Pathway to Japanese Literature

I As he gazed at Yoshida Yutaka's serenely sleeping face—so captivating even a man might be smitten—Nakajō Naokazu thought.

"It might be no wonder that his wife had fallen for such a beautiful young man. No matter how I looked at it, I was a bit too old. My mistake had been complacently assuming he was merely my wife’s cousin until now. Tomorrow, I must carry it out no matter what." Lost in such thoughts, Nakajō spent the sweltering midsummer night without a wink of sleep in the small room of a seaside inn.

He had a strange lack of confidence in the love of his beautiful wife Ayako, who was fifteen years his junior. That was why he had been wary of most men meeting Ayako. Recently, as this became unmistakably clear, considerate friends—though mocking him—began refraining from visiting. However, only Ayako’s cousin Yoshida Yutaka—who had just entered university that year—kept nonchalantly coming over and chatting intimately with her. Moreover, he himself harbored no anxiety whatsoever. That stemmed solely from the rationale that they were cousins.

From Nakajō’s perspective, Yoshida’s recent conduct had become truly unforgivable. They were cousins—who could know how intimate they had been before his marriage? But the idea that their closeness was being prolonged even after marriage was unbearable to him.

In fact, he even felt they might have grown increasingly intimate since marrying. What ostensibly drew them together was music. Yoshida—skilled with the violin—would visit Ayako, who loved the piano, and their enjoyment of playing the two instruments together seemed perfectly natural, at least to Ayako and Yoshida. Yet for Nakajō, this circumstance of being wholly excluded as the husband became unbearably distasteful.

As for Yoshida, one could perhaps overlook it, but there was no way Ayako could have been unaware of her husband’s displeasure. However, Ayako did not think anything of such things. She even considered it a shame to have a husband who felt displeasure at such things. Therefore, she increasingly invited Yoshida nonchalantly to perform duets. She was clever. Indeed, Nakajō may have been a weak-willed, pitiable husband. However, she did not realize she was playing with fire. For men of this disposition can at times become remarkably brave in the face of crime.

Even Nakajō did not dislike music. At first, he could immerse himself in their performances.

But recently, it had become usual for him to leave the two of them in the parlor with utterly unpleasant feelings and return to his own room. When he left, they seemed to play even more harmoniously.

No, even when they set aside their instruments, he could often hear their giggling voices. When they began playing, the music resonated even more happily.

How many times had he gritted his teeth while listening to the "Spring Sonata" in his study? He cursed Beethoven, clicking his tongue. So much so—the piece the two of them loved was this sonata.

Meanwhile, Yoshida unhesitatingly came to invite Ayako to concerts. His wife nonchalantly went along. And then they returned late at night.

“Where on earth have you been all this time, and what have you been doing?” “So I did tell you it was Mr. S’s concert.” “Mahler’s symphony is lovely, isn’t it.” “Though I must say it’s all rather complicated and hard to grasp.” "What the hell are you saying?" he thought. "She could at least have said ‘I’m sorry for being late.’"

Even thinking this, he was a man who could no longer bring himself to voice it.

The thought of Yoshida and his wife going out together without any regard for prying eyes was unbearable to him; however, he did not voice any objection to it. He did not utter a single word of caution toward Ayako or Yoshida either. If he were to say anything, Ayako would dismiss it with a scornful laugh. Though not quite a child, it was all the more embarrassing to say such things to Yoshida, who was younger than him. In this way, several months of anguish passed, but ultimately Nakajō Naokazu had no choice but to curse Yoshida’s existence. He cursed Yoshida’s existence, the piano’s existence, the violin, the "Spring Sonata" they so loved to play together, and even its composer—everything.

However, he had obtained no concrete evidence regarding the relationship between his wife and Yoshida. But for a man like Nakajō, the absence of evidence made no difference from its presence. Yoshida's existence remained just as accursed.

Spring passed and summer arrived. Unable to endure the status quo any longer, he took advantage of his government office’s holiday and, under the pretense of going swimming for a few days, brought Yoshida to this T Coast. His initial purpose had been to cast aside all shame and ascertain the facts from Yoshida. However, when he tentatively broached the subject in a room at the inn, Yoshida laughed with a dumbfounded expression. Nakajō momentarily felt relieved, thinking he might have been over-suspecting. However, the words Yoshida immediately added afterward instantly soured Nakajō’s mood.

“I want to return soon this time. After all, I’ve made plans to play Bruch with Sis this summer.” (He always called Ayako this way.)

Nakajō thought that this man was either an extremely naive person or an outrageous, shameless wretch.

The thought of eliminating Yoshida from this earth if the opportunity arose was by no means something he had first considered only now. The reason he had chosen this especially desolate corner of Bōshū—T Coast—lay precisely in that.

When summer came, pairs of friends would go mountain climbing or visit the coast. And it was often reported how one would slip and fall into a deep valley to their death, or plunge from a cliff into the sea to strike their head on rocks and die. At such times, even if one had killed the other, how could anyone ever prove it was murder? And if that motive remained undetected, would there not arise even the slightest suspicion of murder?

No one would witness it. He would carry it out when no one was around. Then this crime would never be known to anyone.

Nakajō thought. In his case, if there was anyone who could know a possible motive for certain, it was his wife alone. Even if his wife were to accuse him, how could she secure direct evidence?

From the inn where Nakajō and Yoshida were staying to where they went swimming lay a terrifying rocky cliff path. Of course, there existed a safer route via detour, but Nakajō and his companion traversed the shortcut instead. Moreover, Nakajō knew precisely of a certain section—concealed by trees thickly crowding the cliffside and rocks jutting upward from the sea—that remained slightly hidden from external view.

That Yoshida, wearing only a swimsuit, might slip and fall down, crack his skull, and die was by no means improbable. In fact, Nakajō himself walked quite cautiously due to the danger. “Alright, tomorrow I’ll finish him off no matter what!”

Nakajō kept thinking until dawn broke.

The following day was, like the previous one, a clear and hot day. Nakajō Naokazu and Yoshida Yutaka, clad only in swimsuits, walked along the narrow, dangerous cliff path. Yoshida was in front; Nakajō was behind. Nakajō came to the spot he had in mind and surveyed the area.

As far as he could see, not a single person was there.

"Should I do it now? Should I do it now?" he thought as he stared at Yoshida’s retreating figure. At this moment, coincidence delivered a spurring blow to Nakajō’s resolve. Unaware of anything, Yoshida, who had been walking ahead, began whistling cheerfully. That was exactly a passage from the violin part of the "Spring Sonata" that he often played with Ayako. The moment he heard this, Nakajō shuddered. He suddenly closed in on Yoshida’s back……

The emergency report that Yoshida had accidentally fallen from T Coast, crushing his skull in an instant death, spread far and wide shortly afterward. The police immediately dispatched an investigating officer. Family members rushed from Tokyo as well. Yet there were neither any grounds to suspect murder nor any indications pointing to suicide. That Nakajō Naokazu held a considerable position as an official at a certain ministry spared him from all suspicion.

Thus, it was generally reported that Yoshida Yutaka, with his promising future ahead of him, had met an accidental death due to unforeseen circumstances at T Coast.

II

Nakajō Naokazu, however, gradually grew more melancholy afterward. And that autumn, he succumbed to an extreme nervous breakdown, forcing him to take an indefinite leave from the ministry. Even while living under the same roof, there were now many days when he wouldn’t exchange a single word with Ayako from morning till night. Ayako, for her part, vigorously played the piano alone. And yet, even though there was no partner, she frequently played the piano parts of violin pieces and violin concertos with peculiar intensity.

Her behavior did not seem to be entirely intended as a dig at her husband alone.

In such times, her husband Naokazu grew increasingly gloomy.

Finally, on the doctor’s advice that he had to spend a fixed amount of time each morning on walks, he decided to make a daily circuit on foot from his home in Nagatachō to Hibiya Park and back. That was around December.

The year turned, and summer came again. The month Yoshida died came again. It was exactly that month.

Nakajō Naokazu suddenly encountered an unexpected calamity. He was run over and killed by a car.

One morning, a well-dressed gentlemanly man hurriedly rushed into the Nishi-Hibiya Prosecutor’s Office. “I ran over someone,” he said. “No—that man committed suicide by throwing himself under my car!” When the H Station police officer who happened to be there promptly went to investigate, on the road approximately ninety meters in from the entrance facing the park’s prosecutor’s office lay a man who also appeared to be a gentleman, his head crushed by an automobile and lying dead in a pool of copious blood. The automobile appeared to have come from the left side of the entrance opposite the Imperial Hotel and was stopped facing westward.

“Where is the driver?”

When asked, the gentleman who had rushed in replied apologetically,

“Actually, I was the one driving.”

he answered.

The interrogation was immediately initiated, and the gentleman was temporarily taken to H Station, but after a routine interrogation, he was permitted to return home the same day.

It was established that the perpetrator gentleman was Count Hosoyama Hiroshi, an executive at a certain company and a Bachelor of Laws, while the victim gentleman was Nakajō Naokazu, an official at a certain ministry.

According to what Count Hosoyama stated at the police, he would drive his own automobile from his home every morning at that time, always passing through that location on his way to work. Exactly on that day, he drove through in a brand-new Packard instead of the usual Kreisler. Until around last year, he had been leaving much later, but since the start of this year, he had begun departing relatively early for health reasons. And he always passed through Hibiya Park from east to west—that is, in the order of exiting through Hibiya Gate to Kasumi Gate. On that day as well, when driving along as usual, he saw a person walking on the narrow paved path between the iron fence and the roadway on the left side. Thinking that proceeding as he was would naturally pose no risk of collision, he sounded the horn as a precaution and continued forward—just as he was about to pass the man, the man suddenly staggered into the roadway. Rather, he lunged forward. He slammed on the brakes, but there was nothing he could do. There was no helping it, so in a panic, he thought to swerve right and turned the steering wheel hard, but it was too late—the man’s head was caught under the front right wheel.

According to subsequent police investigations, while no motive for suicide could be identified in Nakajō Naokazu’s case, given that he had recently been suffering from an extreme nervous breakdown, it was concluded that such an outcome was not entirely implausible.

However, the H Police Station forwarded the case documents to the District Court Prosecutor’s Office as an instance of "professional negligence resulting in death."

Count Hosoyama Hiroshi received a summons from the prosecutor’s office about two weeks after that.

The prosecutor in charge, Ōtani, was what they called a hardboiled investigator in those days. To the prosecutor's questions, the Count gave exactly the same answers he had provided at the police station. "Incidentally, you're the elder brother of Yoshida Yutaka who died last year at T Coast, aren't you?"

“That’s correct. Yoshida was my biological brother who had been adopted into that family.”

“I see. That must have been difficult for you.” “However, if that’s the case, I take it you had often met the victim Nakajō as well?” “Ah.” “On that day, did you not realize that the gentleman approaching from the opposite direction was Nakajō before the accident occurred?” “Of course, I understand you later stated that the victim was someone you knew.”

“No—in that sudden moment, I didn’t recognize him at first.” “I see. Well, if that’s the case, then that’s acceptable.”

The dialogue progressed with extreme smoothness. After being interrogated exhaustively for three hours straight across all matters, just when it seemed everything had finally been covered, the Count inquired.

“What do you think? Will I be pardoned?” “In my opinion, I believe there was no fault on my part, but—”

“As for me, I don’t think there’s any need to say anything now, but allow me to offer a favorable word regarding your position,” he said. “The problem lies in whether there exists any legal negligence at all—assuming what you say is true.” “Unfortunately, there’s nothing to prove whether your claims are genuine or not.” “The dead tell no tales—and the man is dead.” “Moreover, not a single third-party witness saw what happened.” “Therefore, there are no facts that could prove your statements to be lies.” “Thus rest assured—following your testimony thus far, this case will result in non-prosecution.” “I have decided to make this case a non-prosecution.”

“Thank you very much.” “With this, I can now rest assured.”

It was when Count Hosoyama, delighted, was about to open the door and leave. Suddenly, a voice was heard from behind. “But Mr. Hosoyama, that did go exactly according to your plan, didn’t it? Just as you anticipated, just as you’d scripted!”

At this moment, Count Hosoyama had to turn around and see Prosecutor Ōtani’s terribly sarcastic smile.

“Mr. Hosoyama, this case has been concluded.” “However, I wish to speak with you not as a prosecutor, but as an individual.”

Count Hosoyama involuntarily had to sit back down in his original chair. “Count, this is what I’m telling you as an individual.” “As a prosecutor, I’ve said all I need to say.” “Therefore, you may now rest assured.” “However, there’s something I, Ōtani, wish to discuss with you personally.”

“From my professional standpoint, I have always maintained an interest in crime.” “To investigate how a crime was committed is, so to speak, to contemplate how one would commit a crime.” “That is why I not only take interest in investigating cases, but also consider what I would do were I the perpetrator.” “Or rather—I perpetually ponder what actions someone might have taken.”

“Have you never once doubted such incidents when one of a pair at a mountain or seaside meets an accidental death? Perhaps because I am a prosecutor myself, I must say I’ve always found those incidents rather peculiar. Indeed, as murder cases go, there appears no motive. However, the absence of a motive merely means it hasn’t manifested externally. Humans being humans—there’s simply no way to know what they’re truly thinking inside.”

“Now, if in this case a motive were to surface—what then? As murder, could a prosecutor bring charges?” “That’s precisely the point.” “Just as in your situation, there are no third parties whatsoever.” “No evidence exists to contradict the suspect’s account.” “Therefore, even a prosecutor could do nothing.” “Then this method would stand as the most ingenious form of murder conceivable.”

“Now, in this summer, two men went to the sea. And then one of them fell from a cliff and died. Then, after about a year had passed, the man who had been with him at that time was struck by an automobile—either by accident or suicide. However, let us assume the fact that the man driving that automobile was the brother of the deceased. Yes, this is an example of a single hypothesis.” “One cannot claim these two incidents are impossible as coincidences. Yet there’s nothing stopping us from drawing a connection between these facts.”

“Count.” “There’s a man who served as an official like myself and has now become a detective novelist.” “When I met him briefly the other day, I tried telling him about these two incidents.” “Then that man began spinning a novelist’s preposterous fantasy.” “What I shall tell you from this point draws more from his ideas than my own—so please listen as though it were a novel.”

“The man posited that first we must consider the young man’s death at sea as a murder case,” “At minimum, we are to assume that those closest to the deceased—parents or brothers—believed it was murder.” “Though the motive remained hidden from outsiders, those on the murdered youth’s side—a brother, say—would surely deduce it.” “The novelist asserted it was most natural to infer that given these two facts, the brother had become convinced ‘my younger brother was murdered.’” “‘If this brother believed that,’” “‘As I just stated—legally speaking—there was nothing to be done.’” “‘Even filing suit would achieve nothing.’” “‘Ultimately, direct revenge would be his only recourse—and provided this brother wasn’t a fool, he’d surely choose a method carrying no legal risk.’” “Count—in reality—he adopted the wisest approach.” “‘So long as the initial incident wasn’t classified as murder,’” “‘the motive for revenge would likewise remain undetected by society.’” “‘Thus—in lacking any externally apparent motive—the second killing mirrors the first murder case.’”

“Well then, let us hypothetically establish this brother’s standing.” “Let us suppose he were a certain viscount.” “That is to say—a man of considerable social position.” “A position least likely to draw suspicion in matters like murder.” “Or rather—a position enabling one to most skillfully commit murder.” This viscount had been devising ways to eliminate the man ever since becoming convinced his brother had been murdered. By keeping constant watch from afar, he realized his target would succumb to nervous breakdown and resign from public office. Now, this viscount drove his automobile personally through Hibiya Park each morning. One morning by pure chance, he saw the man passing through that very area. At times they would pass near the park—one on foot, the other in a car. Eventually the viscount discerned the regularity of the man’s schedule. He began advancing his departure time under pretext of health benefits to ensure their encounters.

“By the way, Count—regarding your case—I realized something after that novelist mentioned it.” “In a place as prominent as Hibiya Park, I investigated why there had been no one else present at that time.” “Then I discovered something rather curious.” “For reasons unclear—Sundays excepted—we found that at the incident site’s location, on all other mornings there exists a specific time when foot traffic ceases entirely for an extremely brief period. Moreover, this time coincided precisely with when you passed through that spot that day.” “Count—there’s no conceivable way the viscount in this story wouldn’t have discovered this fact after driving the same route for half a year.”

“Well then, having come this far, let me trace the viscount’s thoughts in this novel from the beginning. First came his conviction that his younger brother had been murdered. Through secret observation, he discovered that the gentleman responsible for his brother’s death had succumbed to a nervous breakdown and taken leave from his government post. Naturally interpreting this as pangs of conscience, the viscount’s conviction hardened into certainty. Thus he steeled himself for revenge. One day during a drive through Hibiya Park, he chanced upon this very gentleman. He resolved to engineer future encounters. Having ascertained the man’s regular schedule, the viscount began timing his drives to intersect with those hours. From that day forward, he departed each morning slightly earlier than before. For half a year thereafter, their paths crossed nearly daily. This ritual held dual significance for the viscount. ‘First,’ he reasoned, ‘to monitor my enemy’s condition.’ Second—should this gentleman indeed be the true culprit—these encounters would instill terror in one who recognized his pursuer as brother to his victim. Such psychological pressure must inevitably reveal cracks in even the most fragile composure. Let us suppose then that for six months they continued these orchestrated meetings. At some indeterminate point—weeks? months?—the viscount made an extraordinary discovery: during one precise interval each morning, all pedestrian traffic ceased completely. This revelation surely birthed his masterstroke.”

Now, allow me to explain just how clever this viscount was as a criminal. Due to the reasons stated earlier, the motive for the murder the viscount intended to commit was never in danger of being exposed. “There should be not the slightest need to worry about that point.” The viscount resolved to forgo all trivial contrivances. He deliberately intended to commit murder in broad daylight, making it appear entirely natural. The one absolute necessity was that no one witnessed it. “Indeed, isn’t it terrifying that only that single point was necessary in this murder case?” “Moreover, the crucial point was that the method employed by a certain gentleman at the coast also remained unseen by anyone.” “As revenge for this, it must be said to have been highly appropriate indeed.”

“The weapon employed by the viscount—or in this case, the murder weapon—would be?” “This is precisely what demonstrates the viscount’s cleverness.” “He intends to crash his own automobile into the man.” “In broad daylight, inside Hibiya Park, at that very moment—and moreover right in front of the feared Prosecutor’s Office—to kill someone with a Packard!” “What a modern—and moreover clever—crime!” “From the perspective of us legal professionals today, there is no other tool that can be as readily employed as a murder weapon than the automobile.” “By ‘readily,’ I mean ‘safely.’” “The former colleague and detective novelist I just mentioned had been asserting this since his days as a government official.” “‘Detective novelists would find automobiles to be the most fitting murder weapons for modern times.’” “‘For a criminal, there is nothing as legally safe as this.’” “To that extent, current traffic conditions and the law are worlds apart.” “‘Even I could write it if made to, but I haven’t yet because if some fool were to imitate it, that would be disastrous,’ was the opinion he recently confided to me.”

The viscount’s reasoning lay precisely there as well. “This demonstrates that the viscount was quite the legal expert.” “In automobile incidents—provided no witnesses exist and you eliminate the target—prosecutors typically have no evidence beyond the suspect’s testimony unless exceptional circumstances apply, just as in your case. Thus indictments rarely occur.” “Now let’s examine the worst possible scenario.” “Suppose someone witnessed the scene.” “Would anyone in such circumstances believe the collision was intentional?” “All would assume it resulted from extreme panic.” “Particularly when no external murder motive exists—who could possibly claim this was homicide?” “Therefore even in this worst case, it wouldn’t constitute murder.” “With ten witnesses all testifying against the viscount, the maximum penalty would be three years’ imprisonment or a thousand-yen fine for professional negligence resulting in death.” “Count—do you honestly believe some viscount would serve three years for accidentally running someone over? Past precedents make this abundantly clear.” “This assumes their half-year of meticulous planning culminated in that worst-case moment.” “Moreover, statistical probability suggests this misfortune’s likelihood remained vanishingly small under the viscount’s calculations.” That is, on the crime’s appointed day, the viscount drove from Hibiya Gate toward Kasumi Gate. He observed his target walking along the right sidewalk as usual—to the viscount’s left. Any gentleman suffering nervous collapse would inevitably choose the right sidewalk when moving eastward there for perceived stability. Because that walkway proved dangerously narrow—taking the left side meant enduring threats from automobiles approaching behind. The viscount rapidly scanned his surroundings—though initially focusing only on the right. With the road curving ahead, monitoring this side sufficed. “The left side was enclosed by iron railings bordering shrubbery—virtually no chance of approach from that direction.”

Gradually, the distance between the viscount and the gentleman closed in. At the spot he deemed suitable, the viscount charged headlong toward the target’s body—swerving his wheel slightly left from his previous course and lunging forward. The target, who had believed himself safe while maintaining his usual path, found himself startled with no time to flee. Naturally he sought to dodge rightward, but the iron fence proved insurmountable for an immediate vault. With no alternative, he attempted to step leftward—into the roadway. At that instant, the vehicle’s frame would have knocked him down. This scenario required even the slightest incursion into the roadway by the target. “Because had he been struck while encroaching on the sidewalk, it would undeniably constitute negligence.” “If even the suicide location were the roadway, any initial swerving marks could be swiftly erased beneath tires.” “In your own case, all vehicular traces were reportedly obliterated by being driven over.” “Naturally I don’t mean *you* did it—the crowd did.” “Yet the criminal could surely have summoned such a crowd.” “Provided he wasn’t mute.” “In fact, every witness questioned from that time states uniformly: ‘Hearing shouts, I rushed to investigate.’” “Thus the criminal viscount would first confirm his target’s death, summon gawkers, then—feigning terror—dash straight into the Prosecutor’s Office before his very eyes.” “Negligence aside—how could intent ever be suspected?” “Who would imagine this a murder case?” “Astonishing prowess indeed.”

“However, all of this is merely that novelist’s fantasy. Ahahaha, rather amusing, don’t you think?”

“Oh?” “Is something the matter?”

At this moment, Count Hosoyama Hiroshi—who had been listening with a pallid face—unsteadily rose to his feet but, finally reaching for the door handle,

“It’s a lie! A murderer? Never—!” “Outrageous! He… It was suicide! Suicide!” he gasped. “You may leave now if you wish.” Leaving behind Prosecutor Ōtani—who had opened the door for him with an unsettling smile—the Count staggered out into the corridor.

III

One week later, on a certain night, the Count noted down the following reflections in his diary. What was astonishing was Prosecutor Ōtani’s deduction. Or perhaps it had been mere conjecture. He was saying exactly what I had thought. And yet that attitude had brimmed with confidence! Truly, I must have carried out that exact plan and gone to that place on that day. However, to think that we could foresee nature’s ironies through the power of our human intellect—I too had been mistaken. Yet the prosecutor had miscalculated just as I had.

It was the moment I tried to crash my car into Nakajō. Suddenly, Nakajō staggered and rushed out toward my vehicle. He was the one I meant to kill—yet in that instant, I found myself utterly thrown into disarray. Almost instinctively, I wrenched the steering wheel to avoid him. But I didn’t make it in time. That bastard Nakajō—perhaps unable to endure his guilty conscience—had gone and hurled himself before my car.

Now that it has come to this, it's a pity there was no one there—I planned a murder. So perhaps it can't be helped if the prosecutor thinks that way. But I failed at the very last moment. I was beaten to the punch by my opponent. If even one person had been watching, they would have testified to his staggering.

Yesterday I visited Nakajō's widow. The ones who suspect that I killed Nakajō are the prosecutor and this woman. That woman hardly said a word yesterday.

Ah, as long as Prosecutor Ōtani and Nakajō’s widow lived, I remained convinced they believed I had committed murder. I had believed my plan was flawless. I had believed it was too flawless. "But I was a fool to disregard nature’s ironies—now I am cursed for eternity."

When the Count had written this far, the sound of a knock came at the door. In response to the Count’s voice, the maid respectfully placed a single sealed letter on the desk and departed. The sender was Nakajō Ayako. It had been sent by registered mail with yesterday’s postmark.

As the Count hurriedly tore open the seal, his eyes were met with the following beautifully written characters, clear and distinct.

“Count, I must apologize for my earlier discourtesy.” “Though you graciously came to visit, I was at that time deeply engrossed in weighty matters.” “Thus I committed an inexcusable breach of etiquette.” “I beg your forgiveness.” “At that moment, I found myself wavering over whether to present a certain item to you, Count.” “Yet I have at last reached a decision.” “I shall offer no explanations.” “I ask only that you peruse the enclosed document.” “And thereafter keep it ever near your august person.”

“Count, your power was truly great.” “But no matter how clever our minds may be, we cannot fathom what God does.” “God’s mischief is something beyond human comprehension.”

Ayako

“God’s mischief? …Nature’s irony?”

Muttering to himself, the Count looked over the piece of paper that had been enclosed.

At the beginning, in feminine script, was written: "This is a fragment of my husband Naokazu's diary. After my husband’s death, I discovered it and have kept it hidden from everyone until now." Signed: "Ayako."

×/×

My wife suspects me no matter what. No—she isn't suspecting me. She is convinced that I killed Yoshida Yutaka. Does my hand look bloodstained? Does my face appear so terrifying? It seems she believes my recent inability to sleep at night and taking leave from the ministry stem from the torment of conscience. Fool! When did I ever kill him? I am not a murderer. He truly died by accident. It was true that I tried to kill Yutaka. A terrible thing—I attempted to push him off the cliff with these very hands. There was no mistake about that. But, but—I didn't push him off at that time.

Just as I was about to touch him, Yutaka suddenly let out a scream. I was the one who ended up startled. "What happened?" The instant I tried to ask—that treacherous spot— In the blink of an eye, he lost his footing and plunged toward the rocks below.

I was dazed for a moment, then immediately grasped the cause. Ayako must have known this all along, but Yutaka still harbored an extreme fear of spiders even then. From my perspective, it was a fear with almost no justification—but in that instant, it must have been dangling from the pine tree standing atop that cliff. Right where it had struck his face, I saw a large spider over five inches long still swaying even after he had fallen.

Yutaka was walking along whistling leisurely when suddenly this large spider struck his face. "A spider!" The instant he recognized it, he leapt up in terror. He must have lost his footing at that very instant. Ah, if only I had left that spider alone back then. I too struck it dead out of sheer revulsion and threw it into the sea. What a fool I am. If only someone—anyone—had witnessed that scene back then—they could have cleared me of the murder suspicion. If I were to be accused, there are ample defenses. But though my wife is convinced I'm a murderer, anything I say is useless unless she asks me even once. I must now continue this silent struggle against Ayako's silent revenge.

However, I feel like everyone lately has been calling me a murderer. I did plan a murder. But I never carried it out. Ah, when will this torment ever lift? Apart from my wife, Yutaka's brother Count Hosoyama clearly suspects me. Ah, I can't fathom why he insists on meeting me face-to-face every morning. Though it pains me, if I stopped using that route, the Count would only grow more suspicious. Count! Why don't you just take me to court!

(Here, there is a gap of about three months in the diary dates.)

×/× I can't stand it—being seen by everyone as bearing this false charge. Ayako resolutely views me as a murderer. As long as she doesn't mention a word about it, I won't say a word either. I meet the Count every day too—but why does he go out of his way to pass by at that time? And yet he shows no sign of accusing me. Does he intend to kill me?

If he suspects me that much, he can go ahead and kill me anytime. However, thy revenge is not genuine revenge in the eyes of God.

(Here, there is a gap of several days.)

×/×

Yesterday, I was nearly hit by a car.

The doctor tells me to walk every day. However, there's no reason it would improve even a bit.

I walk through the streets exactly like a blind man without a cane. Perhaps even the doctor thinks I'm a murderer. Perhaps Ayako has been talking to the doctor. And are they trying to expose me to as much danger as possible?

I am not a murderer. I have thought of murder before. But I have no memory of having done it.

(Next: The diary entry from the day before his death)

×/× I don't feel alive with this bizarre sensation. If I hadn't taken Yutaka there, he wouldn't have died. If that's how it stands, I'm ready to die. But I refuse to let Hosoyama kill me. Very well—I'll make use of those arriving in automobiles like his. Tomorrow, when that man comes around Hibiya, I'll throw myself under someone else's automobile and die. Just as Hosoyama passes by, I'll deliberately leap before another car. Any vehicle will do—so long as it's not Hosoyama's automobile. I must walk there with utmost caution.

Finally, I will tell Ayako. Do not presume to measure divine work with human intellect.

Having finished reading, the Count was jolted as he now recalled something he had never paid any attention to until this moment. “That’s it—that day was the first time I stopped using the boxy Chrysler I’d been driving until then and took out the newly purchased Packard instead.”

Tears welled up in the Count’s eyes as he looked again at Nakajō’s diary. When they had begun trailing down his cheeks, he buried his face in the desk and remained motionless for a very long time. (Published in the July 1930 issue of )