Pathway to Japanese Literature

Melos was furious.
He resolved that he must overthrow that cunning and tyrannical king without fail.
Melos did not understand politics.
Melos was a village shepherd.
He played the flute and spent his days tending sheep.
Yet when it came to wickedness, he was more sensitive than most.
In the predawn hours that day, Melos left his village, crossed fields and mountains, and arrived at this city of Syracuse ten ri away.
Melos had no father or mother.
He had no wife.
He lived with his timid sixteen-year-old sister—just the two of them.
This sister was soon to welcome a certain upright village shepherd as her groom.
The wedding approached.
Therefore Melos had come all this way to buy bridal garments and feast provisions.
First he gathered these items through purchases, then wandered along the capital's main avenue.
Melos had a bamboo-horse friend.
That friend was Selinuntius.
He now worked as a stonemason in this Syracuse.
Melos meant to visit that friend now.
Having not met him for so long, he looked forward to calling on him.
As he walked, Melos grew uneasy about the city's condition.

It lay silent.
The sun had already set, and while the city's darkness was natural at nightfall, somehow this desolation felt deeper than mere nighttime—the entire city seemed unnaturally bleak.
Even easygoing Melos gradually grew uneasy.
He seized young men he met along the road and demanded answers—had something happened? Two years ago when he'd visited this city, people sang through the nights and streets buzzed with life.
The youths shook their heads wordlessly.
After walking further, he encountered an old man and interrogated him more forcefully.
The old man remained silent.
Melos gripped the elder's shoulders with both hands and shook him while repeating his questions.
The old man finally answered in a whisper barely louder than breathing, eyes darting nervously around them.

“The King kills people.”

“Why does he kill?”

“It’s said that they harbor ill intent, but no one actually holds such ill intent.”

“Has he killed many people?”

“Yes, first his Majesty’s brother-in-law.”
“Then his own heir.”
“Then his own sister.”
“Then his sister’s child.”
“Then Her Majesty the Queen.”
“Then the wise minister Lord Alexis.”

“I’m shocked. Has the King gone mad?”
“Has the King gone mad?”

“No, he is not mad.”
“He simply cannot trust people.”
“Lately, his Majesty has grown suspicious even of his subjects’ loyalty and commands anyone living with modest luxury to surrender one hostage each.”
“Those who refuse his decree are crucified and slain.”
“Today alone saw six executed.”

Hearing this, Melos was enraged.
“What an appalling king.”
“I can’t let him live.”

Melos was a simple man.
Still carrying his purchases on his back, he lumbered into the royal castle.
Instantly, he was apprehended by patrolling guards.
When they searched him and found a dagger in Melos’s pocket, the commotion escalated.
Melos was dragged before the king.

“What were you planning to do with this dagger? Speak!”
Tyrant Dionysius interrogated him quietly yet with regal authority.
The king’s face was deathly pale, the furrows between his brows carved deep as chisel marks.

“To rescue the city from the tyrant’s grasp,” Melos answered unapologetically.

“You?”
The king sneered pityingly.
“Hopeless fool.”
“You don’t understand my loneliness.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Melos flared up in rebuttal.
“To doubt people’s hearts is the most shameful vice.”
“The King even doubts his people’s loyalty.”

“It was you who taught me that doubt is proper preparation.”
“Human hearts cannot be relied upon.”
“People are fundamentally clumps of self-interest.”
“Trust must not be permitted.”
The tyrant muttered calmly and sighed in relief.
“Though I too desire peace.”

“What kind of peace is that? To protect your own position?” This time Melos sneered. “You kill innocent people and call that peace?”

“Silence, lowly one!” The king snapped his head up and retorted. “With words alone, any purity can be claimed.” “To me, humanity’s innermost depths lie utterly bare.” “Even you—once nailed to that cross and weeping apologies—I’ll grant no hearing.”

“Ah! How shrewd our King remains.” “Bask in your delusions then!” “Yet I stand ready to die.” “I’ll never plead for mercy.” “Only—” Melos began before dropping his gaze and hesitating briefly. “If any pity moves you—grant three days before execution.” “Let me see my sister wed.” “Within those days I’ll hold her village wedding and return here without fail.”

“Foolish,” the tyrant laughed lowly in a raspy voice. “What an outrageous lie! Do you think a bird you’ve set free would ever return?”

“Yes,” Melos insisted desperately. “I will return. I will keep my promise. Grant me just three days. My sister awaits my return. If you doubt me so much—there’s a stonemason in this city named Selinuntius. My one true friend. I’ll leave him here as a hostage. If I flee and fail to return by sunset on the third day, strangle my friend to death. Please—do this.”

Hearing this, the king smirked slyly with cruelty in his heart.
What insolence!
He was bound not to come back anyway.
It would be amusing to pretend to be deceived by this liar and let him go.
And then executing the hostage on the third day would be most gratifying.
"People are untrustworthy because of this," I would say with a sorrowful face as I crucified that hostage.
I wanted to make a proper spectacle for all those self-righteous scum in the world who prattled about honesty.

“Your wish—I’ve heard it. Call that hostage here. Return by sunset on the third day. If you’re late, I’ll kill that hostage without fail. Feel free to arrive a bit late. I’ll forgive your crimes for all eternity—without fail.”

“What... What are you saying?”

“Ha ha. If you value your life, arrive late. I see right through you!”

Melos seethed with frustration and stamped his feet in impotent rage.
He no longer wanted to speak.

Selinuntius, Melos’ childhood friend, was summoned to the royal castle late at night.
In the presence of the tyrant Dionysius, the two friends met for the first time in two years.
Melos explained everything to his friend.
Selinuntius nodded silently and clasped Melos tightly.
Between friends, that sufficed.
Selinuntius was bound with rope.
Melos set out at once.

Early summer; the sky was full of stars.

Melos raced through ten leagues that night without a moment’s sleep and arrived at the village the next morning when the sun was already high and the villagers had gone out to the fields to begin their work.
Melos’s sixteen-year-old sister was also tending the flock in her brother’s stead that day.
She was shocked to spot her brother staggering toward her, his figure utterly exhausted.
Then she bombarded him with a barrage of persistent questions.

“It’s nothing.”
Melos tried to force a smile.
“I left unfinished business in the city—I must return there immediately. We’ll hold your wedding tomorrow—the sooner done.”

The younger sister blushed crimson.

“Are you happy? I bought you a fine dress too—now hurry and tell everyone! The wedding’s tomorrow.”

Melos staggered forward once more, returned home to decorate the altar of the gods and prepare the banquet seating, then soon collapsed onto the floor and fell into a sleep so deep he seemed to cease breathing.

He awoke at night.
Melos rose immediately and went to the bridegroom’s house.
There he asked that the wedding be held the next day, explaining there were circumstances.
The bridegroom shepherd was taken aback—this wouldn’t do, he protested; they hadn’t prepared anything yet—and asked Melos to wait until grape season.
Melos insisted he couldn’t wait and implored him to hold it tomorrow.
The bridegroom shepherd stood firm.
He refused to consent.
Melos argued through until dawn before finally placating, cajoling, and convincing the groom.
The wedding took place at noon.
As the bride and groom completed their vows to the gods, black clouds veiled the sky—scattered drops began falling before swelling into a deluge that sheeted the earth.
The villagers at the feast sensed an ill omen yet rallied their spirits, enduring the stifling heat in the cramped house as they sang boisterously and clapped.
Melos too wore a face brimming with joy, having momentarily forgotten even that promise to the king.
When night deepened, the revelry grew wilder still, the people heedless of the tempest outside.
Melos thought he wanted to remain here forever like this.
He yearned to spend his life among these good people—but now his body no longer belonged to him.
It was beyond his control.
Melos lashed himself and at last resolved to depart.

There was still ample time before tomorrow's sunset.
He thought he would take a short nap and then depart immediately.
By then, the rain would let up.
He wanted to linger aimlessly in this home for as long as possible.
Even a man like Melos was not immune to the pull of lingering attachments.
He approached the bride, who tonight seemed dazed and intoxicated with joy,

“Congratulations.”
“I’m exhausted, so I’ll beg your pardon and get some sleep.”
“When I wake up, I’ll head to the city right away.”
“I have important business.”
“Even without me, you have a kind husband now, so you’ll never be lonely.”
“What your brother hates most are doubting others and telling lies.”
“You know that too, right?”
“You mustn’t keep any secrets from your husband.”
“That’s all I wanted to tell you.”
“Your brother may be an admirable man after all, so hold on to that pride.”

The bride nodded as if in a dream.
Melos then patted the groom on the shoulder,

“We’re both unprepared.”
“In my house, if I were to name treasures, there’s only my sister and the sheep.”
“There’s nothing else.”
“I’ll give you everything.”
“And one more thing—take pride in becoming Melos’s brother.”

The groom rubbed his hands together and appeared bashful.
Melos laughed, acknowledged the villagers with a nod, left the banquet, burrowed into the sheep shed, and fell into a deathlike deep sleep.

He awoke at dawn the next day.
Melos sprang up—Namu-san! Had he overslept? No—still manageable! If he departed now, he'd make it well before the promised hour.
Today without fail, I'll show that king where human trustworthiness dwells.
Then laughing, I'll climb onto the crucifixion stake.

Melos began his preparations with unhurried composure.
The rain too seemed to have let up somewhat.
His preparations were complete.
Now, Melos swung both arms vigorously and shot out into the rain like an arrow.

I am to be killed tonight.
I run to be killed.
I run to save my substitute friend.
I run to crush the king’s deceit and wickedness.
I must run.
And thus, I will be killed.
Guard your honor from youth.
Farewell, hometown.

Young Melos was in agony.
Several times, he nearly came to a halt.
He ran on, shouting “Hup! Hup!” in a loud voice to berate himself.
Having left the village behind, crossed open fields, and pushed through dense woods—by the time he reached the next village—the rain had ceased entirely.
The sun now hung high overhead as heat began radiating from baked earth.
Melos wiped sweat from his brow with his fist.
This far from home meant safety; no lingering attachments remained.
“My sister will surely make that shepherd a fine wife,” he thought.
“I’ve no cause for worry now.”
“Reaching straight through to the castle grounds will suffice.”
“No need for such desperate haste.”
“I’ll take it leisurely,” he resolved—reclaiming his natural carefree air—and burst into spirited song.
Ambling two leagues then three—just as half his journey’s length fell behind—calamity erupted without warning: Melos’s feet froze mid-stride.
Behold—the river ahead!
Yesterday’s deluge had burst mountain springs into raging torrents; muddy currents converged downstream with savage force—shattering bridges in single roars—as rapids thundered through shattered timbers.
He stood transfixed.
Wild eyes scanned banks while desperate shouts echoed unanswered—all boats swept clean away by churning waters; no ferryman’s shadow remained.
The flood kept swelling—a tempestuous sea incarnate.
Melos collapsed at river’s edge—manly tears streaming—and raised mud-caked hands toward Zeus:
“Quell this rabid current!”
“Time slips through my fingers!”
“The sun already crowns noon’s throne!”

“If I cannot reach the royal castle before that sinks, that dear friend will die for my sake.”

The muddy torrent, as if sneering at Melos’ cries, grew ever more violent in its frenzied dance. Waves swallowed waves, churned them, surged violently, and time vanished moment by moment. Now, Melos steeled himself. There was no choice but to swim across. Ah, may the gods bear witness! He would now demonstrate the great power of love and sincerity that would not yield even to the torrent. Melos plunged into the current with a splash and began a desperate struggle against the waves that thrashed and raged like a hundred writhing serpents. Mustering every ounce of strength into his arms, he tore through the surging whirlpools that sought to drag him under—parting them left and right as if they were mere trifles. Before this human figure battling with reckless fury like a raging lion, even the gods must have taken pity, for at last they deigned to show mercy. Even as he was swept along, he miraculously managed to cling to the trunk of a tree on the opposite bank. Thank goodness. Melos gave a horse-like full-body shudder and immediately pressed onward. Not a moment could be wasted. The sun was already beginning to sink westward. Gasping with ragged breaths, he climbed the mountain pass. Just as he reached the summit and let out a sigh of relief, a band of bandits suddenly leaped out before his eyes.

“Wait.”

“What are you doing? I must reach the royal castle before the sun sets. Let go of me!”

“No way we’re letting go.”
“Leave all your belongings here.”

“I have nothing but my life.”
“And this single life of mine, I’ll give to the king now.”

“That life is what we want.”

“So it was by the King’s command that you were lying in wait for me here.”

The bandits raised their clubs all at once without uttering a word.
Melos nimbly bent his body, lunged at one of them like a bird of prey, and seized his club.

“This is unfortunate, but for justice!” With a ferocious strike, he instantly knocked down three of them, and taking advantage of the others’ hesitation, hurriedly ran down the pass.
He raced down the mountain pass in one breath, but even his robust body finally gave in to exhaustion. The blazing afternoon sun beat down fiercely, and Melos repeatedly felt dizzy spells. ‘This won’t do,’ he rallied himself, staggered two or three steps, and at last his knees buckled beneath him.
He could not stand up.
He looked up at the sky and wept in bitter frustration.
Ah! Ah! You swam through the torrent, struck down three bandits, broke through here swift as the god Idaten, Melos!
True hero, Melos!
To collapse here now，utterly exhausted and unable to move—how pathetic.
My beloved friend will soon be killed merely because he believed in you.
I try to berate myself—“You’re an unprecedented distrustful man, falling right into the King’s hands!”—but my whole body has gone limp; I can’t advance even as much as a caterpillar.
He flopped down onto the grassy roadside.
When the body grows weary, the spirit too breaks.
A disgruntled temperament unbecoming of a hero—this sense of “whatever” had taken root in his heart.
I have made this much effort.
Not a shred of intention to break the promise existed.
Even the gods bear witness—I have striven with all my might.
I have run until I could no longer move.
I am not a disbeliever.
Ah, if only I could tear open my chest and show you my crimson heart.
I want to show you this heart that runs solely on the blood of love and trust.

I want to show them this heart powered solely by blood of love and trustworthiness.
But I, at this critical moment, am drained of all vigor and will.
I am a man steeped in misfortune.
I will surely be ridiculed.
My family too will be mocked.
I betrayed my friend.
To fall midway equates to never having begun.
Ah, let it all be.
This may be my ordained fate.
Selinuntius, forgive me.
You always trusted me.
Nor did I ever deceive you.
We were truly noble friends.
Never once did dark clouds of doubt shadow our hearts.
Even now you must await me with guileless faith.
Ah, you must be waiting still.
Thank you, Selinuntius.
That you believed so steadfastly—
The thought rends me.
For trust between comrades is this world's proudest treasure.

Selinuntius, I ran.
I never meant to deceive you.
Believe me!
I came here in desperate haste.
I broke through the torrent.
I slipped past the bandits' ring and raced down the mountain pass.
Only I could have done this.
Ah, ask no more of me.
Leave me be.
Nothing matters now.
I am defeated.
Worthless.
Laugh at me.

The King whispered to me, "Come a little late." He promised that if I were late, he would kill the hostage and spare me. I hated the King’s underhandedness. But now that I thought of it, I was doing exactly as the King said. I was going to be late. The King would laugh at me, having jumped to his own conclusions, and then release me without incident. If that happened, it would be worse than death for me. I was eternally a traitor—the most dishonorable kind on earth. Selinuntius, I would die too. Let me die with you. You alone must believe in me. No—was even that my own self-righteous delusion? Ah, perhaps I should just survive as a villain instead. In the village was my house. There were sheep too. My sister and her husband surely wouldn’t do such a thing as drive me out of the village. Things like justice, trustworthiness, love—when you thought about it, they were all nonsense. Kill others to live yourself—wasn’t that the norm in the human world?

Ah, absolutely everything is absurd.
I am a vile traitor.
Let things take their course—do as you will.
All is lost.
——He sprawled his limbs out and drifted into fitful slumber.

Suddenly, to his ears came the sound of water flowing—a soft murmuring rush.
He gently raised his head，held his breath，and strained his ears.
Right at his feet，water seemed to be flowing.
Staggering to his feet，he looked and saw spring water gushing forth from a crevice in the rock—something pure murmuring softly as it emerged.
Melos bent down as if drawn into the spring.
He cupped water in both hands and took a single gulp.
"Hoo，" he let out a long sigh and felt as though awakening from a dream.
He could walk.
Let’s go.
As his physical fatigue recovered，a faint hope was born.
It was the hope of fulfilling his duty.
It was the hope of killing myself and preserving my honor.

The setting sun cast its crimson light upon the leaves of the trees, and every leaf and branch shone as if ablaze.
There was still time before sunset.
There is someone waiting for me.
There is someone who, without a shred of doubt, is quietly placing their faith in me.
I am believed.
My life is of no consequence.
I can’t afford to say something noble like apologizing through death.
I must repay the trust.
Now there is only that one thing. Run!
Melos.

I am trusted.
I am trusted.
That demon's whisper earlier—that was just a dream.
A bad dream.
Forget it.
When your insides are spent, you see such nightmares.
Melos, this isn't your shame.
You're still a true hero.
Didn't I get up and run again?
Thank gods!
I can die as a champion of justice.

Ah, the sun sank.
It sank relentlessly.
"Wait for me, Zeus."
"I have been an honest man since the day I was born."
"Let me die as the honest man I have always been."

Shoving aside people along the path and scattering them, Melos ran like a black wind.
He dashed through the very midst of a banquet in the field, startling the revelers, kicked aside a dog, leapt over a stream, and ran ten times faster than the slowly sinking sun.
The moment he brushed past a group of travelers, he caught a fragment of an ominous conversation.
"That man must be on the cross by now." Ah—for that man’s sake—I’m running like this.
I must not let that man die.
"Hurry, Melos."
I must not be late.
Now is the time to show them the power of love and sincerity!
Appearance didn't matter.
Melos was now almost completely naked.
He couldn’t breathe; two, three times, blood gushed from his mouth.
He could see.
In the far distance, Syracuse’s tower came into view.
The tower glittered under the setting sun.

“Ah, Lord Melos!”
A groaning voice was heard with the wind.

“Who’s there?”
Melos asked while running.

“I am Philostratus.”
“I am a disciple of your friend Lord Selinuntius.”
That young stonemason also ran after Melos while shouting.
“It’s already too late, sir.”
“It’s futile.”
“Please stop running.”
“You can no longer save him.”

“No, the sun hasn’t set yet.”

“Right now, he is about to be executed.”
“Ah, you were too late.”
“I hold no grudge against you.”
“If only you had come just a little sooner—even a moment earlier!”

“No, the sun hasn’t set yet.”
Melos stared at the vast crimson sunset with heartrending intensity.
There was nothing left but to run.

“Please stop.”
“Please stop running.”
“Your life is what matters now.”
“He believed in you.”
“Even when taken to the execution ground, he remained calm.”
“Even when the king mercilessly mocked him, he would only answer, ‘Melos will come,’ and maintained his firm belief.”

“That’s why I’m running. I run because I am trusted. Whether I make it or not isn’t the issue. Human life isn’t the issue either.” I felt as though I were running for something far greater and more terrible. “Follow me! Philostratus!”

“Oh, have you gone mad?
“Then run with all your might!
“There’s still a chance you might make it.
“Run.”

Needless to say,

The sun had not yet set.
Summoning every last reserve of his vitality, Melos ran.
Melos's head was empty.
He wasn’t thinking of a single thing.
He was dragged along by some incomprehensible, overwhelming force and ran.
The sun swayed as it sank below the horizon, and just as the last fragment of lingering light was about to vanish, Melos burst into the execution ground like a whirlwind.
He made it.

“Wait! Don’t kill that person! Melos has returned! I’ve come back as promised—I’m here now!” he tried to roar at the execution ground’s crowd, but his ruined throat produced only a faint rasp. Not one person noticed his arrival. The crucifixion stake already stood tall, and Selinuntius—bound with ropes—was being slowly hoisted upward. Seeing this, Melos mustered his last courage and plowed through the crowd again and again, just as he’d fought through the raging torrent earlier,

“It’s me, executioners! The one to be killed is me! I am Melos! I’m the one who took him hostage—I’m here!” he screamed hoarsely with all his might, finally climbing onto the execution platform and biting into both feet of his friend being hoisted upward. The crowd roared. “Bravo!” “Forgive us!” they shouted in unison. Selinuntius’s ropes were untied.

“Selinuntius.” Melos spoke with tears glistening in his eyes. “Hit me. Hit my cheek with all your strength. I had a bad dream along the way. If you don’t hit me, I won’t even deserve to embrace you. Hit me.”

Selinuntius, appearing to comprehend everything, nodded and struck Melos’s right cheek with a resoundingly loud blow that echoed throughout the execution ground. After striking him, he smiled gently,

“Melos, hit me.
“Hit my cheek just as loudly.
“During these three days, I doubted you just once—only fleetingly.
“In my entire life, I doubted you for the first time.
“If you don’t hit me, I can’t embrace you.”

Melos swung his arm with a roar and struck Selinuntius’s cheek.

“Thank you, my friend.”
They said in unison, clutched each other tightly, then wept aloud with tears of joy.

From within the crowd too, sobs could be heard.

Tyrant Dionysius had been staring fixedly at the pair from behind the crowd, but eventually approached them quietly, his face flushing red, and spoke these words.

“Your wish has been granted! You have conquered my heart. Trustworthiness was never an empty delusion. Please, won’t you let me join you? I beseech you—grant my wish and let me become one of your comrades.”

A great cheer erupted from among the crowd.

“Long live the King! Long live the King!”

A girl offered a crimson mantle to Melos.
Melos was flustered.
The good friend tactfully instructed him.

“Melos, aren’t you stark naked? Hurry up and put on that mantle. This lovely girl finds it unbearable for everyone to see Melos’s naked body.”

The hero blushed deeply.

(From an ancient legend and Schiller’s poem.)