Pathway to Japanese Literature

One "Huh? That fellow..."

As Murata suddenly raised his eyes, the profile of a man who seemed quite cheerful in the back booth appeared through the dense, lingering cigarette smoke—and at the same moment, (That fellow... if I remember right...) And then he had remembered. “Hey, could you go ask that man in the very back booth if he’s Mr. Kimura? If he is, tell him Murata’s here.” “Oh, you know him...” “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s Kimura, but…”

“Well then, I’ll go ask for you.” Harumi set down the glowing stub of her lipstick-smeared cigarette and stood up to leave.

And then—even before Harumi, who had gone to inquire, could reach him—the man approached with unsteady yet deliberate steps, planting his feet firmly. It was unmistakably his middle school classmate: Kimura Kenzo.

"Hey, Murata! Been a while." As he said this, he smoothly stroked beneath his nose—that very mannerism being Kimura's old habit from their schooldays that required no effort to recall. "How've you been since then..." Murata gestured toward a chair with a wordless invitation to sit. "Speaking of which—what an odd place to meet. There was talk you'd vanished clean off the map during our second year of high school... Someone mentioned it."

“Exactly as you said.” “Hmm.” “I was busy, you see—” “What’ve you been doing anyway—? Didn’t seem like you had reason enough to quit school, yet you had to work so bad that...” “I raise dogs—that’s my job.”

“Hmm...” "School’s nothing compared to this—way more interesting— Plus, with how things are these days, the military dog work keeps me swamped." "Well now, I’d heard you were fond of mutts... So you’re running a kennel?" "That’s right—" Kimura stroked beneath his nose again and nodded firmly, then—as if struck by a sudden thought—bolted back to his booth to retrieve the overcoat he’d forgotten.

“Hey, look at this!”

“Wh—”

Kimura grabbed a kitten-like dog from his overcoat pocket. It was a Pocket Terrier. “How cute! Let me hold him for a moment…”

Harumi immediately scooped it up, "What's its name—? I want him!" "Depending on circumstances, I might just let you have him——" "Oh, really?"

"Really, I mean it." "Hey, Kimura. I never knew you had such tricks up your sleeve." "Ha ha ha!"

“So, what’s its name?” “The name? —Murata.” “Murata? —Murata, shake!” “Don’t push your luck.” Murata scowled, his eyes widening sullenly. “Ha ha ha! But he’s cute, right? This little guy’s just a sideshow—back home I’ve got real marvels. There’s even a Saint Bernard pup, the king of dogs. Though this one here might be a bit… mixed.” “Oh, come on.” Murata, venting a bit of his pent-up frustration, “Where are you now… Still in Omori…”

“No—I moved to Chigasaki. Back in Omori, factories were sprouting up everywhere, and the dogs developed neurasthenia.” “Well now—your precious dogs, I see.”

“And the air’s nice too…”

Kimura said somewhat defensively, “And with this sleeping sickness still spreading even in winter, the city’s dangerous.”

“Honestly…” “Oh right—today’s Saturday, isn’t it? Why don’t you come along with me now? Spend tomorrow soaking up good air and sunshine—it’ll do you good.” “Won’t the dog fleas infest us?” “Don’t be ridiculous—there’s no way I’d put you up in a dog kennel.” “Obviously.” While joking around, Murata thought that having met an old friend he could be at ease with after so long, spending tomorrow—a day he just happened to have free—talking leisurely by the coast wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Well, I guess I’ll go…” “Yeah, do that.—You, go call the one in the back.”

Harumi stood up and left, still holding the Pocket Terrier.

"Oh? You had someone with you—" "She’s my sister."

“Your sister? You’re dragging your sister around bars of all places?” “Not exactly dragging. Having her tag along every time I go out’s a hassle. Since I humored her with department store visits all day, this time I thought I’d humor her by bringing her here.” “Unbelievable…”

Just as Murata began to speak, a slender beauty emerged from where she had been hidden behind the booth—unseen until now—causing him to fall silent mid-sentence. To put it bluntly, this sister seemed far too refined for Kimura, who sat there perpetually rubbing beneath his nose like some crude schoolboy.

II

“This is Mitoko——” “Pleased to meet you…” She wore a Western-style dress that fit her perfectly, with eyes glistening like fragrant oil.

“This is Mr. Murata.” “Didn’t you know…? What’s he up to now anyway?” “He hasn’t told me yet.”

“Oh, right.” Murata and Mitoko burst out laughing. “This is where I work.”

Looking at the business card Murata presented, Kimura furrowed his brows. "So... what exactly do you do here?" "Right now, I'm getting hammered over that lethargic encephalitis problem you mentioned earlier." "Ah, I see—so that's the kind of institute it is. The name didn't ring any bells, but it's somewhat like the Communicable Disease Research Institute, eh?" "Well, that's about the size of it." "So, how about it—"

“What do you mean ‘how about it’? I’ve got no clue—I still haven’t even identified the pathogen, so there’s nothing I can do.” “But the newspapers are making quite a fuss about it—the headlines keep getting larger.”

“That’s right—and that’s exactly why I am being pestered even more.” “Anyway, since the mortality rate’s so damn high… Prevention basically comes down to ‘don’t overwork yourself’ and ‘avoid direct sunlight’—that sort of thing, I suppose.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true—though it’s unsettling…” “To start with, this disease was only first discovered around 1917—a modern illness, so research is naturally behind. It’s only been about ten years since it appeared in Japan… They say it spreads in roughly two-year cycles, but this year’s been especially brutal. Instead of dying down with the cool breezes, we’re seeing terrifying numbers of cases even now in midwinter. If they published the real figures, people would be shocked.”

“Aren’t they going to publish them?” “It’s not that they aren’t publishing them, but since the cases are especially concentrated in XX-related factory zones… Though it’s classified, there are more than a few subcontractor factories where nearly all the workers have been wiped out because of this.” “So it really is from overwork…?” “No, it seems it’s not just that. At one factory, after the first case appeared, they hurriedly switched to five-hour shifts to let people rest. But even then, workers kept collapsing and falling asleep during their shifts—that’s what they’re saying.”

“Hmm… Not knowing who’s behind this makes me uneasy. Well, I guess I should stop coming to Tokyo so much… But from what I hear, it’s not just Tokyo…” Just as Kimura began to say that, the Pocket Terrier Harumi had been holding beside them suddenly started whimpering—whimper, whimper. “Ah, maybe it needs to pee. “You—let it down already! Hey, you there…” Harumi still held on. “Hey—just—just—”

Unable to stand by any longer, Mitoko picked up the small dog for her, whereupon Harumi—who had been looking down—let both hands droop limply without even raising her face. “Oh!” “Did she pass out?” All three of them jolted in shock.

Harumi, who they had thought was quietly playing with the small dog, now sat slumped limply in her chair, still in her glamorous nightdress. Her bowed head made it look at first glance as though she were soothing the small dog on her lap. “Hey—hey now…”

Murata shook her shoulders, but Harumi showed no signs of waking up. (Sleeping sickness—Death? Or even if she recovers, an idiot?)

Both Murata and Kimura felt the considerable intoxication that had been swirling within them drain away through their feet into the cold floor. Even so, Murata—acting like the doctor he was—was checking Harumi’s pulse.

“Damn, she’s developing ocular paralysis—”

Having said that, he hurriedly ran toward the back washroom to wash his hands. The small dog that had been set down on the floor continued to whimper—whimper, whimper—without even urinating. Even though he was a doctor, Murata—who wasn’t a practicing physician—’s

“Hey, call a doctor! Get a doctor—”

Listening to the voice addressing the bartender, Kimura tucked the small dog into his pocket, hurried Mitoko along, and left the bar. Soon after, Murata emerged, followed by two or three customers wearing uneasy expressions. “What a pitiful situation… And what’s worse, since the transmission vector remains unclear, it’s downright unsettling.”

Murata, shivering in the late-night chill, turned up the collar of his overcoat and muttered. "How dreadful."

“Honestly, I’ve become terrified of coming to Tokyo… Not a single case has occurred in Chigasaki yet.”

Mitoko said this too as her high heels clicked sharply against the icy-cold asphalt. After leaving the bar in Ginza’s backstreets where they had met as if by prior arrangement, the three of them walked toward Shinbashi with Mitoko in the middle. “There, there… There, there…”

Kimura was soothing the small dog in his pocket while saying this, but “Can’t help it—maybe it’s from coming to Tokyo, but I’ve gotten so damn jumpy…” “That’s why I told you to stop—if they find it on the train, I won’t care, you know.”

“It’ll be fine—maybe.” The small dog was still whimpering—whimper, whimper. Among the people passing by, some cast suspicious glances. “It couldn’t hold it… Ah, d-damn it!”

“Oh, what’s wrong?” “This little…” Kimura pinched the scruff of the small dog’s neck and pulled it out from his pocket,

“This little... finally went and did it… Knew something wasn’t right…”

“Oh dear, in the pocket?” “Ugh, it’s soaking through to my pants—” Kimura hurriedly unfastened his overcoat’s buttons and wiped with his handkerchief.

"What a naughty little thing..." On Mitoko’s hands, the small dog was still whimpering.

And then—at that moment—the boyish figure who had been walking ahead of them, carrying a small furoshiki-wrapped bundle as he made his rounds between bars, began moving with a strangely slow gait. Before they could even register the thought, he had collapsed sideways onto the cold asphalt.

“Oh!”

Mitoko was nearly about to drop the small dog. "This little one too." Kimura stopped wiping with his handkerchief and exchanged looks with Murata.

He felt a fear as though pitch-black demon’s wings were enveloping this Imperial Capital.

Murata hurried to a tobacco shop two or three stores ahead and “Quick, make a call! There’s a boy collapsed over there…”

III

Fortunately passing through the ticket gate without issue, when they ascended to Shinbashi Station’s platform, there were just about two minutes remaining until the Odawara-bound train.

“I was terrified… I want to go home right away. I never want to see Tokyo again.”

Mitoko, looking genuinely frightened, hunched her neck into her gaudy muffler. The small dog had fortunately stopped crying.

“This guy really had to go… He never does this normally.” “Oh well, it’s Brother’s pocket after all.” “This guy…” “Ha ha ha! But when I think about boarding the train, even if it’s nearby, it feels like setting out on a journey.”

“That’s how it is.” Mitoko pulled back. “Once you’re on board, it’s just over an hour—you’d think you could pop into town often enough. But somehow, the wait until boarding feels like an eternity. I’ve turned into such a country bumpkin.”

“No way…” “It really is true.” “This guy’s got a grudge about leaving Tokyo—well then let him catch sleeping sickness! According to Murata, that’s a modern disease anyway…” “Oh dear… If this illness keeps spreading, Chigasaki’s better off.”

While they were saying such things, the electric locomotive glided in.

When they entered the train car and noticed people sprawled asleep everywhere, they were startled—but upon realizing this wasn’t due to the sleeping sickness, they felt relieved. Because the beautiful Mitoko was with them, they ended up arriving in Chigasaki sooner than expected.

After disembarking at the station and walking a short distance toward the coast, they found Kimura’s house occupying a spacious plot of land. It appeared he kept dogs on a larger scale than anticipated—under the cold moonlight, the roofs of several corrugated iron doghouses stood out whitely.

Occasionally, mingled with the dogs howling at the moon, the sound of waves—heard after so long—could also be heard.

“It’s quite a nice place, isn’t it?” “Well, it’s healthy enough.”

“There seem to be a considerable number of dogs—taking care of them must be quite a task…” “About thirty or so. Plus now I’m handling military dog training for Shepherds and such—got three assistants, but well, you’ve gotta love it to stick with it, ha ha ha!” “You’ve gone and gotten ahead of yourself—you’ve really gotta love it to keep at it.” Just at that moment, a young man in shorts entered Sweater. He was Kimura’s assistant.

When Kimura asked, the assistant looked puzzled, “Well, um… After noon today, Gen suddenly started barking… And then all the others joined in too…”

“Gen, huh—he’s a bit high-strung… That all?” “Yes, sir.” “Thanks—Murata, it’s late tonight, so I’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow.” “Yeah, that’s better—I’m a bit tired too.” “Yikes, it can’t possibly be the Sleeping Sickness, right?” “Don’t joke about that… But maybe it’s from drinking a bit and riding the train—I’ve gotten pleasantly drowsy.”

IV

The next morning, Murata—still drowsily half-asleep—found himself unceremoniously shaken awake by Kimura. “Wha—what’s…—”

“Oh good, you’re awake?” “Huh?” “Well look at this—Tokyo’s in an uproar with the Sleeping Sickness running rampant… I was worried it might’ve gotten to you since you were sleeping so soundly.” “What the hell’s going on?” “Well look at this paper—it’s splashed all over. They’re saying Tokyo had more new cases yesterday than ever before.” “Whew…” Murata, rubbing his eyes, looked at the social page of the thrust-out newspaper and saw that indeed, spanning four or five columns at the top,

Imperial Capital Transformed into Sleep’s Death Metropolis Sensational headlines like these had been splashed across the page. Frowning, he began reading through the article.

The number of cases from the Sleep Demon "Sleeping Sickness" that had struck the Imperial Capital since early summer showed no signs of abating even as autumn chill gave way to harsh winter—rather, its steady increase had already strained authorities’ desperate containment efforts when, abruptly on the tenth of this month, explosive outbreaks erupted not only across high-risk factory zones but nearly citywide. Office workers mid-task, pedestrians mid-stride—all collapsed without warning. As detailed in separate reports, even a streetcar driver’s sudden affliction triggered a catastrophic collision, plunging officials into profound distress. While overworked adults and young children remained predominant victims, the utter lack of identified causes or treatments forced containment into passive, near-futile measures. Should this surge persist, within mere weeks the Imperial Capital risked becoming a crucible for the Sleep Demon’s wrath—echoing historical tales where plague-ravaged cities transformed into necropolises. Authorities further advised thorough gargling after returning home from outings…

The article was along those lines. “I see…”

“There’s more.” Kimura waited until Murata had finished reading, then pointed to the section labeled Kanagawa Edition. There, under a headline reading “Chigasaki Too,” it was reported that around six o’clock yesterday afternoon, one of the elementary school students had contracted the Sleeping Sickness. “Hmm, so this place has turned dangerous too, huh?” “Exactly. Mitoko was grumbling too—she kept saying we should check on you and wake you up sooner—but…” “By the way—this is just an amateur’s theory—but what if the Sleeping Sickness pathogen came from the continent—”

“Why—?”

“Well, it’s hard to explain why exactly, but just about a month ago, I went up near the border with some military dogs we trained here—and it seems this disease was already running pretty wild over there too, I tell you.”

“Oh, that’s new to me.” “Not that you’d see such things in the papers either.” “First I’ve heard of it—and the dogs show no symptoms?” “Dogs don’t catch the Sleeping Sickness it seems—but damn if they didn’t turn skittish over there, barking nonstop… Nuisance of a thing.”

“…………”

Murata, who had kept his eyes closed for a while, suddenly leapt up from the futon. And “You—you! What was the name of that dog that barked here yesterday?”

“What’s this all of a sudden—you mean Gen?” “Yes, that’s the one! And let me borrow that Pocket Terrier too.” “Lend them…? What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” “No—I just thought of something. The Sleeping Sickness.” “Pull yourself together—I can’t make heads or tails of what you’re saying…” “Right…”

Murata finally managed a wry smile and—

“Anyway, lend me those two dogs. I want to take them to Tokyo for research.” “That’s too good for research material—if that’s all you need, there’s plenty of strays around—” “No—it has to be those two.” “Don’t push your luck…”

“Impossible?! It’s not like I’m killing them—and compared to human lives, this is nothing.” “So why exactly do you need those two dogs…?” As this back-and-forth continued, a piercing bark suddenly erupted from the direction of the dog kennels.

“You—is that Gen’s bark?”

“That’s right…” “Got it—”

Murata hurriedly began changing into his Western clothes. It was the moment when Murata, right before Kimura’s dumbfounded eyes, slipped his arm through the final sleeve of his jacket.

Mitoko hurriedly entered.

“Brother—”

“What is it? …You’re looking so pale.”

“But—but Yamada suddenly collapsed! He’s fallen asleep right in front of the dog kennel!”

“Wh—Yamada’s… fallen asleep?…”

Across Kimura’s face too, a pale terror flashed and washed over.

“What—the Sleeping Sickness?” “I’ve got it!”

Murata shouted something incoherent and darted out of the room. Kimura and Mitoko also hurriedly chased after him.

V Murata darted out of the room and ran through the garden toward the dog kennels.

When he reached Gen’s kennel—where the dog was barking furiously—Kimura and Mitoko, coming from behind, had already thrown open the wire-mesh door in the blink of an eye.

“Hey, Murata!” Kimura’s shout came too late to stop him. Not only that—Gen seized the opening to dash out, slip through the fence, and race down the sandy path toward the woods. Murata became utterly consumed with chasing after Gen’s trail. “Hey! Hey!”

Startled, Kimura started running after Murata, who wouldn’t turn around no matter how much he shouted, shoulder to shoulder with Mitoko.

“What a pain. I wonder what’s gotten into him?” “How odd. He’s been acting strange lately, hasn’t he?”

Mitoko shook her bobbed head as she ran. “Hmm… Maybe being made to research this Sleeping Sickness endlessly, then having people collapse left and right shoved in his face since yesterday—it finally made him snap.” “That might be so… but isn’t this progressing rather quickly?” Around the time she was gasping for breath, Murata—who had finally reached the woods—suddenly stopped dead, and could now be seen pacing about restlessly.

“Finally he’s stopped. What could he be looking for, Brother?” “Ah—Gen’s here too! Gen’s—” Kimura seemed more preoccupied with Gen than with Murata.

Finally catching up, “What’s going on with you?” “Oh—this is the house where they had a case of Sleeping Sickness yesterday.”

“Shh!”

Murata waved his hand to silence him. Gen started growling. His eyes gleaming, fangs bared, he stared up at the two-story barn of the farmhouse there.

“Hmm… This is it—the second floor of this barn.”

Murata also growled lowly, his eyes gleaming. And “Hey, wait a second.”

Without another word, he steeled himself and stepped over the straw bundles at the barn entrance, rustling them noisily. Gen followed, his tail rigidly raised. “What’s… this—” “Can’t make heads or tails of it.” “Maybe a thief…” “No way.” As they looked up at the barn’s second floor whispering, Gen’s shrill bark suddenly pierced the air—followed by a crash like someone being slammed against floorboards—then sharp curses and shouts clanged through the space, erupting into pandemonium.

“Hey! Murata—what’s happening?”

It was when Kimura thrust his head into the barn entrance and bellowed.

“Damn it!” A heavy thud of impact sounded—then suddenly, before their eyes, a black-suited man entangled with Gen came crashing down.

Next came Murata’s breathless voice from the second floor. “Kimura! Don’t let him get away!” “Got him!” He grabbed the straw rope at hand and braced himself. However, the man who had fallen—far from trying to escape—appeared to have struck his head badly and was already unconscious.

Releasing Gen—who was still growling fiercely—he hastily bound the man’s hands behind his back.

“Hey! Murata—you alright?”

“I’m fine—Kimura, come take a look at this.”

Murata’s face, peering down from the ladder, bore a faint bruise around his left eye. “You got hit pretty bad…” “It’s nothing… This is it—look at this!”

When Kimura followed Murata’s pointing finger, he saw an iron box about the size of a large trunk sitting in a dim corner of the barn’s second floor, connected to exposed electrical wires crawling across the ceiling. Murata was tearing off the electrical wires while—

“This is it—this is the true form of the Sleeping Sickness—”

“Wh-what? Th-this is the Sleeping Sickness’s—”

“Yeah.” “Yeah, but you—this is just a box, right? If it’s called Sleeping Sickness, there’s gotta be something… Or is this box some kind of nest for Sleeping Sickness germs…” “No, no—this is a machine.” “A machine—?” “Exactly. The mistake was trying to tackle lethargic encephalitis through pathology when it’s been raging across Tokyo. When I think about it, we wasted an enormous effort—no matter how much you peer through microscopes, you’d never find any pathogen.”

“You mean…” “In other words—this is a grand conspiracy. A terrifying grand conspiracy to turn the Imperial Capital into a death capital of Sleeping Sickness—and I’ve only just realized it…”

At that moment, Mitoko’s scream erupted from outside the barn. When they hurriedly rushed down to look, the bound man—finally regaining consciousness, it seemed—was beginning to squirm. Kimura promptly rode his bicycle to report the man to the police, then returned home with a triumphant Murata in the middle of their group. Gen also followed along, wagging his tail calmly, and went into the kennel on his own.

6 "But you—how does that machine even cause the Sleeping Sickness?"

Without waiting for them to settle into the room, Kimura pressed his question. Ever since yesterday they had been confronted with vivid evidence of Sleeping Sickness' devastation—and now that they knew this was some grand conspiracy—there was no way he could leave it unaddressed. "That box is the culprit. You saw how it was connected to the power line—it's a device that uses electrical lines to generate ultrasonic waves."

“Ultrasonic waves—?” “Exactly.”

Murata nodded emphatically.

“Those ultrasonic waves are none other than the cause of lethargic encephalitis—what’s commonly called Sleeping Sickness.” “Hmm.” “The fact that Sleeping Sickness has a physical cause is an unprecedented discovery in all of history… And what’s terrifying is how quickly those spies exploited it—not just putting all of Tokyo to sleep, but according to your account, even targeting border patrol units… While everyone’s still stuck debating how to create conduction paths in the air for their murderous rays, those dreadful murderous soundwaves—sleep-inducing soundwaves—have already begun their relentless rampage.”

“Hmm… But is that even possible? I didn’t hear anything resembling noise…” “Possible? Look at all these victims accumulating before us… You claim there was no sound, but that’s incorrect—sound existed, you simply couldn’t perceive it. These are ultrasonic waves beyond human auditory range—thirty to forty thousand vibrations per second—making them undetectable to people—” “However, even within ultrasonic waves there are variations—by adjusting them, you can create types that don’t register on human eardrums yet penetrate the skull to resonate directly within the brain matter.” “They weaponized that principle—you’ve experienced how steady monotonous sounds induce drowsiness? That exact mechanism—combined with this device’s capacity to numb neural tissue.”

“……” “But you see, since the waves themselves aren’t that intense—children and overworked individuals were the first to be affected. Still, even healthy young men couldn’t endure prolonged exposure. Ultrasonic waves are fundamentally a product of modern mechanical civilization—trains, steam locomotives, engines, generators—every factory has these tremendous machines whirring away, and alongside all that deafening noise, they’re generating vast amounts of inaudible ultrasonic waves. It seems certain wavelengths among these act as sleep-inducing soundwaves on humans—which explains why Sleeping Sickness emerged so abruptly in the modern era. And X country’s agents were quick to weaponize this for their grand conspiracy…”

“I see…”

Kimura nodded with admiration— "But how'd you figure that out?"

“That’s thanks to the dogs, you know.” “The dogs’ doing?” “Yeah. In all three cases since yesterday, there were always dogs around—and only then did they suddenly get restless or start barking. So I wanted to run another experiment and asked to borrow two dogs, but then this commotion broke out before I could… which settled everything.”

“Why can Gen and the others detect it?” Mitoko interjected. “Basically, their ears are just that good. Dogs can hear sounds up to about eighty thousand vibrations per second—far beyond human perception. So when those sleep-inducing soundwaves start roaring, it must be unbearably noisy for them—that’s why they bark angrily every time… We couldn’t hear a thing ourselves, but seeing the dogs go wild made me think of ultrasonic waves in reverse. City life must be even noisier for dogs than it is for humans.”

“Oh…”

Having said that, she opened her eyes wide,

“Oh, your left eye is swollen. If you apply a compress…”

and she had found the bruise. Murata, having his swollen eye treated by Mitoko, laughed in embarrassment for the first time.

(“Humor Club,” February 1940 issue)