

But indeed, the expert’s appraisal proved splendidly accurate, and before long, the judicial chief’s efforts gradually began to be rewarded. First, that evening, one of the escaped madmen, "Diva," was finally apprehended near the crematorium. Just as Dr. Matsunaga had deduced, once her agitation had subsided, "Diva" began singing her plaintive soprano from a hideout in the grove behind the crematorium as the western sky started burning crimson. One quick-witted, cautious plainclothes officer who had heard this approached and clapped his hands loudly. Then "Diva" instantly stopped singing, showed a suspicious silence for a moment, but soon began singing again plaintively as if reassured. The patrolman clapped his hands once again. This time came an immediate encore. Another round of applause. And encore. Eventually，even laughter began to spill out; their distance gradually closed until capture came with surprising ease.

When "Diva," clad in women's kimono, was brought by car not to a stage but to the police station, the judicial chief eagerly commenced the interrogation. But upon immediately realizing that this opponent was no ordinary individual he could handle alone, the judicial chief called Dr. Matsunaga. Dr. Matsunaga had gone to Akazawa Mental Hospital to check on the patients after leaving the hospital, but upon receiving the chief’s call, he came immediately. And upon hearing the circumstances, he first and foremost praised the resourcefulness of the officer who had captured "Diva."

“That was splendidly handled. In any case, when dealing with such people, you must never resort to provocation. Gently, like slowly tightening a silk noose around their neck, lower yourself to their level and skillfully synchronize with the movements of their childish emotions and thought processes.”

Dr. Matsunaga then engaged Diva in a peculiar exchange of questions and answers while appearing to subtly perform a physical examination with his sharp eyes, but soon turned back to address the judicial chief.

“This man is not the culprit.” “There’s no blood on him anywhere.” “A madman who perpetrated such carnage couldn’t possibly remain so spotless.” “...This wasn’t an accomplice—it must have been one of the remaining two.” “In any case, this man may now be returned to his original dwelling.”

Thereupon, following Dr.Matsunaga's instructions, "Diva" was safely taken back to Akazawa Mental Hospital. And thereupon, the judicial chief began devoting all his efforts to investigating the remaining "Ton-Ton" and "Injured Man." However, within less than an hour, Dr.Matsunaga's terrifying prediction was finally reported to have materialized. It happened when the proprietress of Azuma—an upscale sake bar catering to laborers near M City's outskirts—pushed aside the straw noren curtain to leave for the public bath at nightfall. A man came staggering up from the dark road beyond, but when she saw him approaching close enough, she let out a shriek. It was said to be a middle-aged man with his kimono hanging open at the chest, his entire face smeared with blood and both eyes fixed in an uncanny stare, holding something resembling crumbled tofu on the palm of one hand raised like a Jizo statue as he disappeared toward the railroad tracks with a visibly staggering gait.

When the judicial chief received the report from the officer who had heard it from Azuma's proprietress, he turned pale and stood up. After requesting Dr.Matsunaga's accompaniment, he immediately had the car driven to the upscale sake bar on the outskirts. Having confirmed the report once more with the proprietress there, they began an intensive search across the entire area toward the railroad tracks where the madmen were believed to have vanished. Just then—as if what Dr.Matsunaga had termed the 'period when agitation subsides and hunger sets in' had arrived—another madman was captured near M River that cut through the city's heart.

The "Injured Man," his face and head swathed in bandages, had staggered onto the bridge just as Diva had appeared earlier, peering exhaustedly into the dark waters below. A police officer, alerted by a passerby, captured him as if catching a cicada. The Injured Man, unlike Diva, put up a bit of resistance. However, he soon quieted down and was taken to headquarters.

Upon receiving this report near the railroad crossing guardhouse, Inspector Yoshioka immediately addressed the officers who had rushed to the scene. “And that madman—was there any blood on his kimono or anywhere else?” “Ah, there’s not a single drop on him, sir.” “However, it appears he had been lying down somewhere, as his head bandages were covered in a great deal of straw-like debris.” Then Inspector Yoshioka exchanged a fleeting glance with Dr. Matsunaga beside him and laughed as he— “Good. “Alright then, have that madman delivered to Akazawa Mental Hospital.” “Handle him gently.”

“Yes, sir!”

When the police left, the chief began walking alongside Dr. Matsunaga once more along the railroad tracks through the darkness.

“It’s finally coming into focus.”

Dr. Matsunaga said. “Absolutely...” The chief nodded deeply. “But still—where on earth could he have slipped away to?” In patches of darkness here and there, the police officers’ flashlights occasionally flickered on and off like fireflies. But before they had walked even ten minutes, suddenly from the darkness over the railroad tracks ahead, a flashlight drew a large arc— “…Heeey…”

A shout was heard. “What happened?!” Inspector Yoshioka involuntarily raised his voice.

Then immediately following came a voice from beyond— “Chief~? ...He’s here.” “He’s dead!…” The two of them broke into a run. Soon after reaching where the police officer stood, the chief finally came upon the horrific scene there. Ton-Ton—who had collapsed beside the railroad tracks—appeared to have laid his head upon the rail as if using it for a pillow. But his head had already been utterly crushed to pieces and scattered across the surrounding gravel.

Once Ton-Ton’s corpse had been moved aside beside the railroad tracks, the chief and the doctor promptly began a preliminary examination of the body. But before long, the chief stood up as if he could no longer bear it and muttered to no one in particular.

“Well... this truly is a horrifying end...”

Then Dr. Matsunaga—who had been crouched before Ton-Ton’s corpse, obsessively twisting around the soft soles of both feet—suddenly looked up. “The end?” Though he had spoken sharply, Dr. Matsunaga stood up with profound dejection. For some reason, his complexion had turned deathly pale—utterly transformed from before—as an expression of intense doubt and anguish now filled his entire face.

“Please wait…”

At last, Dr. Matsunaga groaned out. Then, with a bitter grimace, he lowered his face and gazed intermittently at Ton-Ton’s corpse as if bewildered, but soon raised his head resolutely. "Right, wait after all... You just now said 'the end,' didn't you? Well... It seems I've made an outrageous mistake... Inspector. Apparently, this doesn't seem to be the end yet."

“Wh-what did you say?” Finally, the chief could no longer contain himself and pressed in. Ignoring the chief’s combative stance, Dr. Matsunaga cast another fleeting glance at Ton-Ton’s corpse and uttered something peculiar. “By the way, Dr. Akazawa’s corpse remains at that mental hospital, correct?”

IV

About twenty minutes later, Dr. Matsunaga practically dragged Inspector Yoshioka along and arrived at Akazawa Mental Hospital.

On the bald mountain at night, the treetops of mixed trees rustled in the wind as an owl hooted incessantly somewhere. Dr. Matsunaga detained Toriyama Ukichi in the main building and stated his intention to view the director’s corpse. “Yes, since official authorization hasn’t been granted yet, we haven’t commenced the vigil.”

As he spoke, Ukichi lit a candle and guided the two of them toward the ward. As they passed Room 2, from inside came the soprano voice of the returned "Diva," which tonight was heard in a murmuring low tone that seemed uncharacteristically subdued. When they reached Room 3, the Injured Man—who had pressed his large shadow against the lit frosted glass sliding door and rattled it open a crack—watched them pass with suspicious eyes. From Room 4 onward, the electric lights had been turned off, leaving the corridor pitch dark.

Ukichi, swaying the candle’s flame to cast wavering shadows, led the way into Room 5. “The coffin isn’t ready yet, so I’m afraid he’s in this state.”

As he spoke, Ukichi held out the candle. The director’s corpse had been laid in the corner of the room with oilpaper spread beneath it and covered with a white cloth. Dr. Matsunaga wordlessly drew near it immediately, then crouched down and removed the white cloth. And then, forcefully lifting the corpse’s right leg toward Ukichi— “Hold the light closer.” he said. With trembling hands, Ukichi held out the candle, and the doctor began vigorously kneading the soles of the corpse’s feet with both thumbs. He began kneading, but for some reason, the soles were terribly hard and wouldn’t yield. It was apparently a large callus. Dr. Matsunaga lifted the foot a bit higher this time and twisted the tip of the big toe toward the light. The toe illuminated by the light was, however, shockingly swollen and hard as pumice.

At that moment, Ukichi dropped the candle. Suddenly, everything turned pitch black. And in that absolute darkness came Ukichi’s voice—a horrific wail indistinguishable between sobbing and screaming— “Aaaaah... Th-that’s... That’s Ton-Ton’s foot!” But before this voice had even faded, another sound tore through—Dr. Matsunaga’s razor-sharp cry—tumbling through the dark toward the doorway amid violent footfalls.

“Inspector! Come here immediately!”

Then, in the corridor, no sooner had violent footsteps clashed than something collided with the sliding door—the clang of shattering glass—

The stunned inspector rushed out into the corridor only to find two struggling figures locked in a four-limbed tussle, rolling about before Room 3. He dashed over, hesitated briefly, then—zeroing in on the white bandages around the head—sent his seventy-five-kilogram frame crashing into them with a thunderous impact. The Injured Man was captured instantly. When they clamped handcuffs on him, he sullenly flopped down where he stood and began blinking rapidly with an oddly vacant expression, as though trapped in some waking dream.

Dr. Matsunaga stood up while rubbing his waist and, with one hand, brushed off the dust from his trousers, “This is the first time I’ve ever grappled.” Inspector Yoshioka finally could no longer endure, “Wh-what on earth is the meaning of this?”

Then Dr. Matsunaga looked toward the Injured Man and remarked, “Hmph. “He’s playing dumb. “…Are you genuinely feigning ignorance or deliberately acting obtuse? Let’s conduct an experiment to find out.”

Having said that, he crouched down before the Injured Man and stared intently at the bandage-swaddled face where only the eyes were visible.

The Injured Man began to struggle again.

“Inspector.” “Keep a firm hold on him.” Having said that, when Dr. Matsunaga swiftly reached both hands toward the Injured Man’s head, the man suddenly began thrashing about in a deathly frenzy. The inspector vehemently pressed him down. In their excessive struggle, the two finally ended up standing. Dr. Matsunaga also stood up and immediately began mercilessly unwrapping the head bandages. The long white cloth gradually unraveled despite the struggle, revealing from beneath... a jaw... a nose... a cheek... an eye! And then Ukichi, who had been standing frozen behind the doctor, let out a scream as if his liver had been crushed.

“Good heavens... It’s the Doctor!”

――Truly, before everyone’s eyes stood Dr. Akazawa—who should have been dead—his face deathly pale.

In the police-dispatched car, Dr.Matsunaga said: "I've never heard of such a cunning crime... The madman who was always being told 'replace your brains' finally pretended to follow that instruction with lunatic sincerity—only to actually kill the other madman instead and play dead himself... Of course, if you remove brains through drastic measures, the face becomes unrecognizable as anyone's." "As long as you changed the clothes, that would've sufficed... But Director—mixing up Ton-Ton's and the Injured Man's corpses? What an appalling blunder... Hm?" "Ah, the man that the sake shop landlady saw wasn't Ton-Ton—it was obviously the Director." "He had someone witness that scene beforehand, then when coming to the railroad tracks, made it appear as if Ton-Ton himself had done it—replacing the brains in the Injured Man's head whom he'd already killed—before having the train run over him." "When it comes to this part, true to form for someone in his position, he's skillfully captured the madman's psychology." "But the problem was that after killing the Injured Man, he then disguised himself as the Injured Man and deliberately allowed himself to be captured temporarily in order to bring the case to a swift and complete conclusion." "In that case, we would inevitably come to believe the man who died on the tracks was Ton-Ton." "Merely thinking that would have been acceptable, but when those soles of Ton-Ton's feet—the very soles he'd constantly rubbed hard enough to dent tatami mats—lacked calluses, the scheme fell apart." "...Right—if he had first killed the Injured Man at the hospital and then killed Ton-Ton at the railroad tracks, the scheme would have succeeded completely." "Then within two or three days, they'd have someone come to collect him under some pretext—the fake 'Injured Man' would vanish permanently from Akazawa Mental Hospital... After that, Mrs.Akazawa would liquidate the hospital's assets... Right, the Director must have had a substantial life insurance policy... The widow would then take the money and relocate alone to some obscure backwater... There she'd conveniently reunite with her supposedly deceased husband... That's roughly how they intended to proceed, no?... But regardless—though one might pity how desperately that director scrambled—I cannot feel any sympathy for such a cruel scheme exploiting those innocents as decoys."

Having said that, Dr. Matsunaga looked at the inspector’s face, but suddenly recalling something, his expression turning vexed, he added with a touch of feigned dignity.

“Well, regardless—this incident has much to teach us… Everyone must be on their guard.”

(「Shin Seinen」 Showa 11, July Issue)