Pathway to Japanese Literature

I As he gazed at Yutaka Yoshida’s peaceful sleeping face—a visage so captivating even a man would admire it—Chokichi Nakajo thought. “It might not be unreasonable for my wife to fall in love with such a beautiful youth. No matter how I look at it, I’m a bit too old. That I had thought he was just my wife’s cousin and felt at ease until recently was my mistake. Tomorrow, no matter what, I will carry this out.” Nakajo, lost in such thoughts, spent a sweltering midsummer night without sleeping a wink in a small room at a seaside inn.

He was strangely unable to feel confident in the love of his beautiful wife Ayako, who was fifteen years younger than him. That was why he had been wary of most men meeting with his wife Ayako. Recently, as this wariness had become apparent, well-meaning friends began avoiding visits while still mocking him. Only Ayako’s cousin Yutaka Yoshida, who had just entered university that year, kept visiting nonchalantly to engage in intimate conversations with her. Moreover, even Nakajo himself felt no unease. That was simply because they were cousins.

From Nakajo’s perspective, Yoshida’s recent behavior was utterly unforgivable. They were cousins—it was impossible to know how close they had been before her marriage to him. However, the idea that their closeness was being prolonged even after marriage was unbearable to him. In fact, he even began to feel that they might have actually grown closer and more intimate after marriage. What ostensibly brought them closer was music. To Ayako, who loved the piano, Yutaka Yoshida—skilled at the violin—would come, and it was only natural that they found joy in playing these two instruments together; at least, that was how Ayako and Yoshida saw it.

However，for Nakajo，the state of being utterly excluded as a husband was unbearably unpleasant. As for Yoshida—putting that aside—there was no way Ayako could have failed to understand her husband’s displeasure. Yet Ayako thought nothing of it. She even felt ashamed at having a spouse who took offense at such matters. Thus she invited Yoshida even more casually and played duets. She was clever. To be sure，Nakajo may have been a timid，pitiable man. But she failed to realize she was playing with fire. For men of such disposition can grow remarkably bold when driven toward crime.

Even Nakajo was not averse to music. At first, he could immerse himself in their performances.

But recently, he had come to routinely leave the two in the parlor and return to his own room with a thoroughly unpleasant feeling.

When he left, they seemed to play even more harmoniously.

No—they would set aside their instruments, and their giggling voices often reached him. When they began playing again, the music resonated even more joyfully. How many times had he clenched his teeth while listening to the *Spring Sonata* in his study? He clicked his tongue and cursed Beethoven. Such was their beloved sonata. Meanwhile, Yoshida unhesitatingly invited Ayako to concerts. The wife nonchalantly accompanied him. They would return late into the night.

“Just where have you been all this time, and what have you been doing?” “That’s why I told you it was Mr. S’s concert.” “Mahler’s symphony was so elemental, don’t you think?” “I can’t quite grasp it—it’s all rather complicated.” “What the hell are you saying?” he thought to himself.

“It would’ve been better if she’d at least said something like ‘I’m sorry for being late.’” Even thinking this, he was a man who could no longer give voice to it. The thought of Yoshida and his wife going about openly without regard for others’ eyes was unbearable; yet he did not raise any objection. He did not utter a single word of caution to either Ayako or Yoshida. If he were to say anything, Ayako would dismiss it with a scornful laugh. Even if he couldn’t call him a child, it was all the more embarrassing to say anything to Yoshida, who was so clearly younger.

In this way, several months of torment passed, but in the end, Chokichi Nakajo had no choice but to curse Yoshida’s very 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—he cursed it all. However, he held no concrete evidence regarding the relationship between his wife and Yoshida. But the fact that there was no evidence was, for a man like Nakajo, no different from there being evidence. Yoshida’s existence remained equally accursed.

Spring departed, and summer arrived. Feeling he could no longer endure things as they were, he took advantage of a holiday from his government office and, under the pretext of going swimming starting a few days prior, brought Yoshida to this T Coast. His initial purpose had been to make Yoshida cast aside his shame and ascertain the facts. But when he tentatively broached the subject in a room at the inn, Yoshida laughed with a look of astonishment.

Nakajo felt relieved for a moment, thinking, “Maybe I was over-suspecting.” However, the words Yoshida promptly added afterward immediately made Nakajo uncomfortable. “I want to head back soon this time. After all, I’ve made plans to play Bruch with Older Sister”—he always called Ayako that—“together this summer.” “Either this man is an incredibly innocent person or a disgustingly hypocritical bastard,” Nakajo thought.

The desire to remove Yoshida from this earth if given the chance was not necessarily something he had only just now begun to consider. The reason he had chosen this particularly desolate corner of Bōshū—T Coast—lay precisely there. When summer came, pairs of friends would climb mountains or go to the coast. And it was often reported that a person would slip and fall into a deep valley to their death, or tumble from a cliff into the sea and strike their head against rocks to die.

At that moment, even if he were to kill him, how could that murder ever be proven? And if that motive were not outwardly apparent, would it not be impossible for even the slightest suspicion of murder to arise? No one would witness it. He would carry it out when there was no one around. In that way, this crime would remain forever unknown.

Nakajo thought. In his case, if there were anyone who could truly know what might serve as a motive, it would be his wife alone. Even if his wife were to accuse him, how could they obtain direct evidence?

From the inn where Nakajo and Yoshida were staying to their swimming spot lay a terrifying rocky cliff path. While a safer detour existed if one took the long way around, Nakajo and Yoshida used this shortcut both to and from. Moreover, Nakajo knew full well that a particular stretch of this path—concealed by trees crowning the cliffside and seaward-jutting rocks—remained just out of sight from external observers. That Yoshida, clad only in a swimsuit, might slip and fall to his death below, cracking his skull open, was hardly inconceivable. Indeed, even Nakajo himself trod carefully due to the path’s inherent danger.

“Alright, tomorrow I’ll finish him off no matter what!”

Nakajo continued to think until dawn.

The following day was another clear and sunny one, just like the previous day, and equally hot.

Nakajo and Yoshida, clad only in swimwear, walked along the narrow, dangerous cliff path. Yoshida was in front; Nakajo behind. Nakajo came to the spot he had in mind and looked around.

As far as he could see, there wasn’t a single person in sight. Should I do it now? Should I do it now? he thought, staring at Yoshida’s retreating figure. At that moment, coincidence spurred Nakajo’s resolve with a decisive blow. Yoshida, walking ahead unaware, suddenly started whistling cheerfully. That was none other than a passage from the violin part of *Spring Sonata* that he often played with Ayako.

The moment he heard this, Nakajo shuddered. He suddenly pulled close to Yoshida from behind.……

The urgent report that Yoshida had accidentally fallen from T Coast, had his head crushed, and died instantly spread far and wide shortly thereafter. The police immediately dispatched an officer in charge. Family members from Tokyo also rushed to the scene. However, there was no basis to suspect murder, nor any indication that it could be seen as a suicide. The fact that Chokichi Nakajo was a high-ranking official at a certain ministry saved him from all suspicion. Thus, it was widely reported that Yutaka Yoshida, with his promising future ahead, met an accidental death due to unforeseen circumstances at T Coast.

II

However, Chokichi Nakajo gradually sank deeper into gloom after that. By that autumn, he had developed severe neurasthenia and was forced to take a leave of absence from the ministry for the time being. While living under the same roof, he often went the entire day without exchanging a single word with Ayako. Ayako, for her part, vigorously played the piano alone. Yet despite having no partner, she frequently played the piano parts for violin pieces and violin concertos with unusual intensity.

Her behavior did not seem to have been intended solely as a jab at her husband. At such times, her husband Naokichi grew increasingly sullen. Finally, on his doctor’s orders that he had to devote a fixed amount of time each morning to walking, he resolved to make a daily circuit on foot from his Nagatachō residence to Hibiya Park and back. This was around December.

The year turned over, and summer returned once more. The month of Yoshida’s death had come round again. It was precisely that very month. Chokichi Nakajo was suddenly struck by an unforeseen disaster. He had been run over and killed by an automobile.

One morning, a man of respectable appearance and gentlemanly bearing rushed into the Nishihibiya Prosecutor’s Office in a panic.

“I ran over a person.” “No—that man committed suicide with his own car.” When the police officer from H Station who happened to be present promptly went to investigate, he found on the road approximately fifty ken (about 90 meters) inward from the entrance facing the park’s prosecutor’s office a man who appeared to be a gentleman, lying dead in a massive pool of blood after being struck on the head by an automobile. The automobile appeared to have come from the left side of the entrance on the opposite Imperial Hotel side and had come to a stop facing westward. “Where is the driver?”

When asked, the gentleman who had rushed in replied apologetically, “The fact is, I was the one driving.” The investigation commenced immediately, and the gentleman was temporarily taken to H Station, but after a routine interrogation, he was permitted to return home that very day. The gentleman identified as the perpetrator was Count Hosoyama Hiroshi, an executive at a certain company and a legal scholar; the gentleman identified as the victim was Chokichi Nakajo, an official at a certain ministry. According to Count Hosoyama’s statement to the police, every morning at that time, he would drive his own automobile from his residence, invariably pass through that location, and proceed to his workplace. On that very day, he drove through in a newly acquired Packard instead of his usual Chrysler. Until around last year, he had been leaving later, but since the start of this year, he had been departing relatively early for health reasons. And he always followed the route through Hibiya Park from east to west—that is, passing through Hibiya Gate and exiting via Kasumi Gate. On that day as well, when he drove along as usual, he saw a person walking on the narrow paved path between the iron fence on the left and the roadway. Thinking there was naturally no risk of collision if he continued straight ahead, he sounded the horn as a precaution and proceeded—but just as he was about to pass the man, the man suddenly staggered into the roadway. Rather, he threw himself forward. He slammed on the brakes, but there was nothing he could do. With no other option, he frantically tried to swerve to the right—turning the steering wheel hard—but it was too late, and he ended up catching the man’s head beneath the front right wheel.

According to the subsequent police investigation, while no clear motive for suicide had been found in Chokichi Nakajo’s case, given that he had recently been suffering from severe neurasthenia, such an outcome was not deemed impossible.

However, H Police Station sent the case documents to the ward court prosecutor’s office as an incident of "professional negligence resulting in death."

It was about two weeks later that Count Hosoyama Hiroshi received a summons from the prosecutor’s office. The assigned prosecutor, Ōtani, was what might be called a hardline prosecutor at the time. In response to the prosecutor’s questions, Count Hosoyama gave the same answers he had stated to the police. “Incidentally, you are the older brother of Yutaka Yoshida, who died last year at T Coast, correct?” “Yes, that’s correct.” “Yoshida is my biological younger brother who was adopted into that household.” “I see. That must have been difficult for you.” “However, if that is the case, then you must have often met the victim Nakajo as well.”

“Ah…” “On that day, didn’t you realize that the gentleman approaching from the opposite direction was Nakajo before the accident occurred?” “Of course, I understand you later stated that the victim was a man you knew.”

“No—in the heat of the moment, I didn’t realize it at first.” “I see. Well, in that case, that’s acceptable.” The dialogue proceeded extremely smoothly. He had been interrogated continuously on all matters for three hours when—just as he thought the general proceedings had finally concluded—Count Hosoyama posed a question.

“How about it—will I be forgiven? “In my opinion… I believe there was no fault on my part…”

“As for me, I see no need to say anything further at present—though I shall speak favorably in deference to your station.” “The crux lies in whether there exists legal negligence under your account of events.” “Regrettably, there is nothing to substantiate the veracity of your claims.” “Dead men tell no tales—the victim cannot speak.” “Nor are there any third-party witnesses to corroborate.” “Thus, there exists no evidence to disprove your testimony as falsehood.” “Therefore rest assured—should we adhere to your statements thus far, this case will be dismissed.” “I have resolved to forgo prosecution.”

“Thank you very much.” “With this, I too can be at ease.”

It was when Count Hosoyama, rejoicing, had opened the door and was about to leave. A voice was suddenly heard from behind.

“Mr. Hosoyama, but hasn’t this proceeded precisely according to your plan—exactly as you anticipated, exactly as you scripted it!” Count Hosoyama had to turn and face Prosecutor Ōtani’s intensely ironic smile at that moment.

“Mr. Hosoyama, this concludes the case.” “However, I wish to speak with you not as a prosecutor, but privately.” Count Hosoyama found himself compelled to lower himself back into his chair.

“Count, this is what I am saying to you as an individual.” “As a prosecutor, I have said all that needs to be said.” “So you may now rest assured.” “However, there is something I, Ōtani as an individual, would like to discuss.”

“From my professional standpoint, I have always maintained an interest in crime. To investigate how a crime is committed is, so to speak, to think about how one would commit a crime. Therefore, not only do I have a fascination with investigating cases, but I also consider what I would do if I were the perpetrator. Or I always think about how I might have acted in such situations.”

“Have you never once doubted it when one of a pair met an unexpected death in the mountains or at sea? Perhaps because I am a prosecutor, I always find that peculiar. Indeed, as murder, there’s no motive. However, the absence of a motive merely means it hasn’t manifested externally. Humans are humans—you can never truly know what they harbor inside.”

“Now, what if a motive were to surface in this case? Could a prosecutor file murder charges?” “That’s precisely the crux of it.” “Just like your situation—no third parties whatsoever.” “No evidence exists to refute the suspect’s claims.” “Thus, even a prosecutor could do nothing.” “Then this method would stand as the most ingenious form of murder.” “Now—in that summer, two men went to the sea.” “One fell from a cliff and died.” “A year later, his companion collided with an automobile through either mishap or suicide.” “Let us assume the driver happened to be the dead man’s brother.” “Yes—this serves as one hypothetical example.”

“I daresay one cannot claim these two incidents to be mere coincidences. However, there is nothing preventing one from establishing a connection between these facts.”

“Count. There exists a man who served as a government official like myself and has now become a mystery novelist. When I briefly met him recently, I attempted to recount these two incidents to him. Then that man began spinning outlandish fantasies worthy of a novelist. From this point onward, what I will tell you concerns that man’s ideas far more than my own—please listen as though it were a novel.” “That man’s argument begins by treating the young man’s death at sea as a murder case. He assumes that at minimum—the parents or elder brother, in short, those closest to the deceased—believed it to be murder. Though the motive naturally remains unexpressed externally, those on the murdered youth’s side—an elder brother, for instance—would surely infer it. The novelist asserts it’s most natural to surmise that regarding these two facts, the elder brother became convinced ‘my younger brother was murdered.’ Now suppose this elder brother truly believed that—what would he do? As I stated earlier, legally nothing can be done. Even filing a lawsuit would achieve nothing. Ultimately, only direct revenge remains—and provided this elder brother isn’t a fool, he would adopt a method carrying no legal risk whatsoever. Count, in this actual case, he employed the wisest method. So long as the initial incident isn’t recognized as murder, the revenge motive likewise remains generally undetectable. Thus the second killing mirrors the first murder case in having no externally visible motive.”

Now, let us here determine the position of this elder brother in question. Let us suppose that this person is a certain viscount. That is to say, let us suppose he was a man of considerable social standing. At the very least, he occupied a position where he would be the least likely to come under suspicion in something like a murder case. In other words, let us suppose he held the position from which one could most skillfully commit murder. Since coming to believe his younger brother had been murdered, this viscount had been devising ways to eliminate the other party. If he were to constantly monitor their actions from afar, it became clear that the opponent would succumb to neurasthenia and withdraw from their duties. Now, the viscount would drive his automobile himself through Hibiya Park every morning. By chance, one morning, he saw his opponent passing through there. Occasionally, one would be on foot and the other by automobile, passing each other near the park. Before long, the viscount noticed that his opponent’s schedule remained consistent. Under the pretext that it was beneficial for his health, he began moving up his own schedule to ensure he would always encounter him.

“Now, Count, regarding your case, I realized something after being told by that novelist.” “I investigated why there was no one else around at that time in a place like Hibiya Park.” “Then I discovered something peculiar.” “For reasons unclear even now, I have come to understand this fact: at the location where that incident occurred—except on Sunday mornings—on other mornings, there is a certain fixed time (admittedly an extremely brief one) when pedestrian traffic completely ceases, and moreover, this coincides precisely with the time you, Count, passed through there that day.” “Count, there is no reason that a certain viscount in this story—who had been driving the same road for half a year—could not have failed to discover this.”

Now, having come this far, let me trace the viscount’s thoughts in this novel from the beginning. First, he believed his younger brother had been murdered. When secretly observed, the gentleman who was his younger brother’s killer had succumbed to neurasthenia and taken leave from his government office. Of course, since the viscount believed this to be the pangs of conscience, that conviction grew ever firmer. Thereupon, he finally resolved to take revenge. By chance one day during a drive in Hibiya Park, he discovered a certain gentleman. He would meet him again someday. Having learned this, the viscount gauged the time when the gentleman would pass by and drove his automobile to brush past him. From then on, he decided to leave a little earlier every morning than before. And so, over half a year, the two passed each other nearly every day. This must have held significance for the viscount in two respects. One was naturally to investigate “the enemy’s condition.” The other was that if the gentleman were truly guilty—knowing the viscount was the brother of his victim—encountering him each morning would instill terror; thus alterations would inevitably appear in that nervous man’s demeanor. Therefore, let us suppose they passed each other for half a year. Then one day—though unclear when—the viscount began noticing that peculiar fact: at a fixed time, pedestrian traffic ceased entirely. This fact undoubtedly inspired his brilliant scheme.

Now let me explain just how clever this viscount was as a criminal. Due to the reasons mentioned earlier, the motive for the murder the viscount intended to commit was never in danger of being exposed. “In that regard, there should be absolutely no need for concern.” The viscount decided not to employ any trivial contrivances at all. He intended to commit murder deliberately in broad daylight while making it appear entirely natural. It was absolutely necessary that no one could witness it. “Indeed—that single point alone was all that proved necessary in this murder case—isn’t that terrifying?” “Moreover, the only crucial aspect of the method used by that gentleman at the coast was its invisibility to witnesses.” “One might say this constituted an exceptionally fitting form of retaliation.”

The weapon employed by the viscount—that is to say，the murder weapon in this case—? This was precisely what demonstrated the viscount’s cleverness．He intended to crash the automobile he was driving into his opponent．In broad daylight，inside Hibiya Park，at that time—and moreover right in front of the Prosecutor’s Office that people feared—he would kill someone with a Packard! What a modern，and moreover clever crime this was! From the perspective of us legal professionals today，there was nothing else that could be as easily utilized as a murder weapon as the automobile．By “easily，” I meant “safely．” The former colleague and detective novelist I had just mentioned had been asserting this since his time as a government official．“For detective novelists，using an automobile as a murder method would be the most appropriate in modern times． For the criminal，there was nothing as legally safe as this． To such an extent were current traffic conditions and laws far apart． ‘I could write it if I had to，but I haven’t yet because I can’t risk someone actually imitating it’—that’s what he recently confided to me．”

The viscount’s reasoning lay precisely there. This revealed him to be a consummate legal strategist. In vehicular incidents where no witnesses exist—barring extraordinary circumstances—prosecutors lack evidence beyond the suspect’s testimony, just as in your own case, making indictment exceedingly rare. Now let us hypothesize the direst outcome. Suppose someone had observed the scene. Would any person conclude he intentionally killed his target? All would deem it sheer panic. When murderous motive remains concealed externally, how many could brand it homicide? Thus even this worst scenario avoids classification as murder. With ten witnesses uniformly testifying against him, the case would conclude with professional negligence penalties—three years’ imprisonment or a thousand-yen fine at most. Count—do you imagine a viscount accidentally crushing someone beneath wheels would receive three years’ corporal punishment? Past precedents render this transparent. “This presumes his half-year of meticulous planning culminated in precisely such an ill-starred moment.” Moreover, this misfortune’s probability must have been vanishingly slight by his calculations. Specifically: on the appointed day, the viscount motored from Hibiya Gate toward Kasumi Gate. He observed his target approaching along the right sidewalk—leftward from his vantage. A neurasthenic gentleman traversing west-to-east there would inevitably favor the right walkway for stability. For that sidewalk narrows perilously; taking the left would expose one to automobiles surging from behind. The viscount swept his gaze about—though initially only rightward. The curving road ahead required monitoring solely this flank. The left lay fenced with iron railings and shrubbery—no plausible approach from that quarter.

Gradually, the distance between the viscount and the certain gentleman narrowed. At this point where he deemed it suitable, the viscount recklessly charged toward his opponent’s body—that is to say, he turned the steering wheel slightly left from his previous course and lunged forward. The opponent, who had believed it safe as long as he continued walking as before, was startled and had no time to flee. He naturally wanted to dodge to the right but could not immediately leap over the iron fence. He had no choice but to try moving left—that is, into the roadway. The moment he did so, the car body knocked him down—that was how it happened. In this case, it was necessary for him to step out into the roadway even slightly. Because if he were stepping onto the sidewalk and were knocked down there, it would clearly constitute negligence. If only his death occurred on the roadway—even if the car initially swerved slightly—any tire marks could be quickly trampled and erased. “In fact,” Prosecutor Ōtani continued smoothly toward Count Hosoyama’s rigid profile across his desk blotter—a profile now drained of aristocratic composure—“in your case… ah yes… those tire marks were entirely obliterated.” “Of course I’m not suggesting you did it yourself—the crowd saw to that.” “Though one might note,” his pen tapped rhythmically against an imaginary timeline sketched in air between them,“that summoning such a crowd would lie well within a perpetrator’s capabilities.” “Provided,” his voice dipped into theatrical confidentiality,“our hypothetical criminal retained full use of his vocal cords.” “All witnesses examined concurred”—a sheaf of depositions materialized briefly between ink-stained fingers—“they heard shouts before converging on your brother’s… ah… tragic mishap.” “Thus reconstructing events”—his chair creaked forward—“first comes confirmation of death… then strategic cries summoning gawkers… finally our remorseful driver stumbles toward legal sanctuary.” “Negligence?” He spread empty hands.“Plausible.” “Premeditation?” A single finger rose.“Unprovable.” “An exquisite performance,” he concluded softly.

“However, this is all just that novelist’s fantasy. Ahahaha—must be quite amusing, don’t you think? Hm? Has something come over you?”

At this moment, Count Hosoyama Hiroshi—who had been listening with a pallid face—staggered to his feet and finally reached for the door while— “Lies! Lies! I’m no murderer—” “Outrageous... That bastard... It was suicide! Suicide!” he gasped.

“If you wish to leave, you may do so now.”

Leaving behind Prosecutor Ōtani—who had helpfully opened the door while wearing a faintly eerie smile—Count Hosoyama staggered out into the corridor.

III

One week later, on a certain night, Count Hosoyama wrote down the following reflection in his diary.

"What’s astonishing is Prosecutor Ōtani’s deduction. Or perhaps it’s conjecture. He’s saying exactly what I had thought. And that attitude of his, brimming with confidence! Truly, I must have carried out exactly that plan and gone to that place on that day. However, to think that we could foresee nature’s ironies with the power of our minds—I too was mistaken. Yet the Prosecutor had miscalculated just as I had."

It was the instant I tried to crash my car into Nakajo's body. Suddenly, Nakajo staggered and rushed out toward my car. He was the man I was trying to kill at that very moment, yet in this instant I found myself utterly flustered. I almost instinctively turned the steering wheel to avoid him. But it was too late. That Nakajo bastard—perhaps unable to bear his guilty conscience—had jumped right into my car. Now that it's come to this, I regret there were no witnesses. I had planned a murder. Therefore, it may be unavoidable that the Prosecutor thinks of me that way. However, I failed at the very last step. I had been anticipated by my opponent. If even one person had been there to witness it, they would have testified to his unsteady gait.

Yesterday I visited the Nakajo widow. The ones who suspect that I killed Nakajo are the prosecutor and this woman. That woman hardly said anything yesterday. Ah, as long as Prosecutor Ōtani and the Nakajo widow live, I am believed to have committed murder. I had believed my plan was flawless. I had believed it was too flawless. However, I was a fool to ignore the irony wrought by great nature; I am cursed forever.

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

The Count’s eyes, having hurriedly torn open the seal, now clearly beheld the following beautifully written characters.

“Count, I must apologize for my earlier discourtesy.” “Though you graciously visited, I was preoccupied with weighty matters at that time.” “Thus I committed an inexcusable rudeness.” “Please forgive me.” “At that moment, I hesitated whether to show Your Lordship a certain item.” “But I have now resolved myself.” “I shall speak no further of it.” “Only pray read the enclosed document.” “And keep it ever near your person.”

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

“God’s mischief? … Nature’s irony?”

While muttering, the Count looked through a piece of paper that had been enclosed.

At the beginning, in feminine script: “This is a fragment of my husband Chokichi’s diary. After my husband’s death, I discovered it and have kept it hidden from everyone until now.” It was signed “Ayako.” X/X My wife is convinced beyond doubt. No—she isn’t doubting. She is convinced that I killed Yutaka Yoshida. Do my hands look bloodstained? Does my face appear so terrifying? She seems to think my recent inability to sleep at night and absence from work stem from the torments of conscience. Idiot! When did I ever kill him? I am not a murderer. He really died by accident.

It's true that I tried to kill Yutaka. A terrible thing, but I tried to push him off the cliff with these hands. There's no mistake about that. But—but—I didn't push him off then. Just as I was about to touch him, Yutaka suddenly screamed. Instead, I was startled. What happened? The moment I tried to ask—that treacherous spot. In an instant, he lost his footing and plunged down toward the rocks below.

I was dazed for a moment, but I immediately understood the cause. Ayako must have known beforehand, but even now, Yutaka harbors an extreme fear of spiders. To me, 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. I saw that a giant spider measuring over five sun—still swaying even after he had fallen—was positioned right where it would strike his face.

As Yutaka was walking along carefree, whistling, this giant spider suddenly struck him in the face.

"A spider!" The moment he recognized it, he leapt up in terror. At that very instant, he must have lost his footing. Ah, when I think back now, I should have left that spider alone. I too, repulsed beyond measure, crushed it and flung it into the sea. What a fool I am. If only someone—anyone—had witnessed that scene back then, they would have absolved me of murderous suspicion. Even if I were accused outright, there would be ample grounds for defense. Yet though my wife is convinced I’m a murderer, so long as she never once confronts me, anything I say is futile. I must now wage this silent battle against Ayako’s mute vengeance.

However, lately I feel like everyone calls me a murderer. I planned a murder. But I didn't carry it out. Ah, when will I ever dispel this suffering? Other than my wife, Yutaka's brother Count Hosoyama undoubtedly suspects me. Ah, I can't fathom why he confronts me face-to-face each morning. Though it pains me, were I to avoid that path, the Count would only deepen his suspicions. Oh Count! Why don't you just indict me in court!

(Here, there was a gap of about three months in the diary entries.)

X/X I can't stand it—being seen like this, falsely accused of a crime by everyone. Ayako is convinced beyond doubt that I'm a murderer. As long as she doesn't mention it even once, I won't say a single word either. Though I encounter Count Hosoyama daily, why does he deliberately pass by at that specific hour? Yet he shows no sign of pressing charges. Is he planning to kill me? If you suspect me that much, go ahead and kill me anytime. But your revenge isn't true vengeance in God's eyes.

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

X/X Yesterday, I was nearly hit by an automobile.

The doctor tells me to walk every day. But there’s no reason it would improve even slightly.

I walked through the streets exactly like a blind man without a cane. Perhaps even the doctor thought I was a murderer. Ayako might have been talking to the doctor. And weren’t they deliberately putting me in as much danger as possible? I’m not a murderer. I have thought about murder. But I have no recollection of doing it.

(What follows is the diary entry from the day before his death.)

X/X

I don't feel alive with this bizarre state of mind. If I hadn't taken Yutaka out there, he wouldn't have died. If that's the case, I might as well die. However, I don't want to be killed by Hosoyama. Alright, I'll use someone coming in an automobile like that bastard's. Tomorrow, when that bastard comes around Hibiya, I'll jump into a stranger's automobile and die. When Hosoyama is just passing by, I'll deliberately jump into another car. Any car will do—I'll jump into any automobile that isn't Hosoyama's. I have to walk with such extreme caution.

Finally, he said to Ayako: "Do not measure divine works with human knowledge."

Having finished reading, the Count suddenly recalled something he had not paid the slightest attention to until now. "Ah, right. That day, for the first time, he had stopped using the boxy Chrysler he’d been driving until then and taken out the newly purchased Packard instead.

Tears overflowed from the Count’s eyes as he looked at Nakajo’s diary once more. When the tears had begun to trail 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 *Bungeishunju*)