Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

It was around the 20th year of Meiji (1887), when police work remained rough and haphazard...

A tale of the bizarre murder case that occurred within the police station of Nogata, Chikuzen—a rowdy coal-mining city…

In the soot-stained southern outskirts of Nogata, there stood a single izakaya.
The solitary thatched hut stood beside an embankment-like road leading south to Iizuka through fields that became part of the Onga River's annual flood zone—rice paddies and vegetable plots surrounding it. From afar, one could immediately spot upon leaving town: the customarily grimy rope curtain, cedar leaf ornaments under the eaves, and a small pale-blue cotton flag dyed with "Ippai" fluttered at its entrance.

When one stepped inside, there were only two rooms—a combined living room/kitchen and an earthen floor area.
In that dim earthen-floored space of about three tsubo, grimy-lustered wooden tables and stools stood arranged—to the right a sake barrel rack, on shelves hung from the left wall rows of simmered dishes, fish cakes, dried squid, and octopus arms—while at the raised threshold sat a token cashier's lattice.
Beside it, a half-sheet reading "No credit under any circumstances" was pasted to a jet-black sooty pillar, but being soot-stained itself, it escaped notice.

The owner was an elderly bachelor around sixty named Fujiroku who appeared quite the ruffian.
He bore a tattoo on his back.
With his fair skin, plump corpulent frame and fleshy bald head, he must have known how to handle the people around here.
Miners, peddlers and local farmers came to drink there—hence why he became popularly known time and again as “Fujiroku of the one-cup shop”.
When police officers stopped by for tea he would stealthily pour premium sake into their teacups; when a familiar personnel officer passed through he would chase after them invite them in and have them sample his homemade unfiltered sake.

This Old Man Fujiroku had one peculiar indulgence.
This indulgence involved doting on beggars—even during the busiest hours, whenever someone lingered at the entrance without entering, Fujiroku would keenly spot them and discreetly pull something from his pocket to send them on their way without drawing attention.
When observing their retreating figures from behind, there were of course old men, women, and children—but also vigorous... what we now call vagrant-like men mixed among them.

During lulls when no customers came, he would often have pilgrims—mothers with children in tow—chant Buddhist hymns time and again, listening enraptured as he perched on the raised entrance.
As his emotions swelled further still, Fujiroku’s ruddy face would blanch and sag, deep wrinkles carving into his brow until his head slumped heavily forward—moments when he might discreetly wipe away something resembling tears.
In such instances, people noticed that he would hand over about a shō of rice and gleaming silver coins to the pilgrims.

When wheat ears emerged, Fujiroku would time his outings to when the shop was empty, venturing into the wheat fields around his house to diligently pluck wheat black smut.
One might have called this another of Old Man Fujiroku’s quirks, but the neighbors did not think so.
After all, everyone assumed that Fujiroku, with his Buddha-like nature, would naturally engage in such acts of virtue whenever he had free time—so no one found it suspicious.

In any case, thanks to this Old Man Fujiroku’s presence, Nogata had gained a reputation for never lacking beggars—and indeed, all manner of beggars took turns standing at Ippaiya’s entrance.
“At that beggar tavern Ippai” or “Old Man Fujiroku’s sake comes in generous pours”—it had reached the point where people would say such things.

The renowned old man Fujiroku died suddenly the previous year… on the 11th day of the twelfth month of Meiji 19 (1886).

Behind a charcoal brazier filled with sumi-tan charcoal balls lay Old Man Fujiroku's corpse - vomiting up last night's meal, gripping his bedding collar while half-sprawled off the futon, already gone cold - discovered by a patrol officer who had considered him harmless. Though every possible cause of death was investigated, not a single suspicious element could be found.

While searching the house to check for stolen items, they noticed what appeared to be a Buddhist altar enshrined in the closet corner had no incense sticks or other offerings.
Instead, dried bundles of wheat black smut wrapped in white paper had been placed there in great numbers, making everyone wonder.
When they pulled open the red brocade curtain at the altar's rear, a single tea-brown human skull emerged, causing everyone to recoil with a collective gasp.
Yet even this did not appear particularly related to Fujiroku's death.
Ultimately, it must have been Fujiroku's peculiar faith.
Or perhaps he had discovered some unclaimed deceased's skeleton and enshrined it through that Buddha-like nature of his.
The black smut bundles might have simply been disposed of through Buddhist memorial offerings without deeper meaning... With no other explanations beyond such speculation possible, Fujiroku's cause of death was ultimately concluded to be some form of poisoning.

Amidst the commotion, Fujiroku’s tattered family register copy emerged from the cashier’s desk drawer, revealing he had originally been born in Shikoku… Consequently, as it became clear Fujiroku had not a single relative in his immediate vicinity, his funeral naturally took the form of a neighborhood burial.
Then, upon hearing this, one of Nogata’s bosses tossed out a ten-yen note. Relying on that contribution, about ten utter strangers gathered and decided to hold the wake that night—though of course the Buddhist chants were merely perfunctory.
On that dusk when the rowdy drinking party grew increasingly boisterous with leftover simmered dishes and sake from barrels Fujiroku had failed to sell, a young man—sunburned dark as charcoal and bearing the look of a peddler—slunk into the shop entrance and asked for directions.

Since his demeanor suggested neither a beggar nor a liquor buyer, the young man at the entrance approached him—a man claiming to be Fujiroku’s nephew. Upon hearing his uncle Fujiroku had just died, he clung fiercely to the raised threshold and began sobbing helplessly, his hands limp and strength gone. This caused the entire gathering to fall silent. Everyone became at a loss for how to handle the situation.

Before long, someone apparently notified the police, and after a while, an officer arrived to conduct an investigation. [...] Upon inquiry, they learned the man’s name was Ginji and he was thirty-two years old this year. He was originally from Shikoku—the dissolute only son disowned at seventeen by Fujijūrō, Fujiroku’s elder brother—who had drifted through the Chūgoku region before arriving in Osaka by age twenty-five, where he first awoke from his dissolute ways. Then he worked as a laborer, odd-jobber, and stevedore, enduring every hardship imaginable until learning the trade of selling plane-shaped candies. With a tall-stilted tub strapped to his back, he made his way home only to find his hometown utterly ruined—everyone dead or destitute, leaving nothing behind. For the first time, Ginji truly understood the depth of his past unfilial behavior. Having heard through rumors that his sole remaining uncle Fujiroku ran a liquor shop in Nogata, Kyushu, he immediately boarded a boat to Moji and finally reached this place… With that, he began weeping again.

All such details aligned perfectly with Fujiroku's family register copy.
The more they observed young Ginji's sunburned features and bone structure—precisely weathered enough to accentuate his resemblance—the clearer his likeness to the deceased Fujiroku became until neither police nor wake attendees harbored doubts.
Far from suspicion now moved by what they deemed "Fujiroku's posthumous guidance," the group promptly hauled Ginji up into the chief mourner's seat.
As Ginji wept raucously before his father's visage once more,the crowd pooled whispered coins into wrappers while he performed grief.

Not long after that, when Ginji returned from paying a courtesy visit to a local boss in a nearby town, the wake gathering grew lively once more.
Ginji had gone to inform Mr. Boss as well that from tomorrow onward I would be taking over this shop.
With a plea for their support... he seated the police officer in the place of honor and lavishly served sake.
When the next morning arrived, Ginji set about working with remarkable diligence—carrying those who had collapsed drunk to their respective homes, hiring laborers to take the deceased to the crematory—throwing himself into these tasks with vigor.
As this went on, nearby people began whispering things like “It really has to be someone close” and “The Buddha must be content.”

2

Strangely enough, beggars had begun multiplying conspicuously around Nogata from that time onward.
They proliferated so excessively and became such a nuisance that even the police could no longer ignore them, driving them away repeatedly—yet it was like flies swarming over rice; no matter how much they were shooed off, they kept gathering back.
As coal mine prosperity brought a parallel surge in murders and assaults, leaving police utterly overwhelmed, nobody noticed how rarely beggars now lingered beneath the eaves of Fujiroku’s tavern on the town outskirts.
Unlike Fujiroku, Ginji appeared to harbor particular disdain for beggars, always harshly driving them away—so everyone assumed that explained their absence.

From then on, Ginji devoted himself entirely to the business and never left the house—perhaps because of this, his complexion rapidly whitened, and he grew into a man as handsome as an actor.
He claimed to be thirty-two, but looked no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
His sharply upturned eyes and high-bridged nose gave him a period-evoking handsomeness; when that slender face—with its faintly bitter edge—grinned as he emerged from the dim shop, even men would catch their breath. Without exaggeration, he became the talk of every woman in Nogata. Yet Ginji, appearing every bit the ascetic, never once feigned interest in carousing.
Maintaining an air of unwavering devotion to his esteemed customers and reverence for the deceased, he worked diligently with gentle demeanor from dawn till dusk in the dimly lit shop. By the following spring, the establishment had prospered so greatly that its previous space now felt cramped.
As for simmered dishes and other fare, he would procure them himself early in the morning just as Fujiroku had done, and prepare them himself as well—yet they were reputed to be quite skillfully made and delicious.

Yet when spring arrived that year, another mysterious phenomenon occurred: those beggars who had once been so tenaciously concentrated in Nogata had now nearly all disappeared—no one knew when or where they had vanished.
Except for nearby Hikosan pilgrims and New Shikoku pilgrims, they could no longer be found even when searched for.
People were astonished, dubbing this phenomenon a "plague of beggars," and the police were constantly scratching their heads, yet the cause of such a strange occurrence was not easily determined.

It was the evening of the Peach Festival under the new calendar.

It was a fine moonlit night, but the shop was unusually quiet, and since the customers had left early, Ginji stepped outside for a moment and gazed out over the front and back thoroughfares under the moonlight as far as he could see.
Then, as was his routine, he hurriedly lowered the front wooden shutters, securely fastened the latch on the small sliding door, closed the back storm shutters, and inserted two crossbars.
As he was spreading a futon before Fujiroku’s mortuary tablet and about to blow out the sooty lamp, there came a woman’s voice rapping on the corrugated iron front door.

“Excuse me.”
“Please open up.”

Ginji stared at the sound for a moment, his face taking on a frightened expression. He had been standing ready under the lamp, but after clicking his tongue slightly, he stepped down from the raised threshold still wearing his old sleeping yukata, looking thoroughly inconvenienced.

In a stance poised to lunge at any moment, he opened the low, narrow service door, and the woman immediately slipped inside.

She was a petite woman of nineteen or twenty, her ginkgo-bun hairstyle making her appear strikingly fresh-faced. She had what one might call a round, cherubic face, wore a flashy navy-dyed kasuri lined kimono, a red apron with floral patterns, and lacquered clogs with worn red straps on bare feet.

Ginji, as if the tension had drained from him, looked her up and down.

The young woman turned bright red under the gaze of the handsome Ginji. While holding out the one-shō tokkuri and ten-yen note she had been hiding behind her back right under Ginji’s nose, she spoke in a voice that seemed ready to vanish.

“One shō of sake. The finest part…”

When Ginji silently bowed and accepted the money and tokkuri, the young woman staggered to lean against the edge of the service door and lowered her head.

Ginji drew a full one shō from the new sake barrel and handed it to the young woman. Then he turned up the lamp with a forceful motion, pulled out a yellow cotton wallet from the drawer of a small chest at the edge of the closet, and handed her ten yen in change.

“Sis, where’d you come from, huh?”

He leaned in close to ask, but the young woman merely glanced up at Ginji’s face before turning crimson all the way to her neck. Without a word, she slipped out through the service door as if fleeing.

After firmly closing it behind her and securely fastening the latch, Ginji listened until the sound of the young woman’s footsteps fading toward town could no longer be heard. He grinned sinisterly and muttered.

“Heh heh… Finally came.”
Though she had a cute appearance—a sacrifice to the demon lord.
Heh heh.
I’d been waiting for you bastard… If this went well—my devotion would be flawless.
Could forge grit beyond Osaka’s moneyed class.
Heh heh… Trample duty—human bonds—gods—buddhas alike—
Become fearless—
Heh heh—
Rise through society—utterly unbound—heh heh—
“Waited long enough—you bastard…”

While muttering these soliloquies alone—Ginji—pale-faced frenzy manifesting—began preparations with jittery urgency—

He fastened himself into the same arm and leg guards he’d worn when first coming to this house, tightened his stiff sash with a sharp tug, then sat properly before the closet. He sat before the shabby Buddhist altar left unchanged from Fujiroku’s time, gazing up at the tea-brown skull peering out from behind red brocade curtains, and began muttering some incomprehensible incantation. He then scrubbed his scalp vigorously with both hands and bowed in worship, repeating this cycle of bowing and scrubbing about four times until finally rising abruptly—his entire face contorted into a monkey-like sneer of depravity—before retrieving the yellow cotton bag once more from the small chest in the opposite corner of the closet. Meticulously counting a considerable sum of yen bills and silver-copper coins, he tucked them into his waistband. The sharp dagger that had been in the same drawer—after inspecting its contents—he slipped into his pocket. He started to pull out the planed candy seller’s high-legged basin from the opposite side of the closet but threw it back inside.

Then Ginji carried out the rice tub to the entrance, wolfed down a bellyful of hot water rice made from the remaining rice and leftover dishes from the shop, and threw one of the deceased’s old cotton-striped cushions—once used at the counter during his lifetime—in front of the service door. He extinguished the lamp, fumbled to put on his straw sandals, plopped down heavily onto the cushion placed squarely on the ground, then leaned against the service door with arms crossed and eyes closed.

Someone must have mistaken the moonlight for dawn. In the distance, the sound of a chicken’s wingbeats and a rooster’s crow announcing the hour could be heard.

3

About an hour had passed when he faintly sensed a human presence outside the service door.

A light, rhythmic shin-shin-shin-shin-shin sawing sound crept stealthily through the air, and fine sawdust like smoke drifted into Ginji’s collar.
At the spot where the young woman had been leaning earlier, a square hole approximately three centimeters wide and six centimeters tall was cleanly cut open.
From there, the pale light of the moon tilting westward streamed in.

Ginji was sitting slightly away from the service door, intently watching the situation.

A small white hand slid sideways through the hole… but no sooner had it appeared than it jerked back as if startled by something.

Ginji did not move. He remained motionless, holding his breath and staring intently at the square beam of moonlight. Once more, a small hand slid in through the hole, lightly brushed against the latch, then slipped back out again. Ginji remained motionless. On the third attempt, when the small white hand crept slowly inside and firmly gripped the latch, Ginji—still seated—brought both hands close and seized it in a vise-like grasp. Still gripping it, he slowly stood up and brought his mouth close to the hole the hand had come through. In a low, forceful, and muffled voice, he whispered slowly.

“...Oi... You’re Ohana the pilgrim.”
“...Now that it’s come to this, quit your strugglin’.”
“……………”
“So you came knowin’ my face...”

“……………”

“Have you understood how terrifying a person I am?”

“……………”

“Understood… demon…”

“……………”

“...Will you obey me…”

“……………”

“If you won’t obey… Or should I just burst through like this? The police are all my trusted allies.”

The strength in the white hand seemed to go utterly limp.

Ginji released the latch with a guarded stance while keeping a firm grip on the woman’s wrist with one hand.
Black mask, black leggings, tasuki sash—he dragged the woman’s body into the shop along with the service door.
Simultaneously using the moonlight that flowed in like water to examine her entire body through its illumination, he retrieved from her inner pocket one bamboo-whittling knife with a long sharp blade and deep grip, then threw it—along with its persimmon-tanned paper sheath—into the corner of the earthen floor with a clatter.
Seeming relieved, he smiled and looked down at the woman’s mask.

“...Did you come knowing my name?”

She shook her head vigorously.
She began to sob quietly,

“I’m s-sorry… I was just after the alms…”
“...I was desperate for travel funds…”

As she spoke these words, she removed her mask, revealing the pallid face of the same young woman who had been there earlier, and clung tightly to Ginji’s chest. She spoke between hitched sobs.

“...I underestimated you...”

Ginji peered out through the moonlight and laughed coldly for some reason. He made an ugly expression, baring his white teeth like a monkey, then used one hand to shut the service door and firmly latched it. He plugged the hole in the service door with a square wooden fragment that had fallen.

For about an hour after that, there was no sound at all inside the house.
For a time, the lamp glowed crimson for about twenty minutes, but soon it too went out, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

The moon sank swiftly westward.

Roosters crowed in various places as night began to break.

Suddenly, a shrill scream arose from inside the house.
In a terrified woman’s voice,

“What’re you doin’—Ah—!”

“……………”

“Wha—... Have mercy—!”

“……………”

“Liar! Liar! You damn liar—Ah! Infuriating! Infuriating! Infuriating! Infuriating!...”
“You liar—Ah—!”
“Infuriating infuriating infuriating infuriating...”

The screams and scuffling sounds of their tussle swelled together, but when they abruptly ceased, the front wooden door’s single panel rattled open, revealing Ginji with his face half-masked as he emerged.
On Ginji’s back hung a young woman bound tight with thin cord, her black mask secured by a muzzle-like gag; he hurried briskly down the faintly moonlit road toward town as the moon sank low.

The woman had gone utterly limp on Ginji’s back.

4

On the floor of the Nogata Police Station’s sergeant’s office lay a young woman who had been ungagged but remained tightly bound.
Her gingko bun lay tangled，her cheek cruelly scraped raw．She kept biting her lips tightly shut，eyes closed and face turned away．

Five or six police officers formed an imposing circle around her，listening intently to Ginji’s testimony．

Ginji stood at the center，wiping his sweat with a somewhat triumphant air，bowing repeatedly，and drinking the boiled water from the kettle hanging over the nearby brazier．

“Heh… Hardly a feat worthy of such praise… Heh heh.”
“Since there were rumors circulating that small sums had been accumulating in that remote house ever since Fujiroku’s time, I suppose it was all thanks to never letting my guard down and keeping a close watch on the customers’ behavior as they came and went.”
“Heh... When this girl came in, I could tell at a glance she wasn’t from around here.”
“First of all, a girl this pretty doesn’t exist in Nogata… Heh heh.”
“And she’s not the type to flash a ten-yen note just to buy one sho… No matter how you look at it… Heh.”
“So I became even more cautious, and then this little wench here—she pretended to lean against the service door while measuring the distance from the middle crossbar to the latch with two fingers, see… Heh.”
“Then when I was giving change for the ten-yen note, seeing how she kept her head bowed while sizing things up, I became certain she’d strike tonight.”
“Thinking I’d best make myself as unencumbered as possible when they came, I got ready in my usual candy peddler’s gear and waited... Heh.”
“Just about an hour ago it was.”
“Since the little wench had cut through above the latch and reached her hand in, I grabbed her right away, hoisted her up, and carried her here... Heh.”

“Hmm... Makes sense now.”
“You’ve got sharp instincts.”
“Wasted on an amateur, that nerve of yours.”
“Ahahaha…”

“Hmm... These habitual crooks’ methods—what they call scoutin’, probin’, strikin’—they always make three tries at breakin’ in.”
“Even if ya try to catch ’em on their first go, ya’ll never nab ’em, ya know.”

This was the question from the gaunt police sergeant with a salt-and-pepper beard standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Ginji.
However, Ginji answered calmly.

“Heh. I hadn’t the faintest idea about such things—I just figured this heretic was up to no good, so when she came slinking around, I grabbed her proper… Heh heh heh…”

“Hey... Woman... No mistake about that, eh?”

The police sergeant tapped the tip of his boot against the girl’s head.

The girl finally opened her eyes wide and looked coldly upward.
After quietly licking the lips she had been biting, she spoke in a clear voice.

“…This rope… Untie it, please.”
“I’ll confess… so…”

“What… Untie the rope…?…”

“Ah...”

“Say your piece as you are.”

“No no—I won’t talk like this, I tell you.”
“It’s too painful to speak like this… Please…”

The girl once again tightly closed her eyes and bit her lips.
The police sergeant, who seemed accustomed to interrogations, watched the girl’s expression with sunken eyes—scrutinizing her intently—then finally gave one large nod.
He jerked his chin at the nearby police officer.

“Hey. Untie her.”

“Hah!”

Two young police officers lifted the woman up together and made her sit cross-legged on the mud-covered plank floor.

Seeing this, Ginji seemed slightly flustered.
He remained rigid while swiftly glancing over the police officers’ faces, but soon seemed to resolve himself—letting out one light sigh through his nose—then stepped slightly aside to avoid hindering the untying of the ropes.
He positioned himself where he could slip past the officer standing at the entrance and dash outside in one swift motion.
Beneath his aged Hakata obi, he had readied himself by thrusting his right thumb underneath to swiftly shift the knot forward; no one had noticed.

The girl sat up properly and appeared to be watching Ginji’s movements out of the corner of her eye.
When the police officers surrounding her untied the ropes, she immediately removed her sash and began massaging around her shoulders.
Then, while adjusting her hem, she rose to a half-crouch and rubbed and pressed her knees.
Having settled back down again, she brushed up the tousled strands at her temples with her fingertips and cleared her throat once or twice.

“...Excuse me.”
“A cup of hot water, please.”
“My throat is parched... I can’t go on like this...”

She bowed her head, placed her hands on the large medicine kettle atop the glowing brazier, then stood up resolutely and hurled it toward the ceiling.
A whirlwind of ash erupted in a great surge, turning the entire room pure white.
The police officers instinctively leapt back, and by the time they realized, Ginji and the girl had already vanished from the sergeant’s office.

5

Ginji burst out of the sergeant’s office and leapt onto the desk in the main office. Striking down at the girl who chased after the inkstone box he had touched, he kicked aside documents and leapt from the desk in one bound toward the entrance. The girl who had latched onto his waist like a lion—having somehow snatched Ginji’s dagger—plunged it deep into his ribs from behind. Still embedded, she was dragged along with a grating scrape as he moved.

“Pa’s vengeance… Tanba brat… Did you feel it… Tanba brat…”

She kept shouting.
Still entangled with Ginji, they tumbled head over heels down the stone entrance steps. The girl alone sprang up abruptly and shook off Ginji’s kimono and obi that had been thrown over her head.
Looking back at the police officers chasing her as she dodged fallen chairs, she smiled with a scraped face.

Then she raised high the blood-stained dagger and both hands toward the blue sky above the roof of the Mukai house where shepherd's purse grew, and shouted with all her might.
In a heartrending shrill voice,
“Everyone… everyone… I’m sorry.”
“I’m Ohana… But I… I can’t go back… Can’t go back…”
Even as she spoke, while sitting astride Ginji’s body, she wrapped the blood-stained dagger in both sleeves and thrust it deep into her own white neck.
Tears streamed down her face, and with blood quivering from her lips, she went utterly limp.
As they were about to collapse in a tangled heap, Ginji and Ohana were grabbed and restrained by police officers who came rushing over.

“Idiot!”

“What the—”

“Idiot!”

Amidst the police officers’ furious shouts, the two corpses trailing thick streaks of blood were dragged into the office.

From the police station’s gate to its entrance, the area soon became a seething mass of people, but before long, a police officer who had come running out dispersed the crowd and shut both the front gate and entrance tight.

Within that scene, once the copious blood that had flowed over the entrance stone steps and paving stones was washed away by the janitor’s hands, everyone dispersed—but even so,

“What in blazes was that?”

“What was that? What was that?”

While exchanging remarks among themselves, all the nearby residents stood outside.

“When I went to investigate at Susaki Prison, I was astonished to find nothing but unexpected matters.”

The police sergeant with a salt-and-pepper beard, who appeared to have returned from an official trip, stood rigidly at attention before the rotund police superintendent as he delivered his report. This occurred around noon on the fourth or fifth day following the incident.

"First, you will recall that when Old Man Fujiroku—proprietor of that izakaya you know well—recently died, an ancient human skull and wheat black smut were found within his Buddhist altar."

From within the massive leather-upholstered armchair donated by local mine owners, the police superintendent nodded with magisterial composure.

“Indeed.”
“We’re far from understanding it.”
“As for that... The principal of the elementary school here... knows ’bout it... The one with the topknot and Tenjin beard...”

“I am aware.”
“He was said to come from a family of Rangaku scholars dating back to the old domain era, but...”

“Mmm, they say he’s quite the scholar... but that man spouted off such things at the isolation hospital’s completion ceremony the other day.”
“...’Tis proof they’re worshippin’ demons—offerin’ black smut o’ wheat to some human skull. A religion ’mong Jews opposin’ Christianity since ancient times, ’tis what they say.”
“Jews are like Japan’s ×× types—long as they offer black smut to some skull, no matter their past crimes, they needn’t fear exposure… ’Tis a sort o’ spell, see.”
“On top o’ that, ’tis a heretical faith where gold piles up as ye please, lettin’ ’em live in comfort their whole lives—came ’bout same time as Christianity snuck into Japan, they say. Practiced ’mong Kyushu’s mountain outcasts an’ ×× types.”

“Well! That’s news to me… It seems there are points aligning with what I’ve investigated…”

“Hmm. That’s interestin’. Around the time that Fujiroku died an’ skull worship with black smut became all the talk, ’twas just when they held the isolation hospital’s completion ceremony, see. That principal fellow was talkin’ all high an’ mighty—apparently this Nogata area’s been a mountain outcast den since ancient times, see. Mountain outcasts driven out by Ogasawara in Kokura to the east an’ Kuroda in Chikuzen to the west—they all converged on this desolate stretch o’ the Onga River basin, ’tis said, formin’ settlements here an’ there. Fujiroku ’twas indeed one who drank from that mountain outcast lineage, the principal said, see. I’ve never had much use for these mountain outcasts… Worshipin’ demons makes ’em do things where ye can’t tell if they’re beasts or men, see. Given that Fujiroku was such a character, I thought he’d be the last person anyone’d take for a mountain outcast—so I paid it no mind, see.”

“Huh.”
“Had I had the honor of hearing that tale a bit sooner, it would have been most intriguing, but…”

“Hmm.”
“So Fujiroku ’twas one o’ them mountain outcasts from around here after all.”

“Yes, sir. He was indeed one of the mountain outcasts, but not from here.”
“He was said to have originally been the son of a wealthy farmer in Kochi Prefecture, but after killing someone in the recklessness of youth, he fled hither and thither until ultimately entering the Iwami mountains, where he became a mountain outcast boss even renowned in Kansai…”

“Hmm.”
“How’d you manage to dig that up?”

“There’s... such a matter.”
“We conducted a temporary burial by laying out the corpses of that Tanba brat and pilgrim Ohana before Fujiroku’s grave in the communal cemetery. However, from the very next day after interment, while bundles of various flowers had piled up like a mountain upon the mound where the woman’s corpse was buried—with bowls filled with clear water placed alongside—Ginji’s mound bore nothing but human footprints trampling the earth, and feces with urine dripping down its sides.”
“It appears to be the work of beggars during the night, but…”

“Hmm.”
“That sentiment’s somewhat understandable.”
“Even mountain outcasts’ve got human feelin’s same as any…”

“Yet regardin’ his parent Fujiroku’s grave—since long before now, ’stead o’ flowers bein’ offered, there’s them what keeps bringin’ dried wheat black smut… Though where they fetch it from beats me…”

“Aye, tracks right enough.”
“That logic holds water too.”
“When we heard out that principal’s tale, see.”

“I’d no inklin’ o’ such matters myself—just when I was gettin’ proper puzzled by it all, this recent business came to pass.”

“Hmm.”

“The people around here call wheat black smut ‘heretic’s flower,’ so it’s strange that black smut’s being offered at Fujiroku’s grave. I’d caught wind of locals whispering this might be an omen of coming misfortune... and was finding it all increasingly peculiar when, about a month back—”

“—there was that notorious thief called Nabeguro no Ganhachi...”

“Mmm. That’d be when he was driven out from Fukuoka and snuck in among new miners—the one you found and handed over, aye...”

“Yes, sir. That bastard in Susaki’s solitary cell—I happened to catch wind that he’d been consuming bloody things every eleventh… The eleventh being Fujiroku’s death anniversary, you see…”

“Aye… Sharp instincts ye’ve got there.”

“That is precisely the case. In any case, since both of them are dead, there is not a single clue to be found, leaving us quite at a loss. Even when I sought opinions from my fellow officers, all they could muster were utterly baseless suggestions—mere speculation about some possible connection between this case and that business with the beggars’ ‘red tide.’ As such, there was simply no way to compile a proper report on the incident’s truth. With no other credible leads remaining—though this seemed a story as elusive as grasping clouds—I took the liberty during your absence to travel to Fukuoka and interrogate Nabeguro no Ganhachi. At that time, I resolved to recount to Ganhachi in detail the circumstances of Ohana’s death, whereupon he declared, ‘In that case…’ and confessed the entire truth. It would seem he was shedding tears profusely... In short, that Tanba brat—killed this time by pilgrim Ohana—and Nabeguro no Ganhachi had long ago become sworn brothers under Fujiroku’s cup deep in the Iwami mountains... Moreover, according to rumors Ganhachi heard, that Tanba brat was no mere nephew to Fujiroku…the story goes that he was apparently Fujiroku’s biological child with a barmaid from Amanohashidate…”

“...Hmm.”
“That’s odd, see…”
“Then... things’ll get so tangled we won’t know what’s what, see.”

“Well, you see… According to Ganhachi, Fujiroku was the only one who knew about that—the man himself shouldn’t have been aware… But they say Fujiroku was the sort who went around siring and abandoning children all over like that…”

“That’s odd, see…”
“Even so…”

“There remains more to recount, sir.”

“Go on then—tell it proper.”

“However—after Fujiroku had set that Tanba brat and Ganhachi up as independent operators and severed ties—he must’ve grown a Buddhist conscience in his dotage.”
“It appears he yearned to meet a daughter of his—one disguising herself as a pilgrim beggar in Kyushu while working as a female outlaw—so he relinquished his territory to the boss of Onigashira, emerged from the Iwami mountains, journeyed all the way to this Nogata, and settled here; among the gathered beggars were many who’d come trailing Fujiroku’s legacy.”
“To put it plain—if one received the black smut Fujiroku offered up to the demon lord, their past crimes would never come to light.”
“It became a protective charm letting folk live out their days in comfort… or so they claimed… Though Ganhachi did say he drank that received black smut steeped in hot water… Hahaha…”

6

The police superintendent crossed his arms with deep emotion and closed his eyes.

"Aye, that tracks, see."
"So that's how it is, see."
"So that's why until recently there hadn't been a single petty thief in this Chikuhō region alone—now I see."

“…Indeed… That Fujiroku fellow seems to have been quite a formidable man, see.”

“So then, Ginji the Tanba brat is also one o’ the comrades who came followin’ Fujiroku’s legacy, see?”

“No—that’s incorrect. After leaving Fujiroku’s place and parting ways with Nabeguro no Ganhachi, the Tanba brat became a back-alley housebreaker specializing in the Osaka region. But when he killed someone during a botched robbery and found himself harshly pursued, perhaps finally gaining a shred of sense about his ‘trade,’ he drifted here disguised as a candy peddler. By chance, he took notice of Fujiroku’s shop—only to find the man himself living there, wholly unexpected.”

“Moreover, finding that Fujiroku had become completely senile and had amassed a considerable amount of cash, he revealed his demonic true nature—sneaking into Fujiroku’s isolated house, mixing rat poison or something similar into his supper, murdering him, and then taking over…”

“Huh… Then that’s patricide, see.”

“Yes, sir.”
“He killed without knowing…”

“Even so, it’s an outrageous story, see.”
“Who was that doctor who examined him back then, was it now?”

“Yes, sir.
The new mine doctor who was killed the other day after quarreling with miners.”

“Hah!”
“That young doctor…”

“Yes, sir...the one who accidentally poisoned and killed Naruse’s geisha when she had caught a cold...”

“...Aye...Aye...Wouldn’t do to have that doctor involved...Hmm...”
“And then what happened?”

“Upon learning this, all of Fujiroku’s godchildren gathered in Nogata and held a council.”
“That would be connected to that beggars’ ‘red tide’ affair...Then they all divided tasks to search out Ohana—Fujiroku’s daughter, who had been pilgrimaging through Shikoku—and tried to have her take revenge while concealing that her target was her own brother...Ginji detected this and attempted to slip away through the back, which became the cause of this recent commotion, as Ganhachi states...Considering how the story aligns, it would seem Ganhachi himself is likely the mastermind but...”

“Hmm.”
“At last... I’ve finally grasped the full course of events, see.”
“Those bastards carry vengeance fierce as wildfire, see.”

“Their notions of morality appear wholly divorced from ordinary folk’s...”

“...That too... but... however...”

As he spoke, the police superintendent became lost in thought.
As was his habit, he sank deeply into his chair and, while stroking his balding head, twisted his proud long mustache up and down with self-important intensity.

“Hmm.
So… the cause of the suicide…”

“Yes.”
“That is… Well…”

The police sergeant, appearing perplexed, wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"...We don't know...that is...due to a momentary lapse...truly...we were so flustered...and since she said she'd confess if we untied her...well..."

"Mm-hmm. I've heard that part, see."
"...The problem's th' cause o' th' suicide, see."
"The reason 'tis she killed herself right after accomplishin' her revenge, see."

“……………………”

“Didn’t she say anything at death’s edge? Them officers swore they heard nothin’, see—”

“I heard her. ‘Everyone... Forgive me...’ and...”

“Everyone… When you say ‘everyone,’ that’d be what you told the yamabushi lot, see… Were there no suspicious folk in the crowd outside? Anyone who came to observe the situation…”

“Hah! There shouldn’t have been any… Ganhachi stated.”
“The woman called Ohana was still a maiden, but she was quite resolute—‘I’ll definitely avenge my father alone, so don’t let anyone come to assist me,’ she had declared… Also, if any comrades were watching, they were supposed to rescue Ohana en route while she was being carried to the police station…”

“Hmm. That’s logical, see… But I wonder if Ohana hadn’t somehow sensed that the Tanba brat was her real brother.”

“No.”
“I did not observe any such signs.”
“As you are aware, this all occurred over roughly an hour around dawn… They gagged the Tanba brat with a muzzle before he could get ahead of everything by speaking, then carried him here as stated… The on-site inspection results appear to corroborate this account…”

“Hmm,” the police superintendent pondered deeply.

“I can’t make heads or tails of a single thing those bastards do, see.
“They’re much like the Kirishitan, see.”

“……………”

“Hmm.
“Well, that’s fine, see.
“Prepare the report along those lines.
“Just put ‘insanity’ as the cause of suicide.”
“Since she killed someone inside the police station, see… Ha ha…”

Then the police superintendent stretched luxuriously in his chair and let out a huge yawn.
He thrust both hands high toward the ceiling, his face turning crimson.
“Aah... aah... ugh... Troublesome lot, see—”