Pathway to Japanese Literature

I was now perched daintily in a corner of Restaurant Eisha on Kobe’s Kaigan-dori. With my lank bangs hanging youthfully over my forehead, wearing a gaudy Milanese-purple furisode, and bearing a glittering gold shiose obi with alluring flair—to any careless man’s eye, I must have appeared no older than fourteen or fifteen. By all means, cling to that assumption… Hohohohoho….

In my hand rested one copy of the extra edition that the boy had just bought for me. This concerned an incident that had occurred about three hours prior in a side street off Kaigan-dori, a couple blocks from here—and even the male customers huddled at tables around the room were now craning their necks together while tugging at each other’s collars. Perhaps because even the Westerners had pricked up their ears like startled deer, the room abruptly fell silent. I too skimmed just the largest headlines among them… I’ll tuck this extra edition right here… As you see, it’s absolutely crammed with enormous type…

Mussolini of the Financial World, Moneylender King Mr. Gonroku AkaIwa Crushed

—Around 5 PM today, on the street before the so-called Gonroku Apartments operated by the aforementioned gentleman in Kaigan-dori Yokocho—XX Party’s bomb?
Two large holes in the asphalt road surface—

——The tremendous force of the explosion——[AkaIwa]’s remains and business cards, fragments of his private car scattered in all directions; the vehicle’s driver and two female clerks remaining in the apartment’s back-entrance office meet gruesome deaths; several men and women on the street die instantly or sustain injuries——a traffic officer managing a crossroads dozens of meters away is knocked unconscious——utility poles and nearby storefronts utterly wrecked——

――[UPDATE]――Approximately one hour after the incident, Shiraki—the night janitor of said apartments who had reported for work—discovered the nude corpse of Haram, a giant Indian man standing nearly seven shaku tall who served as both cook and manservant to Elako (real name and age unknown), the beautiful girl residing on the fifth floor, lying shot to death upon her bedroom bedding――Subsequently, it was revealed that said girl Elako appears to have vanished together with a young man suspected to be her XX Party member lover――

――The beautiful girl Elako was Mr. AkaIwa’s illegitimate child, whom he had brought from somewhere and hidden away about a month prior—a fact that the janitor Shiraki had been strictly ordered to keep concealed until today now came to light through his testimony――

――Owing to its rushed construction, aside from the first-floor office and Elako’s living quarters, all other spaces in the aforementioned apartments stood completely vacant.
Moreover, as witnesses to the explosion’s immediate aftermath lay severely injured, met gruesome deaths, or fell unconscious, authorities had currently obtained no leads whatsoever regarding the incident’s true nature——

—Police authorities stated—absolutely no connection to the XX Party.
—Could it not be a mere coincidence that the mining explosives Mr. AkaIwa had been secretly transporting into vacant units of said apartments ignited through careless handling, and that the crime of passion entangled with the girl Elako occurred simultaneously?—A single bomb should have sufficed for maximum effect.
The two large holes remaining on the road surface must inevitably form the central question—with the investigation currently underway in exhaustive detail et cetera—

――The whereabouts of the enigmatic beauty Elako――Her true identity?――

I let out a derisive snort.
The article was so ridiculous that when I burst out cackling alone, every Westerner and Japanese in the café swiveled their heads toward me at once.
Even the cashier man kept stealing lecherous glances at my profile while taking orders.
Yet not a soul seemed to realize I was the true mastermind behind this affair―that I was the very mystery girl Elako they were hunting.
What could you expect? My makeup made me look like some simpering schoolgirl who'd just entered women's academy...

While surveying those dumbfounded faces around me, I found myself overcome with irresistible mirth.
Maybe I was a bit drunk... I deliberately put on a shrill voice and made a request of the cashier man.

“Um… you see,
“Excuse me, but could you lend me some letter paper and a pencil, please…”

The cashier man blinked his eyes rapidly,
stiffening like a soldier,

“Understood…”

No sooner had he said this than he brought paper and a fountain pen.

I began dashing my pen across the page in one breath
while taking small sips of a cocktail from the bar counter…

……They all seemed rather flustered.
But I couldn’t care less about such things…

I have the honor of writing just one thing before announcing the truth of the incident.

I don’t know how much longer it’ll take me to finish this letter, but if during that time they can’t find me—the enigmatic girl Elako—then Japan’s police and newspaper reporters are all fools… right…?

It’s fine. No one’s coming to catch me.
That they’d only start making a commotion after finding this letter once I’ve left here—that’s about the height of folly.

I shall write down the truth.
I have thoroughly come to hate Kobe.
I realized there wasn’t a single person I wanted to be genuine friends with.
So I resolved never to come back to Kobe again, and when I came to this café all alone to toast my farewell, just such an extra edition happened to come out—and out came my innate mischievousness.

I awoke early this morning in my bed by the window.
On mornings after staying up late carousing, I would always feel drowsy until noon, yet today something felt strangely off.

I drew the window curtain.
The glass had fogged completely with condensation, so I wiped it with my palm.
The chill sharpened my thoughts.

My room was on the fifth floor of Gonroku Apartments.
Outside the window lay the backstreets of Kobe’s Kaigan-dori.
To the left, Suwayama Park stood out like a whitewashed painting.
To the right, the ships moored at the port looked exactly like shadow puppets.
From beyond them rose a cold sun, casting a peach-colored glow over frost-white towns.
Because the window glass was thick, no sound could penetrate.

As I gazed at that starkly chilling scenery, I grew strangely lonesome.
Though there was no particular reason... something like this had never happened before.

I pulled the ancient calico curtain closed, hiding the cold outside scenery.
I resolutely tried to turn over.

My bed was steeped in Indian style from corner to corner.
The only white elements were the ceiling fan above and the cut-glass chandelier gleaming with sea-moonlight hues.
Everything else—chairs, desks, floor, walls—lay hidden beneath gaudy Indian embroideries and calico patterns.
Most ostentatious was the partition curtain to the neighboring room, swirling with oversized golden scorpions, blazing licorice flowers, and vivid blue man-eating birds.

From between those curtains peered the neighboring dressing room and the white bathtub beyond.
Past the bathtub stood a mirror folding screen.
The glinting gold/silver ornaments and Seto ceramics crammed into every nook of those furnishings each laid bare Bulldog Old Man—my husband Gonroku AkaIwa’s—garish golden tastes.
The longer I looked, the lonelier it felt; nothing but dreary emptiness surrounded me.

That Bulldog Old Man Gonroku AkaIwa had urgent business last night and returned to the white-haired old woman at his main residence behind Suwayama. That was why I awoke alone this morning.

But this loneliness of mine wasn't because Bulldog Old Man was gone. Even had a hundred Bulldog Old Men appeared, they couldn't have restored my spirits. It had always been thus. It still was undoubtedly the same.

I lay stretched out alone on the bed, feeling myself sinking rapidly into darkness.

I must have pressed the bedside bell without realizing it.
Pushing aside the entrance curtain, the cook Haram lumbered in.

Haram was exceptionally large even among Indians.
He stood about two meters tall with arms as thick as a Japanese person's thighs.
As always, he wore my favorite high-quality yellow Indian garments and matching turban wrapped high on his head—not to mention the darkened eye sockets, bulging pupils, sharpened nose, and wild black sideburns and chest hair that made him resemble an Arabian Nights bandit chief. Merely looking up at his magnificence refreshed me.
This Indian had claimed professional fortune-telling since his homeland days, swearing to some Brahmin god he'd preserved his virginity until forty-two...
But with his dark skin, I couldn't tell truth from lie.

Every morning after Bulldog Old Man left and everyone was gone, I cherished nothing more than being held by this man and having him slowly bathe me in the hot water. Depending on how one thought about it, this was undoubtedly the most marvelous adventure imaginable—because...

Yet from the very moment Haram came into my service, he had been nothing but an obedient servant to me. This morning too, just as usual, he made that gloomy, serious face while leisurely rolling up his powerful black arms and gently lifted me up. And then, as though handling a delicate doll, he kindly washed my body and wrapped me in a fresh towel.

“You are exceptionally early this morning… Princess…”

Haram’s Japanese sounded far more refined and impressive than that of actual Japanese people.
He had said he’d trained as a bellboy specializing in Japanese clients at a first-class Singapore hotel, but his pronunciation was not only clear but had a deep resonance like a cello.

“I’m… so lonely…”

I wrapped my still-wet arms around Haram’s thick neck.
With the motion, the scent of perfume oil coating Haram’s body thickened.

Haram seemed slightly startled, his eyes widening into perfect circles as he rolled the whites of his eyes and burst into boisterous laughter.

“Ha ha ha ha ha… Most likely… Princess must be feeling peckish.”

I suddenly leapt onto his hairy chest and shook my head coquettishly.

“No no. I’m not the least bit hungry. I ate all sorts of things late into last night… But more than that—I’m truly lonely. Even being held by you like this… it’s like the rope snapped mid-tightrope walk and I’m left dangling in midair. I feel like I don’t know where I should go anymore. Do tell me. Haram, what am I supposed to do…”

I shook Haram’s neck frantically as I spoke.
I shook his powerful, grease-stripped muscles so hard that my nails dug in.
But Haram didn’t budge an inch.
Effortlessly holding me, he abruptly stood before the sofa and did nothing but stare fixedly at my face.

“Hey… Haram, really… tell me.
“Why am I so lonely…?”
“Aren’t you my servant?”
“You must do everything exactly as I command, mustn’t you… You always follow my orders…”

Haram finally changed his expression.
While keeping his bluish-black eyes fixed as though peering into the very depths of my pupils… he stuck out a large red tongue and licked around the mustache framing his mouth.
Then he spoke in a solemn and composed voice.

“I understand… Princess… Everything is fate.”

Haram once again effortlessly picked me up—imbued with such emotions—and, walking with heavy, deliberate steps, arrived before the rosewood mahjong table at the room’s center.
It was a dining table that had never once been used to arrange mahjong tiles or anything of the sort.
He lowered my body deep into the silk-stuffed armchair placed before it, then covered me with a damask quilt from above, leaving only my head exposed.

Haram’s behavior here was utterly unprecedented.
But I didn’t find it particularly suspicious and went along with what he was doing.
Looking back now, I suppose my appearance at that time must have been utterly ridiculous…

That wasn’t all.
Haram didn’t operate the fan as usual, nor did he dry my body.
As if having forgotten all that, he pulled a rattan chair from the corner of the room over in front of me and sat upon it with solemn dignity.
Then, tilting the turban he had coiled up like a tower, he aligned his pupils precisely with mine and ceased to blink even once.
I too had no choice but to remain buried in the quilt within the silk-stuffed armchair and gaze up at Haram’s face in the same manner.

The rattan chair creaked beneath Haram’s large frame.

At that moment, Haram began to speak in a deep, quiet voice, slowly and deliberately.
He continued staring into my pupils….

“...All things are a matter of fate.”
“I have known Your Highness’s fate from beginning to end.”
“I am fully aware of Your Highness’s past, present, and even future matters.”
“Every event in this world, without exception, is entirely due to the divine power of the God of Fate.”

Haram’s facial expression rapidly grew noble—noble as the God of Fate himself.
Even the sea-moon-colored chandelier glowing behind his turban began to emit a mystical light like a divine halo.
As this occurred, Haram’s low voice began to quiver with a strange cadence as beautiful as silver threads.

“...The God of Fate I speak of is a supreme deity above all deities—greater than the God of the Hearth, God of Defilement, God of the Bathhouse, God of Three Corners, God of Four Crossroads, God of Volcanic Flames, God of Octopus Trees, God of Muddy Seas, or even the Gods of Sun, Moon, Stars, Lingam, and Yoni.”
“By the divine will of this Great God of Fate, the world is governed from the farthest reaches of earth to the very edges of heaven, so it is.”

I was ensnared by the profound allure of Haram’s voice and found myself unable to move. I had been made to sit in an electric chair, my body gone completely numb. Even taking a deep breath… even shifting slightly… I felt something terrible would happen at once, defying the God of Fate’s divine will.

With me—stiffened as I was—directly before him, Haram fixed his eyes like a judge. He continued his solemn words.

“…However… however… The ever-resourceful Princess has, since this morning, begun to perceive this truth. …Her Highness has been seeking something invisible to the eye and inaudible to the heart since this morning.”
“…That being so, Your Highness feels so lonely.”

I let out a deep sigh in lieu of a reply.
Then I closed my eyes tightly once more.
Because Haram’s sermon had pierced through me with crystalline clarity…

Haram pressed his bushy-haired hands against his chest and slightly tilted his yellow turban forward.
Keeping his bluish-black eyes steadfastly lowered, he resonated a humble voice as if emerging from the depths of a cave.

“...With all due respect, I have humbly waited day after day until this very day for the God of Fate’s work to be fulfilled upon Your Highness’s person, so it is.”
“I have spent my days in anticipation of this, humbly attending upon Your Highness’s side.”
“By means of the invisible power of the God of Fate, it was this very one who now speaks that humbly brought Mr. Gonroku AkaIwa closer to Your Highness, so it is.”
“Furthermore, that I recommended Mr. Nakagawa of the Communist Party to Your Highness under the pretense of storytelling—it was none other than this humble one who performed the task.”
“And thus, that I—who speak thus—found favor in Mr. AkaIwa’s discerning eyes and arranged to serve Your Highness as guardian—all of this was done by this humble one in accordance with the divine command of the God who reigns over my soul, so it is.”

Haram, having spoken this far, abruptly cut off his words for reasons unknown.
He remained prostrate, fell completely silent, and ceased all movement.
As this happened, the faint creaking of the rattan chair beneath him could be heard.
Solemnly… softly… like the voice of the God of Fate.

I had never once cried before.
No matter how many people were killed, no matter how much I was bullied by crowds, I had never once felt anything like sadness.
Yet at this moment alone, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, tears kept flowing uncontrollably.
My chest tightened uncontrollably—completely unrelated to Haram’s sermon—until I could bear it no more.
I couldn’t stop crying—couldn’t stop at all—even though I didn’t understand in the slightest what was making me sad.

...Then, as a sudden coolness swept through my chest, I peeked my face out from the feather quilt.

When I rubbed both eyes and looked, Haram was still bowing his head before me. He clasped his hands together as if worshiping me, spreading his legs wide apart. With his lips pursing softly, he seemed to be murmuring some inner prayer or incantation.

As I kept watching Haram in that state, I suddenly found it absurdly funny. As if reborn, my spirits lightened until I burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Haram looked startled.
Rolling his pale eyes wildly as he lifted his face to peer into mine, I cackled shrilly at him once more.

"...Haram, I'll have my meal..."

“...Y-yes...”

Haram seemed flustered.
He had apparently been working himself ragged for my sake and was in the midst of praying to Lord Radoula when I startled him—now he just kept blinking rapidly, as though drained of vitality.

“And then...
“Once I finish my meal, teach me how to control fate.”
“Teach me how to control fate—my own or others’—as I please… I’ll even become the devil’s apprentice… okay…?”

“Y-y... yes... yes...”

Haram seemed at last driven into a frothing panic.
His lips had been mumbling incoherently before he finally spat out these cryptic words in fragments.

“...Before the God of Fate... before Lord Radoula... there exists neither good... nor evil...”

“So there. I’m telling you I don’t care what it is—teach me! You could even use your power to steer my fate into some deathly terrifying abyss for all I care.”

Having said this much, I inadvertently kicked away the feather quilt. Being so impressed by my own splendid idea, I unconsciously leaned forward. I clapped my hands together in delight.

“Listen. Haram. Since I’ve never once suffered any heart-pounding terrors, let me have you entreat Lord Radoula with your power to make me collide with such a fate… I’m simply dying—absolutely perishing—to encounter horrors that drive me mad or plunge me into perilous depths!”

“...Y-yes... Hah...”

Haram finally managed a breathless reply.

“In return, I’ll give you any reward you want.
“I may not have anything to offer… but if this body of mine will suffice, I’ll give you every bit of it—tear me to shreds or whatever you please.”

Haram seemed finally scared witless.
His eyes bulged until their whites streaked crimson like bloodshot rainbows.
His lips trembled as he tried to say something.
No sooner had I thought this than, the next instant, the blood rapidly surged back, dyeing his entire body a vivid crimson-vermillion.
With his mouth agape and white teeth bared in a gleam, he made a vile... beast-like... soundless laughing face.

As I kept looking at that face, I finally understood.
I had plumbed the very depths of Haram’s true intentions.
Haram must have been commanded by Lord Madoura of the God of Fate to make this concubine his lifelong wife.

Haram must have been infatuated with me to death for a very long time.
With that devil-like intelligence and ox-like endurance of his, he must have studied my every mood down to the last detail while single-mindedly aiming for the chance to seize my heart, day after day.

“Ohohohoho.”
“Silly Haram… You needn’t turn so crimson.”
“I never tell lies… so you mustn’t either.”

Haram swallowed his saliva again and again.
His eyes gleamed like a starved hound shown fresh meat...

“Surely… Surely I will show you.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“I am the Princess’s humble slave.”
“Yes… I… I have yet to tell anyone, but I possess two most terrifying… most peculiar toys.”
“In the international tongue of India, they are called ‘coconut fruits’—I possess two such toys.”
“It is an item that has been banned from importation—a rare commodity most difficult to obtain—but I have the honor of acting as its intermediary, so...”

“What’s that toy used for… Tell me…”

Haram suddenly raised both hands.
He shook his head violently with exaggerated gravitas.

“No… No no no.”
“That, I dare not speak of intentionally.”
“Please forgive me.”
“At present, I dare not speak of it, for such restraint aligns with the divine will of the God of Fate.”
“However… that… you shall come to understand all too soon.”
“I shall humbly deliver both of those ‘coconut fruits’ into a certain person’s hands before this day ends.”
“That person is one whom the Princess is well acquainted with… Should this come to pass, those ‘coconut fruits’ will govern the fates of that individual and, likewise, another whom the Princess knows intimately—such that both of those individuals will be cast into a terrible destiny where they can never again appear before the Princess.”
“In the Princess’s very presence… near her very person… such a terrible event will come to pass.”
“And then... and then... the Princess... the Princess...”

“Hohohohoho.
“I suppose you’re saying I’ll surely become yours alone, hmm?”

Haram turned crimson redder than crimson.
His eyes pooled with tears to the brim.
He gaped his mouth open, his face on the verge of drooling, but with both hands still raised, he splayed flat on the floor and prostrated himself like a flat spider.

“Enough already，enough already．”
“I get it，I get it．”
“Rather than that，hurry up and prepare the meal… I’m so starving I could die…”

The bugs in my stomach were dancing a jumbled fox-trot and waltz. Then when a beautiful plate of Indian-style rice curry descended like manna, they immediately stopped their dance. I marveled at the mercenary nature of these gastric creatures. After gulping down two or three glasses of Haram's prized chilled garlic water, the bugs seemed finally appeased, snoring themselves to sleep with loud grumbles. So I too clambered onto the bedframe, burrowed into the feather quilt, and slept. I fell into deathlike slumber.

Then, around three o'clock, I awoke and was eating a baked apple within my feather quilt when—without knowing when he'd entered—Wolf stood rigid by my pillow.

Wolf was none other than the young Nakagawa whom Haram had spoken of earlier.
He himself had confessed to being the most unruly troublemaker even among the leftists within the Communist Party—a claim as genuine as Haram's much-touted virginity.
A sallow, skeletal young man with disheveled hair from under which only his eyes dimly gleamed.
That his lips alone were crimson, as if rouged, remained this youth's defining feature.

This Wolf youth taught me various things.
He taught me methods like erasing ink traces, firing pistols without leaking sound, crafting spontaneous ignition devices from nothing but kitchen ingredients like sugar and soda, and locating white poison stones formed in ditches... All these techniques, he proudly explained, had been transmitted from the Indian internationals and were precisely the sorts of things indispensable for Communist Party operations.
But when it came to the crucial doctrines of the Communist Party, whether due to Wolf's dimwittedness or whatnot, I found myself utterly baffled and at a loss.
Wolf seemed to be a man whose only merits were mere dexterity and a strong sentimental recklessness.

“...That’s why I don’t have a single penny.”
“On top of that, I’ve got this inherited lung disease—my life doesn’t have a shred left in it, you could say.”
“On top of that, I’m being abused like this every day by you.”

Wolf would always say in a poet-like tone and, showing his blackened teeth, gave a faint smile.
Today as well, after he’d fooled around to his heart’s content and returned to face me on the bedstead, he said the same thing again—so I resolved to mock him outright.

“Here we go again.”
“Your usual routine.”
“Whine whine whine.”

Wolf frantically waved his hands.
While denying my words, he nonetheless continued his faint smile.

“Th...that’s not it.”
“Era-chan.”
“I’m telling you it’s not!”
“So… I… I’ve got to pull off at least one splendid, daring thing while I’m still alive…”

“...Again with this ‘life, life’... If you’re so obsessed with living, then hurry up and go home.”

When I said this to him, Wolf suddenly fell silent and hung his head. Hunched just shy of my toes on the far side of the bedstead, his ribs—so wolf-like beneath thin skin—rose and fell as he desperately stifled cough after cough.

“Aren’t you scared of tuberculosis, Era-chan?”

“I’m not scared at all. If we’re talking tuberculosis germs, they’re swarming everywhere. But it’s written in books that they don’t infect healthy people, isn’t it? It’s because I read that book that I came to like you so much. If you weren’t consumptive, I wouldn’t dote on you like this. While reading that red-covered book you gave me, I’ve ended up becoming more communist than you ever were... I want to see—so badly I can’t stand it—how you’ll get sucked dry by me, turn into a hollowed-out shell, and cough up blood as you die. That’s why I’m trying so hard to dote on you.”

When I said this and laughed, Wolf's face defied description. His pallid ribs undulated like will-o'-the-wisps as tears began plopping from his hollow, terrified eyes. He twisted his entire face into wrinkles that seemed both to weep... and laugh... warping the tear-streaked contours. Then abruptly—between my legs upon the snow-white linen—his skeletal frame collapsed, hands clamped tight against his face.

I startled and sat up straight.
I wondered if he was going to cough up blood.
Beneath that tangled mass of disheveled hair, I watched with a pounding heart.
But when it soon became clear this wasn't happening, I felt sorely disappointed.

Wolf gently pushed away my outstretched hand.
Then, wiping his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand as he climbed down from the bedstead, he began putting on the clothes he'd tossed onto the sofa.

But after putting on a shirt and underpants riddled with patches and expertly tying a ragged black necktie, Wolf—with tattered black socks dangling from both hands—once again motionlessly bowed his head and began to think.

Then, after remaining motionlessly bowed in thought for some time, Wolf—for whatever reason—suddenly flung the old socks he’d been holding in both hands onto the mahjong table.
He brushed his hair back and shambled toward the entrance door.
He carefully unwrapped the black cloth bundle placed on the shelf there and tenderly extracted two fresh loaves of bread.
Then, cradling one of them heavily in both hands, he returned and thrust it before the eyes of me lying there.

“This… is the promised item.”

“Hmph.”
“This… isn’t just bread?”

Wolf smirked and began to laugh.
Laughing, he turned the bread's side toward me and pried open its incision slightly—revealing within a silvery sphere about the size of a rubber tennis ball glinting faintly.
Here and there, black wart-like protrusions attached…

“Ah... This bomb—isn’t this dangerous, something like this?”

“Era-chan... you said it... the other day... didn’t you?”
“When you peer out this window at dusk, you can see that Bulldog Baboon Old Man crossing over from the other side of the street, coming straight to your place.”
“When you see that arrogant figure—that brazen thing who doesn’t see people as people—you feel like dropping a bomb or something right on his head…”

“Yes… I did say that.”
“I still think that way, you know…”

“At that time, I said, ‘Then I’ll bring you one soon—a splendid, amazing thing that’s about to fall into our comrades’ hands.’”
“So when I pressed, ‘Will you definitely drop it on his head?’ you said, ‘I’ll definitely drop it, so you definitely bring it to me…’”

“Yes.”
“I did say that.”
“I’ve just remembered it clearly now.”

“If you’ll definitely keep that promise, I’ll share this toy… this delicious ‘Coconut Fruit’ with you.”
“Please go ahead and make that bastard eat one.”
“He’s the Mussolini of the financial world.”
“He’s using money’s power to suppress the current government and trying to make them wage war against America.”
“He’s scheming to break through the financial world’s current deadlock through war.”
“Japan can’t win against any nation in a war fought with paper and gold.”
“Apart from a war of iron and blood that sheds the lower classes’ blood, there’s no path for the Japanese people to survive.”
“He’s proclaiming there’s no way to save us from depression.”
“He’s the devil of this world.”
“He’s our common enemy… he… No—I shouldn’t speak ill of your master like this…”

“It’s fine… I know…”
“That doesn’t matter at all.”
“It’s almost time to wrap things up anyway…”

“...Are you sure...?”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing at all.”
“That Bulldog Old Man *always* stops right below this window at the service entrance every time he comes here to wipe his sweat… Then he’ll put on airs like some dandy—snapping his hat back on just so, giving his tie a little tweak—before pressing the service door. It’s his set routine. If we drop it before that, he’ll go flying off in one go~.”
“Then it’d be even more amusing… Hohoho…”

When I said this, Wolf made a slightly worried face. He scrutinized the room but, upon noticing the sturdy reinforced-concrete construction, finally seemed relieved and looked back at my face. With his crimson lips curved in a womanly smile, he wordlessly placed the flour-dusted lump of bread upon my navel. That proletarian-passion-filled face... those terrifying glints at the corners of his eyes... the trembling of his pale fingers....

To tell the truth, at that moment my entire body throbbed with joy.
Promises be damned... I never even dreamed such a splendid toy would fall into my hands.
I was so happy I wanted to sink my teeth into Wolf with lion-like ferocity and devour him whole.
I grew restless with the urge to take the round silver sphere into my hands and dance it around atop the chairs and tables.

But I desperately held back.
Keeping the new lump of bread upon my navel, I slowly rolled over onto my back.
While contemplating the weight of the silver sphere within and breathing quietly, the lump of bread began rising and sinking before my nose.
Inside it, the bomb nestled gently.
The unbearable pleasure.
Amusement.
Finally unable to contain myself any longer, I burst out laughing.

Because I had burst out laughing so unrestrainedly, Wolf seemed startled. Still in the middle of putting on his shoes, he came running over to me and firmly pressed down with both hands on the lump of bread that was about to slip off my navel. Like Sacco—frightened and with vacant eyes—he lifted up the lump of bread and pushed it between the Western liquor bottles lined up beneath my bed. Letting out a relieved sigh, he stood up and adjusted his clothes again. Still in the middle of putting on his shoes, he wore baggy corduroy pants and a jacket, then wrapped my old shawl tightly around himself several times over that. Over that, he put on a bulky bean-jam red overcoat and pulled Biva’s kettle hat down to his ears. Then—bending his knees frog-legged, curving his back into a perfect circle, and shrinking his neck forcefully—he became about five inches shorter. From any angle, he now looked nothing more than a stocky, pudgy amateurish painter.

I couldn’t help but be impressed, as always, by Wolf’s skillful disguise. The way his mouth twisted into a へ-shape while letting his cheek flesh sag made for the most convincing appearance… I thought even I wouldn’t be able to spot Wolf in the middle of the street.

Wolf, having snapped on his bulky gloves, staggered unsteadily toward the entrance. After rewrapping another loaf of bread in a black cloth bundle and cradling it carefully under his arm, he quietly opened the door and stepped into the hallway—but just before closing it, he once more fixed upon my face that Communist-like gleam of obsession-sharpened eyes. And then, as if to confirm something, he closed the door with a lonely smile.

After listening to those fading footsteps, I twisted the switch by my pillow and extinguished the chandelier. While deeply wrapping my body in pajamas and a feather quilt, I pulled the side curtain. I opened the glass window and stuck out my head.

Outside the window, evening had already fallen, and lights were lit all across from the hillside areas toward the sea. The blue, cold wind gusted intermittently across that glittering sea of lights, whirling up from the alley to the fifth-floor window and caressing my cheek as it passed—an utterly delightful sensation. Rather than staying in this steamy room, I thought it would be better to slip out through the window and go dancing about in the cold wind.

Even as I thought this, I kept my eyes fixed on the apartment’s service entrance directly below. Because I wanted to see how skillfully Nakagawa—now Wolf—would walk across the city… And if—before he finished crossing—those plainclothes [officers] lurking about were to grab him… And if at that moment someone were to hurl that bomb… Billowing clouds of dirt… Houses’ windowpanes shattering everywhere… Heads rolling… Hands flung out… Legs sent flying… Bloodspray scattering chaotically… A truly magnificent Tokyo…

However, the scene unfolding before my eyes stubbornly refused to progress as I desired.
Nakagawa (Wolf) did not appear on the street, no matter how long I waited.
When I came to my senses, not a single sound of the elevator came from Sakki—perhaps there was a malfunction somewhere.
So I thought Nakagawa might be clacking his way down the stairs instead.
In hindsight, I think I faintly sensed that Haram was offering some prayer to the God of Fate at this very moment…

As I watched car after car glide through the cold streets, an unbearable itch spread through my nostrils.
I was about to sneeze, so I hurriedly tried to withdraw my head from the window.

Then it happened.
No sooner had a familiar new-model Ford slithered toward the service entrance of the apartment below my eyes from that stream of cars than Bulldog Old Man's black overcoat descended lankily from within it, his brown homburg readjusted atop his head.
Judging by his unsteady gait, he seemed quite drunk—planting himself before the stone steps while readjusting his hat once more and beginning to fumble clumsily with his tie.
Almost simultaneously, the service entrance door seemed to open as Wolf's hunched figure came staggering down the stone steps—only to collide head-on with Bulldog Old Man, who was just about to enter.

I gasped.
I braced myself to pull back my head, thinking the bomb would explode at any moment.
But the bomb did not explode.

I gulped down a mouthful of saliva.
The events were too sudden and unexpected—truth be told, my heart pounded.
But as that subsided, along with it came clear understanding of these abrupt happenings' cause.
This could only be the God of Fate's mischief...

Haram, acting under the divine command of Radoula, God of Fate, must have immediately notified Bulldog Old Man—who was drinking somewhere—of some urgent matter the moment he saw Wolf beginning to depart from my chambers just now.
Perhaps even the elevator malfunction had been one of the tricks Radoula-sama deigned to command Haram to perform.
By delaying Wolf’s return, he may have adjusted the timing so that my master and lover would collide on the street below my eyes.

As I watched transfixed, forgetting even the cold beneath my arms, the two men—Bulldog and Wolf—collided abruptly. They seemed startled, momentarily locked in a staring contest, until Bulldog Old Man stomped forward two or three heavy steps.
...then... with evident arrogance, he gripped Wolf’s shoulder and shoved him forcefully two or three times.
Yet Wolf offered no resistance whatsoever, merely staggering about unsteadily.
Still clutching the black bundle tightly in his left hand...

I had never witnessed such an amusing spectacle before. Every time I imagined that bundle hitting a nearby utility pole or car door..., my breath caught repeatedly.

Yet strangely enough, the two didn't go their separate ways.

Bulldog Old Man kept glaring at Wolf as he raised his right hand in a signal, prompting a broad-shouldered driver in workman's garb and hunting cap to emerge from the car. This driver was Souma—a bodyguard Bulldog Old Man employed, supposedly a terrifying ex-detective with fourth or fifth dan judo credentials according to Haram's past accounts. Truth or lie aside, Bulldog Old Man's bloated form swayed like a red buoy while his driver stood square as a strongbox—their very silhouettes reeked of obstinacy. What's more, arriving straight from car maintenance meant he must've dashed here full-tilt upon hearing of some spectacular incident. No sooner had this thought formed than Souma—with a metallic glint—dropped the pistol he'd been aiming from the car into his uniform pocket, circled behind Wolf, and clamped both wrists along with the black bundle.

Seeing that, three or four suited men passing by stopped and began to watch.
The traffic officer standing rigidly at the distant crossroads also began to take notice of this commotion.

I was astonished by Bulldog Old Man’s audacity.
Most likely, Bulldog Old Man remained unaware of the other’s true identity.
Even if he knew the other’s true identity, he couldn’t possibly know what lay inside that black bundle… So he must have meant only to reprimand some suspicious vagrant emerging from his building… As I pondered this, the howling wind abruptly stilled, and Bulldog Old Man’s roaring voice carried up to me watching from the fifth floor.

“...I’ve known your true identity since way back in Tock’s day.”
“You’re a wanted man… aren’t you?”

I frantically tried to pull my body back.
I was certain the name Bulldog Old Man had deliberately left unsaid had clearly gotten through to the other party.
At the same moment, I thought Wolf would surely reveal his true identity.
I had braced myself, breath held tight, expecting Wolf to wrench his hands free from the driver’s powerful restraint at any moment and bash that black bundle against his foe—but Wolf showed not the slightest hint of such intent.
At the very moment Bulldog Old Man said this, he limply drooped his head in spineless defeat.

When Bulldog Old Man saw Wolf in such a state, he launched into a booming tirade.

“Every last detail of your secret operations has reached my ears.”
“My ears are far superior to the entire Japanese police force’s!”
“The fact that you’ve started hanging around here lately—along with your disguise—was just reported to me by a certain source over the phone.”
“That’s why I came rushing over.”
“I came to get a good look at your face.”
“Listen up…”

“……………”

“...If you want to make an enemy of me, so be it.”
“Strangling the likes of you lot is nothing.”
“The proof’s right here.”
“You think I’d let greenhorns like you scare me off from doing my dirty work?”
“However, I’ll let it slide today.”
“I’ll let you go for the sake of my dear one.”
“Since we’ve met there, it can’t be helped.”

“………………”

“Go…………”

As Bulldog Old Man said this, the driver who had been gripping Wolf’s wrists released his hold and circled around to the man’s flank.
Perhaps because I was looking directly down from above, I could clearly discern the pistol being aimed within the pocket of that workman’s uniform.

However, Wolf did not go.
Instead, he sharply straightened his previously hunched body and—adopting a brave demeanor befitting a Communist Party member—planted himself squarely before Bulldog Old Man.
The two men began glaring at each other just like that…….

I was growing bored.

The two men glaring at each other knew one another—knew each other as comrades all too well.
And yet, out of consideration for me, they remained unable to take any action.

I pulled my head back from the window and let out a big sneeze.
I reached under the bed, took up a heavy lump of bread from between clattering bottles, and while tearing open its side, peered down through the window once more.

On the street below the fifth floor, the two men were still glaring at each other.
The spectators, four or five of them as before, stood rooted in place.
Extending the heavy silver sphere directly above and releasing my grip, I quickly closed the window and plugged my fingers into my ears.
The entire building shook violently.

...That was all...yet that alone left me so exhilarated that my whole body became drenched in sweat.

How much time had passed since then—dozens of minutes, perhaps—I couldn’t tell.

Beneath the hem of the large dividing curtain in the adjacent room lay Haram’s completely naked corpse, stretched out at length.
In the adjoining dressing room, I—having tied my hair in the ohage style for the first time in ages—slipped into new felt zori while changing into a furisode kimono with its yosoyuki-patterned outer layer.

It was the successful field test of the pistol's silent firing that Wolf had taught me four or five days prior.
The resilience of Haram's pitch-black enormous belly—sprawled carelessly asleep upon my bed—had swallowed up most of the blast from my little Browning.
The recoil proved shockingly brutal, but since Wolf had taught me how to pull the trigger with a reverse grip, I avoided any finger-snapping blunders.
Instead, the pistol that flew from my hand struck the ceiling, spun like a windmill as it fell to the floor, then somersaulted two or three more times.

Haram let out a shattered-glass scream and tumbled down onto the floor.
As he thudded and flailed about on the carpet, the crimson obi coiled around and around Haram’s torso.

Throughout that time, Haram continued to let out stifled groans.

“Oooh… Prin… cess… Ooooh… Princess… Aah… aah…”

I stood by the mahjong table, looking down at it all.
The banality of "love"... Such absurdity shuddered through me as I stood frozen amidst lingering gunpowder smoke and the metallic stench of blood.
I watched the massive 150-kilogram body thrash about, overturning chairs and tables... Still not dead?... Still not dead?... I wondered...