Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yumeno Kyūsaku Welcome. "What an unusual rain we're having, I must say... Can't do a thing when it starts pelting down like this."

“Thank you for your continued patronage… Well… Do take a seat.” “Care for a smoke… Heh heh.” “You didn’t bring an umbrella.” “Heh heh, make yourself at home… It’ll clear up soon enough.” “Strange weather we’re having—cool like this, yet an evening thunderstorm rolls in.” “Honestly… Lights on before five just to see your own hand… Makes you think ghosts’ll come creeping out… Though mind you, this used book trade doesn’t cotton to bright spaces.” “Shops that let the sunset pour right in? They’d have folks jumping clean outta their skins.” “Heh heh heh…”

“Excuse my asking, but sir’s from Tokyo… Heh heh.” “You were transferred here from a university in Tokyo.” “You work in the [Department Name] department… I see.” “Can’t be too busy with weather this fine… Heh heh.” “You honor me too much.” “If you were a private practitioner, you’d be taking a huge loss… Truly, universities are such blessed institutions, if I may say.” “Actually, I was born in Tokyo myself.” “Born in a stingy alley no bigger’n a cat’s forehead over by Ryūkan Bridge—trash like me, heh heh.” “I’ll have ya know, in my youth I aimed to be a lawyer—went to Kanda’s Oriental Law School and pored over stuff like the Six Codes and whatnot. But bein’ born lazy an’ all…” “Readin’ novels while lazin’ about, chasin’ after women’s behinds—no discipline whatsoever.” “When my parents died, got cut off by all my relatives quick as that.” “Didn’t have the backbone for hard study.” “Just like that Hokkai-bushi song says—what could I do? Thought I’d haul a moon guitar to Shanghai to make my fortune. ’Stead of that, set up an acetylene lamp on them Mitoshirochō bank steps ya know, half for fun—lined up detective novels I’d bought and textbooks folks gave me. Got hooked proper, ended up a used bookseller through’n through.” “Heh heh heh.” “In all that mess—gettin’ a wife, poppin’ out brats, fumblin’ through life—my head went bald like this. No fixin’ it now.” “Well now, this seems fittin’ enough for a lazybones like me, eh?” “No complaints here, I tell ya.”

“Heh heh.” “Well now, I went through no small amount of hardship before washin’ up here at XX-kundari, I tell ya.” “Along the way I got sick of the bookstore business—tried my hand at bein’ a rakugo storyteller through half-baked imitation, even worked as a party entertainer for a spell—but turns out my original trade suits me best after all. A man does himself no favors waverin’ about like that, if I may say.” “Once I gradually got the hang of it, interesting things started happening now and then, I tell ya.” “Heh… It’s just humble tea, but care for a cup… Please take your time…”

“When it rains like this, customers don’t show up at all.” “See now—if it’s a used bookstore where there’s always one customer standin’ around whenever you drop by, folks feel comfortable walkin’ right in.” “So when not a soul comes callin’, I turn myself into a decoy customer—shufflin’ down to tidy up the shelves and such… That’s the trick of the trade, if I do say so myself.” “What happens is that lone person becomes shop bait… When passersby peek inside and spot someone planted firm by the shelves readin’ a book or whatnot—why, they get lured right in before they know it.” “Crowd psychology they call it… Then another comes wanderin’ after… And so it goes…” “Oh now, don’t you think that… It ain’t like I’m servin’ tea to use you as bait.” “Ha ha ha!” “When it’s pourin’ buckets like this, even ten decoys wouldn’t do squat.” “Heh heh heh.” “My apologies.” “Please don’t mind me—take your sweet time…”

“Heh heh.” “Why, there’s quite the interesting story about that, I tell you.” “Just the other day… A high school student came by to sell Goethe’s poetry collection.” “I took in about ten books along with some reference materials and such for three yen, but since that Goethe collection among them seemed particularly old, I thought I’d look into it properly later.” “Turns out it’s a first edition published in Germany in 1780—and what’s more, when I studied the owner’s signature scrawled on the endpaper, I could only make out ‘Schiller.’” “Then when I took it over to Professor Nakae’s residence—you being the rare book collector here in the law and literature department—what do you think happened?” “You bought it for seventy yen, sir.” “…So anyway, that Goethe collection came out in—what was it—the summer or autumn of 1780, and while the poet-saint Schiller was there buying and reading that first edition…”

“I won’t read another word of this drivel they call poetry!” He slammed the book onto the ground. Then, after picking it up again and reading further, he prostrated himself three times while weeping,

“Master Goethe.” “You are the god of poetry.” “I am not even worthy to lick the mud from your sacred feet—a wretched being.”

"The story goes that he pressed the poetry collection to his forehead while muttering such things—that must be this very book here. If a German owned it, they wouldn't let it go even for a hundred thousand marks... or so Professor Nakae later explained to me, y'see." "You're quite the trickster, Professor Nakae... Ha ha ha." "Though I'd at least sensed this book wasn't just some train-fare windfall if taken to Tokyo..." "Thirsting for profit does no good anyway."

“Heh heh.” “Next time somethin’ like that turns up, I’ll bring it straight to your office first thing, Professor.” “At the university’s XX department… Heh.” “Assistant Professor’s office… Heh heh.” “I humbly ask for your continued favor.”

“Heh heh.” “Professor Nakae of the law and literature department, is it?” “You’re quite the frequent visitor to our humble establishment.” “They say searching for old books is your greatest pleasure.” “Quite the refined hobby, I must say… Used booksellers are mostly a blind lot by nature, but you’ve got a decent eye—said you’d make fine conversation… Heh heh heh.” “Forgive my self-flattery.” “I’m always indebted to your guidance.” “As you can see here at my shop—what with students being our main patrons—we slap big ‘Original Text’ labels on all foreign-language books and shelve ’em together… But t’other day, in my carelessness…”

CHOHMEY KAMO'S HOJOKY So I took that thing labeled *CHOHMEY KAMO'S HOJOKY*—not really understanding what it was—flipped through it haphazardly, slapped on a big bold label reading “ORIGINAL TEXT,” marked it with a two-yen code, and left it on the shelf. Then Professor Nakae came along, yanked it right out of there, thrust it under my nose, and gave me a proper scolding. “You need to get your act together.” So there he was, in such a fury… But sure enough, when I took a proper look, it turned out to be an English translation of Kamo no Chōmei’s *Hōjōki*. “Hah! Hah! Hah!” “I can’t tell which one’s supposed to be the original text anymore.” “I’m utterly at a loss here.” “Since you graciously declared it to be the oldest English translation of *Hōjōki*, you bought it from me for twenty yen.” “It was as if you’d balanced things out with that Goethe poetry collection.” “Heh heh heh heh….”

“It’s absolutely true, I tell you.” “I can’t complain if you bought it as-is for two yen and took it away.” “If all my customers were upstanding folks like yourself, Professor Nakae, I’d have no troubles at all—but there’s no shortage of ill-natured patrons, I tell you.” “Well… Those brazen souls who read entire books standing up—that happens all the time—but what really flabbergasts me is how lightning-quick they are at it.” “They’d plonk themselves right atop the shop’s books, littering cigarette butts underfoot as they devoured whole volumes, then come waltzing over to me and—”

“Oi, you. “Won’t you knock off even a single yen for this book?” “It’s not even that interesting a book.” It was enough to make me blush with shame.

“Now *that’s* meddlin’ where you ain’t needed, I tell ya… Take them humanities students—they drop by now and then before exams, haul down the big ol’ Webster’s dictionary or Encyclopædia Britannica from that shelf up there, look up whatever fancy words they need, then just leave ’em lying around like that—I don’t mind that so much. But seems they can’t be bothered to jot things down proper in their notebooks.” “They’ll stealthily tear out that page and make off with it—it’s downright wicked, I tell ya.” “Come to find out, they don’t even teach ethics courses at universities these days… Leaves me speechless, I tell ya.”

“There are even more wicked ones.” “They take away entire books.” “In other words, shoplifting.” “And what’s more—those shoplifting methods come with such clever tricks—I can’t help but be impressed, I tell ya.”

They’d carry one or two unremarkable books—unwrapped—under their arms themselves, putting on all the airs of leisured students or idle intellectuals as they sauntered in from the street, you see. “They’ve clearly decided on the book they want from the very start—but they’d never make the blunder of heading straight for it, you see.” That’s their clever trick, I suppose—still playing the carefree browser as they looked up and down the shelves here and there, all while naturally closing in on their target book. At that point, putting on an air of reluctant hesitation like this was just the start of their browsing, they’d pull out the book’s wrapping and pretend to pore over its contents at length. “Now, I’m no department store detective, and I don’t suspect ’em from the start—so when I accidentally let my guard down, that’s exactly when they strike.” “They put on a bored look and return the book to the shelf… but if you think that’s all there is to it, you’re in for a rude awakening—it’s beyond all expectation, I tell ya!” “What looks like ’em returnin’ it is just the packaging box… Or they’ll stuff some worthless book they brought along into the original gap, all while tuckin’ the one they actually want snug under their arm… Tch.” “Like they’re sayin’, ‘Ain’t a decent book in this joint…’” all casual-like, blowin’ smoke rings from their cigarettes as they stroll out—takes real guts, I tell ya. “What a scheme they’ve cooked up, I tell ya.”

“Well… That may well be a momentary impulse on their part, but I daresay there’s some premeditated scheming at play too. After all, they’re students from schools without ethics—you can’t afford a moment’s carelessness around such riffraff. When they go wieldin’ these underhanded tricks so wantonly, it’s more than I can handle, I tell ya.” “And mind you—they ain’t just petty troublemakers among the students. What truly flabbergasts me is how even fine gentlemen—the very fount of ethics themselves, drawin’ handsome salaries—occasionally employ these very methods! Heh heh.” “Even university professors drop by now and then. Not that our side’s *experts* don’t come ’round too—can’t say they don’t—but their techniques are downright masterful, I tell ya. Heh heh.” “Surely they ain’t gone and started teachin’ *these methods* to students in their lectures instead of ethics now, have they? Their skills seem far more polished than your pupils’, if you ask me. For one thing, their dignified bearing’s so splendid that I think, ‘Surely not,’ and end up lettin’ my guard down proper.”

“However, such people do seem to be limited to avid book lovers.” “If they think it’s a rare book, it must look valuable—and they *do* want it… Plus, this old codger minding the shop seems like a fool… So these perfectly respectable folks get hooked on sauntering in casual-like—and it just grows more and more amusing for ’em.” “Their consciences have been worn down to nothing in that regard, becoming so bold and cunning it defies human comprehension—there’s no keeping up with such patrons for a humble bookseller like myself.” “However, there’s something to be thankful for… Once I’ve been tricked by that method enough times and get used to it, I can usually tell.” “Apparently, that person reeks.” “Since the shop boy mentioned it, once I started paying attention, I could see right through their tricks—every last one of ’em.” “In the end, just seeing how they’re slinking in through the entrance gives me a rough idea of who they are.” “…‘Don’t you go messin’ around, Sate…’ or ‘I ain’t lettin’ you mess around…’ or such.” “Heh heh.”

What’s amusing is that there were people who’d take those shoplifted books home, read them through, then sneak back to return them. “As you well know, when it comes to novels these days—unlike those written by the esteemed authors of old—there’s a great many that once you’ve read ’em once, you’ve no desire to read ’em again.” “Or when they take it home and read it, turns out it wasn’t any significant or rare book after all.” “So either they realize it wasn’t somethin’ worth stealin’ against their conscience… and come slinkin’ back to return it… or maybe they meant all along to just ‘borrow’ it for a spell, read it careful-like so the contents don’t diminish, then graciously give it back—but honestly, I can’t for the life of me figure out which it is.” “Whether they’ve got a conscience or not, whether they’re playin’ the gentleman or harborin’ top-tier thief instincts… It’s like ridin’ a train without payin’—doin’ their business then slinkin’ back like they never boarded—such convoluted psychological states do exist, I tell ya.”

“Well now, there’s quite a number that never come back at all, I tell ya.” “I’m well aware of that look you’re givin’ me, you know.” “That’s what they call the perks of the trade—I just keep my mouth shut and play dumb.” “When you consider the cost price, it ain’t such a big deal anyway.” “Havin’ to stay on guard all the time and check whether the case has its contents or not—it’s such a blasted hassle, I tell ya.” “And as I recall this one and that one—folks who’d stand before books with altered or missin’ contents—I gradually come to understand their true character. Downright uncanny, I tell ya… Just t’other day, there was this case.” “This was an utterly astonishin’, splendid book, but…”

“I believe it was a book brought in by a student from ×× Medical College during summer vacation.” “He was from ×× in ××, and stated that it was a Bible passed down through generations in his family.” “I received it for three yen per volume, but as usual—while minding the store between customers—when I sat here examining it closely, I was astonished.” “At first glance it looked printed, but it’s actually a handwritten manuscript made in England in 1626.” “The paper was remarkable too.” “Thick, smooth paper like Japanese 100-yen notes, densely covered in writing with black-line illustrations using blue and red paints—that alone made it an extraordinary rare book, I tell ya.”

“However, if that were all there was to it, I wouldn’t be particularly surprised. If you had the money, even here in mainland Japan you could encounter quite remarkable items—but what truly shattered me was the text of that Bible, I tell ya. Could that have been what they call a devil’s Bible…? The moment I realized this was Schreker’s *Book of Devil Prayer*—the very one rumored to be the only copy in existence—my head spun, and there I was trembling like a leaf in midsummer’s broad daylight, I tell ya.”

“Well now… You haven’t heard of such a book, Professor?” “Hmm.” “Is that so?” “I thought the author’s name was likely read as Dukko Schreker, you know.” “Difficult spelling it had… though I hear it was all from about a hundred years back.” “As for that idle talk among colleagues—about how the second son, or was it the third, of Britain’s famous Rothschild millionaire once hunted for it with a hundred-thousand-pound reward—well, I’d caught wind of that during my Tokyo days.” “Never dreamed I’d actually lay eyes on the real thing.”

“Hmm. “The cover was this thick, oversized black leather binding… with ‘HOLY BIBLE’ embossed in gold letters—stuffed into a sturdy untanned hide case, whether from a cow or horse, I couldn’t say. “Now, when I saw what was left of this faded vermilion ink reading ‘MICHAEL SHIRO’ at the center of the case’s inner lining—alongside intricate black-ink patterns resembling an emblem—my hunch was that it’d probably been secretly kept by some Japanese fellow who came over around the Shimabara Rebellion era and called himself Mikaeru Shiro… Heh heh. “Now, if that Shiro were Amakusa Shiro, things would’ve become all the more dire, I tell ya.”

“Heh heh—of course that’s right, I tell ya. That student undoubtedly came to sell it thinkin’ it was an ordinary Bible, completely unaware. Folks rarely feel inclined to read somethin’ like the Bible ’less they’re devout—and the ancestors who passed that book down couldn’t convey what kinda book it truly was either—so they just stashed it away in the back of a storehouse, I tell ya. That student fished out that thing… ‘What’s this old junk?’ and sold it off. Must’ve gone to some pawnshop first, heard ’bout my place, and brought it here, I reckon. Students these days are right averse to things like Bibles, y’see. If he’d read even a single line of its contents, he wouldn’t ’ve had the decency to bring it in. By now he’s probably turned full devil—dropped outta school and gotten himself thrown in the clink with some pink gang or whatnot. Heh heh… Got that student’s name and address proper recorded, see? If I were to visit ××’s place there, bet there’s still plenty more interestin’ finds waitin’—been itch-in’ to do just that these past few days, I tell ya. Heh heh.”

The opening text was all in fine arabesque-patterned floral script, and from how the chapters were divided to inserted notes—everything matched an authentic Bible down to the last detail. Even those first four or five lines of Genesis remained exactly as they appear in a genuine Bible, so anyone would be thoroughly fooled—but then, starting from that fourth or fifth line, those sacred words transformed without warning or transition into utterly terrifying passages. “So—should I call it the Devil’s Bible?” “Or perhaps name it the *Book of Devil Prayer*?” “That British clergyman Schreker who created the thing—his very words spread his devil-worshipping creed across the world, you see.” “Old-fashioned English made it a right pain to read.” “Once got cheeky enough to try translating a bit—came out something like this.”

“Having become a saint and inherited my father’s work—while studying theology I came to doubt Scripture’s contents; upon turning to medical chemistry, I realized the entire universe is naught but a collective drift of matter.” “I came to know that what men call the human spirit too is but chemical interactions of elements; accordingly recognized that what’s termed religion or faith constitutes from its very inception a most cowardly deception—a means for cunning minds to defraud fools; and thus arrived at believing without doubt that upon this earth, the sole truth lies in what’s called the devil spirit—that which takes as its essence a scientific spirit devoid of blood, tears, conscience, or faith.” “My innate heart is not the so-called ‘heart of God’ that parents, siblings, or even Roman Popes may fashion for their convenience.” “There exists no divine punishment in life, nor hell after death.” “What then should one fear? What should one hesitate to do?”

“All successive Roman Popes and other conquerors are practitioners who extol this path of the devil! All privileges of humanity’s yearning upper class amount to nothing but privileges tied to this devil’s path! The very essence behind mankind’s daily prayers serves only to satisfy this heretical spirit! The strong deceive fools with Scripture while shamelessly wielding science-taught demonic powers!” “People of this world! Cast aside your false Bibles and clasp this true Book of Devil Prayer! I am Christ reborn upon Satan’s road! You feeble ones! You destitute masses! All who drown in sorrow—march behind me!”

“In that feverish tone, it spells out at great length every manner of evil deed to urge upon all mankind—written right here in these pages,” he continued. “As I read on, I felt like I was tightening a noose around my own neck, I tell ya. The West’s full of villains without blood or tears in their bodies. Harvesting gallbladders from the living, corpse puppetry, slave trading, murder-for-hire—they say only Westerners can manage such work… and damn if it ain’t true.”

“That Christian clergyman was probably mentally deranged or something of the sort, I tell ya. Seems he wrote it with that very intent—dead set on filling the world with villains—pouring his soul into explaining how this world’s one solid mass of ‘evil’… how God Himself is just some lackey who showed up to lend the devil a hand, I tell ya.”

“God exists solely for the weak; the weak toil only for the strong; and the strong in turn live only for the devil.” “In the beginning was matter.” “There is nothing but matter.” “Matter exists with desire.” “Desire exists with the devil.” “Desire and matter are incarnations of evil.” “Therefore those most faithful to matter and desire become strong men and devils who prosper; while those who most despise matter and desire become weak men and gods who perish.” “Therefore those who ignore God and conscience while worshipping gold and carnal desire—” “—are earth’s true masters.”

“The strong and rulers are alchemists upon this earth.” “All those touched by their hands turn to gold, and all those that cannot be turned to gold turn to ash.”

“Those who make gold are the devils on earth.” “Every member of the opposite sex they touch becomes a slave to carnal desire—and those who can’t be made into such slaves turn into bloody muck.” “That’s about the size of it.”

“Therefore, in this Devil’s Prayer Book, the Old Testament part reads like a developmental history of ‘human evil,’ you see.” “As long as Adam and Eve revered God too much and scorned carnal desire, no children were born.” “Then, once those two became ensnared by the persistent carnal desire symbolized by the serpent, lost their faith, and were driven out of the Garden of Eden, their mutual shame over their nakedness led to children being born one after another, multiplying across this earth—so in the end, anything that prospers on this earth can’t possibly be according to Jehovah’s divine will.” “With reasoning like ‘It must be the devil’s heart…’—such logic—the history of human sin and evil is then laid out in great detail.”

...Generation after generation, Egyptian kings would replace their wives nightly, reveling in what they considered the height of splendor by either burning women they’d grown tired of as offerings to the sun god or feeding them alive to the Nile River’s water god’s crocodiles.

…The purpose of King Darius of Persia’s wars was neither territory nor honor. It was nothing but the sexual atrocities inflicted upon captured women from enemy nations and the pleasure derived from slaughtering their men. Every time he won a war, he adorned the palace walls and corridors with tens of thousands of freshly slaughtered enemy soldiers’ corpses, and amidst them took pleasure in listening to the screams of thousands of women—beginning with enemy queens and princesses. It was there that Darius perceived the pinnacle of demonic civilization.

...Alexander the Great, in order to annihilate the Arabs, took along porters carrying the corpses of Black Death patients and had them cut down one by one at every intersection in the city of Mecca. "This, in its extreme demonic spirit, not only led modern warfare's methods but possessed a transcendent grandeur that far surpassed such things, I tell ya." "Truly worthy of being called 'the Great,' that one!" ...History claims Peter the Great of Russia went to Holland to study shipbuilding techniques, but that's a crimson lie—truth be told, he went researching abortion techniques and poison manufacturing. Peter the Great dominated Russia's court through this occult power he'd gained, wielding such influence that even his own Slavic race unified over sixty ethnic groups to forge the Russian Empire—all thanks to that scientific know-how the Slavs received through their emperor's dark blessings.

...Those who ruled the world in this manner were not God but always the devil. “The beginning of all science aimed to deny God’s existence and liberate humanity from its conscience, while simultaneously, the beginning of all chemistry lay in alchemy, and the beginning of all medicine was nothing but research into abortion techniques and poisons.”

...“We must not be deceived by history,” “If you don’t read history with a demonic yet discerning eye, you’ll end up mired in preposterous errors.” “Originally, the Jewish people are a race that’s long aimed to make all humanity lazy, secretly destroy ’em, and occupy the world with Jews alone.” “Things like dice, roulette, playin’ cards, shogi, and dominoes—these were all cooked up by the Jewish folks for that very purpose and spread ’round the world.” “And what’s more—the last scheme those Jews invented for that goal and tried peddlin’ worldwide was this here Christianity! Makes you speechless with how outrageous it is, I tell ya.”

“…‘Everything in this world exists solely according to God’s will.” “If you just pray to God, He’ll grant you anything you want—so humans don’t have to work at all.” “If you believe in God, the blind will see, the mute will speak, and the lame will run.” “Look at the birds flying in the sky.” “Look at the foxes running across the ground.” “You don’t need to think about tomorrow to live just fine, do you?”—they invented this Christianity to propagate in that vein and turn the whole world into layabouts, I tell ya.

...So they went and hired an old man named Johannes—the top actor among Jews at the time—to handle this Christianity’s street theater campaign, but it didn’t take off worth a damn. “Then they trotted out next this prime specimen of a leading man—Jesus, the handsomest devil in Jewry—and teamed him up with Maria, their top Jewish screen siren, to run this publicity stunt on the streets. Wouldn’t ya know it—this act cleaned up big time, I tell ya.”

(Thirty lines omitted) "...Once we got through all that Old Testament business in such fashion, wouldn’t ya know—the New Testament part went straight to sleaze, I tell ya."

...In other words, that monk named Dukko takes Christ’s place in the Bible and declares— “I am the devil’s messiah. All shall follow me!”—and so begins that New Testament with his own demonic bloodline, inherited through generations, laid out like a family tree. Then, after becoming a missionary who wouldn’t harm a fly, preaching God’s path day and night while secretly adhering to the devil’s way, he meticulously divided into chapters all the horrific deeds he’d committed—murdering women, extorting money—writing them up with solemn grandeur. “If humans kick aside God and conscience, they can obtain any kind of happiness. The one I revere as my teacher is not Jesus Christ, but Faust—the German sorcerer who sold his soul to the devil. Every conceivable method of scientific wrongdoing, along with my own experiences, is written here accompanied by devilish sermons befitting them.”

(Forty-seven lines omitted) “And then when you get to the very last Psalms section, it’s nothing but these extreme love songs, I tell ya. Not a single one of ’em was a proper love song—all hymns praising deviant loves, heretical passions, perverse affections… I tell ya, even I was left speechless… Heh….”

“Wh-what... Are you asking where that book is... Hehehe.” “That’s what makes it so amusing, I tell ya.” “As I was saying earlier, that Bible—at first glance—looked just like old woodblock-printed characters, you see.” “Storing it away was useless, but on the other hand, I couldn’t just casually take it somewhere untrustworthy and recommend it, you see.” “I was at my wit’s end, so I just left it in an old leather case—a ‘Bokus’ or something—and stuck it in a corner of that shelf over there.” “Depending on how the customer reacted when they found it, I figured hiking the price to a thousand yen wouldn’t bring down too much divine punishment… But then again, even an ordinary Bible’s worth that much, you see.”

However, this was about three months ago. “I was shocked!” “When on earth had someone done it? I discovered that the Bible’s contents had been completely gutted, leaving only the box behind in the corner of that shelf over there.”

“That spot’s the darkest corner in the store, see—the place where I quietly gather up just the books I think are rare and keep ’em stashed away.” “The folks who come over and stand there stock-still in that spot are usually pretty predictable, see—” “Even the ones who took ’em—I could usually get a read on…” “Whoa… What’s happened to your complexion, Professor Nakae?” “Are you feeling unwell… Huh?” “Huh… This here’s 300 yen… Your whole month’s salary… You’re givin’ it to me… Huh… And you’re sayin’ this’ll be the deposit for that Bible… A thousand-yen down payment… Well now, color me obliged.” “You were the one who took that book, Professor Nakae… Huh.” “That’s… Well now… Hehehe… What’re you sayin’…”

“Hmm… Since this spring, there’s been a young pianist—a music school graduate—coming to teach your wife piano. He happened upon that book by chance, found it utterly fascinating, and ended up borrowing it.” “Until that point, Professor Nakae had also thought it was an ordinary Bible and had lent it without a second thought.” “Heh heh… P-p… Please settle down… Settle down… Quietly now… Quietly… Take your time and speak… N-now… Ah, I see.” “Heh heh.”

About a week later, his wife had had a miscarriage—three months into her pregnancy… I see. According to the doctor’s examination, their drive to ×× beforehand had been ill-advised… I see. “That national highway’s deteriorated lately, hasn’t it?” “No wonder at all.” “Cars’ve multiplied like crazy.” “Even with the prefecture’s civil engineering budget unchanged… there’s more to it.” “Huh….” “Your son—raised solely on milk—suddenly passed away four or five days back.” “The diagnosis was food poisoning, but you say it’s suspicious… Huh.” “Why’s that suspicious… Huh.” “That piano teacher who borrowed the book must be using its poisons.” “Lately, your stomach’s been troubling you.” “Throbbing pains here and there.” “×××××, could be ×××.” “Huh.” “Meaning you’ve suspected that piano teacher all along?” “I see.” “That bland-faced youth playing artist… your wife—the second Mrs. Nakae—Osaka News’ beauty queen… Ah—”

“Wa——! Professor Nakae…” “Waitwaitwaitwait! Please wait!” “Waitwait!” “No, I won’t let go.” “Wait a moment, please.” “With that panicked look—where’re you off to—? Wh-what d’you mean…?” “You’re gonna accuse that piano teacher.” “I’ll get that book back and find the poison they used… W-w-wait now.” “Th-that’s… sheer nonsense.” “Now listen here.” “Calm down… Just sit back down here.” “Hear my story.” “I’ve got your situation figured out.” “Since I know the whole truth of this affair, I’ll lay it all bare.” “Don’t go rushin’.” “Haste makes waste… Geez, you gave me a fright….”

"That’s preposterous, Professor—that…" "If you do such a thing—about where that book was obtained—it’ll surely become a police matter." "And if I get called in by them and tell ’em everything straight—what d’you think’ll happen to your precious position then?"

He laughed. “There you have it.” “Now, now—please take your seat here once more.” “Do have a sip of this tea while it’s still hot.” “I’ll split open the whole kabocha and tell you everything.” “To lay it bare—this is all my doing.” “Th-there’s no call for such shock now.” “Here… let me make my apologies plain.” “Every last bit of this is my fault.” “Heh heh.” “This here’s my blunder laid bare.” “Do find it in your heart to pardon me….”

“What am I to hide… Everything I’ve told you up until now—it’s all lies.” “It’s all nonsense.” “A completely baseless fabricated tale, ’s all.” “Ha ha ha.” “Were you surprised?” “Ha ha ha….”

“That book’s just an ordinary Bible after all.” “Of course, being an 1680 British manuscript—mind you—it’s still undoubtedly quite a rare book.” “It’s certainly worth about three hundred *ryo*, but something that could fetch a thousand *ryo*? Not by any stretch.” “Read it yourself and you’ll see.” “From start to finish it’s standard Bible text—when you see how every single character’s flawlessly copied, must’ve been some devout monk bowing three times nine times while transcribing it, eh?” “Anyway, since this rarity hardly ever surfaces, do take proper care storing it away.” “Now that I’ve taken your payment—though it pains me—I’ll hand it over.”

In truth, I had long since heard from Professor Nakae of the Faculty of Law and Literature that you were a professor renowned university-wide as an exceptional book collector. "This time there's a master book collector come to the ○○ Department, I tell you." "That man's been my rival since our Tokyo days—don't know how he does it, but he goes snatching up every last book I'm after." "When that man comes around, my little hobby's done for... or so they say." "You often used to say so yourself!"

“…So you see, actually… Heh heh.” “When you took that book, Professor, I was fully aware of it, you see.” “Just as I was thinking of going to collect payment from your wife or such, today you unexpectedly appeared, Professor… Must’ve been this sudden evening shower, I suppose.” “Well, there’s nothing particularly rare in my shop at the moment, and you seemed to be waiting for the rain to let up, Professor—and what with me sitting here since morning, my head’s gone a bit foggy—so I ended up spinning a tall tale to pass the time, you see… Those of us who wasted our youth on earnest studies or rakugo stages tend to blather on with unnecessary chatter… Frivolous learning just spills out of us, heh heh… Heh heh. Even buried in books like this, detective novels remain the most entertaining… Truly so.” “Sometimes I just drift into wanting to act out a detective novel in real life—it’s strange, isn’t it… Heh.” “To have received such an unexpected payment—I am deeply ashamed.” “I have told you an utter fabrication without a shred of truth and caused you undue worry—for this, I must beg your forgiveness a thousandfold…”

“Well.” “The rain seems to have stopped.” “It’s grown much brighter now.” “Tomorrow should bring fair weather.”

“Heh.” “My apologies for the tedium.” “Thank you for your continued patronage.” “Please take good care of your wife….”