Pathway to Japanese Literature

As quitting time approached, Aoki was asked by Ishimura to stay a little longer and remained at his desk.
After his colleagues had left, the office felt as though even the air had grown chilly, with nothing to comfort the eyes.
On the wall hung nothing but things he saw every day—maps, calendars, questionable prints.
Miyazaki, the receptionist and office assistant, was still there, but behind the partition, he made not a single sound—whatever he was doing.
Aoki had no choice but to vacantly skim through the newspaper insert while blowing cigarette smoke with abandon.

Ishimura was deep in conversation with a visitor in the president’s office.
He had been president of the former Ishimura Trading Company and current Ishimura Securities, yet for some reason, he insisted that even employees call him “Mr. Ishimura,” detesting being addressed as “President.”
He had been a retired army lieutenant colonel, and just as he had disliked being called “Lieutenant Colonel” since the war’s end, it seemed to stem from the same sentiment.
He was meticulous about punctuality, and even when there were visitors in the president’s office, he unhesitatingly made employees leave.
After all, it was a small company with fewer than ten employees.

What had been called “a moment” ended up taking over thirty minutes.
Ishimura escorted the visitor out to the hallway, then showed his face in the office.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

He called out to Aoki and surveyed the room.

“Miyazaki, you may go home now.”

Miyazaki snapped to attention.

Aoki followed Ishimura into the president’s office.

Around the large round table at the center were arranged benches and armchairs, and on the walls hung several oil paintings of varying sizes.
On the table were whiskey bottles, a water jug, and peanuts.
It seemed Ishimura had been having a drink with the visitor.

“Please, take a seat.”

Ishimura pointed Aoki to an armchair and tried to sit on the bench himself but, tilting his head slightly, opened a door different from the one to the office, went out, and brought back a new bottle of whiskey.
In that room, Kojima, the female secretary, should have been there, but it seemed she had already left as well.
This female secretary’s duties included receiving guests who came to visit Ishimura directly, serving tea, and typing.
Ishimura preferred typed documents, and the sound of their clattering had become a constant fixture in this room.

Aoki realized he was completely alone with Ishimura, and observing Ishimura’s solicitous demeanor, he discerned that this was no ordinary matter.

“Keeping you—wasn’t it a bother?”

“No, not particularly…”
“After all, it’s not like I have any business here besides drinking.”

“Ha ha ha, you’ve got a way with words.”

Ishimura poured whiskey into both glasses yet appeared somehow melancholy.
Between exhalations of cigarette smoke, he would abruptly knit his brows.
But Aoki understood that such expressions arose from some resolute determination within him.

Ishimura stared fixedly at Aoki’s face.

“Actually, there’s a small favor I’d like to ask of you—do you have any special intelligence?”

“When you say ‘intelligence’…”

“No need to overthink it. Simply put, Japan is in a highly tense state right now—we must gather intelligence from all quarters.”
“The trends of public opinion or whatever are unimportant.”
“What’s crucial is grasping the specific movements within every sector.”
“Now, as you know, when it comes to intelligence, what appears significant can turn out surprisingly useless, while what seems trivial may have unexpectedly deep roots. That’s precisely why it must be handled with utmost care.”
“Rather, we must carefully collect what appears trivial.”
“Not grand things like the current cabinet’s intentions, the National Police Headquarters’ policies, or new leftist movement plans—what’s crucial are street rumors and casual inquiries. Don’t you know anything about such matters?”

While feigning a contemplative look, Aoki thought to himself that it had finally come.
Lately, while business at Ishimura Securities had become exceedingly slow—with internal investigations of various companies serving as their primary work—in return, direct visitors to Ishimura’s office had noticeably increased.
This had become particularly pronounced since discussions about Japan’s rearmament had begun arising in various quarters.
Ishimura’s office had two entrances from the hallway: one door leading to the general office and another to the secretary’s room. Direct visitors typically came and went through the latter, so their identities remained unclear—though it was hardly difficult to imagine they were mainly former military personnel or affiliates.
After all, even the main employees here traced back to either former military personnel or civilian military employees.

Seeing Aoki deep in thought, Ishimura shifted the tone of the conversation.

“If nothing comes to mind for you, well, that’s fine then.”
“The drunken talk in bars—this can hardly be called intelligence.”

Aoki scratched his head.

“Honestly, I’m always getting drunk—I can’t stand myself.”

“Far from pitiful—you’ve got quite the talent.”
“Not just with drink—the same goes for women, I bet.”
“Huh?”

Aoki raised his face and looked at Ishimura’s eyes.

Ishimura rolled his eyes and smiled mockingly.

“Shall I tell you something good? You took Nishimiya into Kikukiya again after that, didn’t you.”

Aoki was speechless.

Nishimiya Makiko—that was the female employee at Ishimura Securities.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
“How careless of you.”
“Kikukiya’s a spot I frequent for drinks.”
“However much you pleaded for secrecy, you never imagined it wouldn’t reach my ears, did you?”

“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t have money, so I ended up thinking of using that place.”
“But I intend to settle that place’s payment with my bonus.”

“You don’t need to worry about money.”
“I took care of the payment.”
“It’s the same as when we were in Shanghai.”
“However, the important thing is—”

Leaving his words hanging, Ishimura sipped his whiskey and sank into thought.

When they were in Shanghai—that was during the war—Ishimura worked for a special service agency.
He lived in a rather impressive apartment on Jing’an Temple Road and was primarily engaged in seizing and recovering hidden supplies.
He used White Russians and Chinese as agents.
At that time, Aoki was also working under Ishimura.
Ishimura frequently traveled back and forth to the mainland and had just returned to Tokyo at the time of the war’s end.
He had been lucky.
Before long, he rented a vacant room in a half-burned building, opened Ishimura Trading, and amassed enormous profits from military connections and other black-market goods.

Former military personnel and civilian employees began gathering around him.
Aoki was one of them.
Immediately after the war’s end, he had undertaken a life-risking journey, detouring from Beijing through Korea.

As work with black-market goods diminished, Ishimura Trading changed its signboard to Ishimura Securities, its workforce gradually decreased, and thus it had reached the present day—but Ishimura, harboring private designs, appeared to have begun new ventures.

“Mr. Aoki.”

Ishimura suddenly called out and stared fixedly at Aoki’s face.

“Let me be frank.”
“You intended to extract some sort of information from that Nishimiya Makiko, I suppose.”

For Aoki, these were unexpected words.
He had no such intention whatsoever.

He muttered.

“That’s rather too perceptive of you.”

“You don’t need to play innocent. Perhaps it’s my misunderstanding, but given your attitude at the time, I couldn’t interpret it any other way.”

“Huh? What kind of attitude was that?”

“You brought up things like the ongoing Huai River flood control project in China and went out of your way to curry favor with Nishimiya, didn’t you?”

“The Huai River flood control project, you say….”

“Exactly. You went on proclaiming how that was the true public works project for the people or some such nonsense, trying to win over Nishimiya. You must’ve had ulterior motives.”

Aoki pressed his palm to his forehead and tried to recall. Even back then, it had left him in a cold sweat afterward—and now, that same bitter aftertaste lingered. Of course, having been thoroughly drunk at the time, he couldn’t remember the details clearly.

That was indeed around the time when the Administrative Agreement under the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty was concluded.
Ishimura invited the main employees to Kikukiya and treated them to a feast.
At the gathering, Ishimura alone did most of the talking.
The gist was criticism of exclusive reliance on America and an assertion of rearmament.
There were plans to increase the National Police Reserve’s numbers, but with an organization like that, no matter how much you expanded it or what equipment you provided, their spirit was deficient—you couldn’t expect complete national defense.
Even if done gradually, carrying out rearmament was the true path to securing independence.
Through this—even if gradually—they should withdraw U.S. forces; to rely on America for everything and always—that very mindset spelled national ruin…
Ishimura vigorously held forth on such matters.
Strangely, there wasn’t a single mention of constitutional amendments or issues related to the Japanese Communist Party.
Everyone nodded along to him.
The force of alcohol was also at play.

In such an atmosphere, Aoki seemed to feel repelled.
This too was driven by alcohol's momentum.
And he brought up the Huai River flood control project.
He couldn't clearly remember where he'd read about it, but it clung stubbornly in his mind.

The Huai River was a great river spanning the three provinces of Henan, Anhui, and Jiangsu, having caused approximately one thousand major floods over two thousand years.
The 1931 great flood had reached twenty million victims.
Following the major flood in the summer before last, the Chinese Communist government decided on a massive flood control project for the Huai River.
Planned for completion within five years, over 2.2 million civilian laborers participated in the construction. Fifty-five million people in the river basin would be permanently freed from flood threats, with farmland equivalent to one-seventh of China's total cultivated area to be irrigated. By July of last year, the first phase had been completed: embankments, dredging, reservoirs, sluice gates—all manner of challenging engineering works were overcome. The amount of soil moved for this purpose, if converted into a one-meter-high by one-meter-wide earthen dike, would stretch 200,000 kilometers—enough to circle Earth's equator five times.
Such a massive project in China was being carried out by the people's hands for the people's sake.
Even in Japan, in the midst of this poverty—should we not first and foremost consider the nation's interests and the people's welfare...?
Aoki held forth on such matters.

Aoki’s story had been brought up as the banquet was nearing its end, but it was perceived not as a rebuttal to Ishimura’s argument but merely as a shift in topic.
A few people engaged with him, and Nishimiya Makiko did most of the talking.
Aoki turned toward Makiko and grew increasingly earnest in his voluble speech; his argument seemed somehow pandering to her.
They appeared to be in perfect harmony, or perhaps they were simply using each other as drinking companions.
She too had drunk a considerable amount and was completely drunk.
And as the two of them kept talking animatedly, Ishimura had at some point risen from his seat, the others had also disappeared one after another, and only the two of them—thoroughly drunk—ended up staying overnight at Kikukiya.
Aoki did not clearly remember the events before and after that.
All that remained with Aoki was the impression that Makiko had been utterly passive—or perhaps entirely devoid of will—as she yielded herself to him.
As for Aoki, he was likely the same.

The next morning was terribly awkward.
Without even eating a meal, they rushed out of Kikukiya and parted ways immediately.
As they parted, Aoki said.

“Let’s agree to forget about last night’s events.”
“If you want to think of it as a jab at Mr. Ishimura, then fine.”

“Yes, fine,” Makiko answered.

It had been neither affection nor passion.
It had simply been due to being completely drunk.
Even at the company, the two showed no signs of intimacy toward each other; if anything, their interactions became even more strained.
But even so, Aoki found himself preoccupied with Makiko, his mind unsettled.
In her tightly drawn, slender face—eyes glinting behind myopic glasses as she feigned innocence—he felt he saw the audacity particular to unmarried middle-aged women.

About two weeks later, Aoki found himself leaving work together with Makiko.
When they stepped out onto the street, Makiko asked, “Are you going out for drinks again tonight?”
When he nodded, she said, “May I come along too?”
Thinking she might have something to discuss, Aoki took her to a familiar izakaya.
There was no particular conversation, but as the alcohol began to take effect, Makiko smiled and whispered.

“Was that all? Just a jab at Mr. Ishimura?”

*How could she say that?* Aoki thought, but his very indignation left him no room to back down.

They went to Kikukiya, got completely drunk again, and ended up staying overnight.
It was a dreary night, no different from before.

The next morning, Makiko said.

“This kind of respite isn’t bad once in a while.”

At those icy words, Aoki felt he’d been deftly parried.
A wariness stirred within him—if he grew too entangled with this headstrong woman who seemed impervious to feeling, things might veer into calamitous territory.
Afterward, Aoki took care to avoid her.

That marked the full measure of their dealings.

However, Ishimura was persistent.

“I thought you were coaxing her to obtain some sort of information—am I mistaken?”

Aoki could only stare dumbfounded.

Ishimura fixed his drunken gaze and stared steadily at Aoki.
Back when he was in Shanghai, Ishimura would often fix his gaze on the other person’s face.
In that piercing gaze that seemed to suck one in, there was something that intimidated people.
Now, his once closely cropped hair had grown out to a longer length with a fair amount of gray mixed in, and his cheeks had thinned somewhat, but to Aoki, it felt like he was seeing that piercing gaze from back then for the first time in ages.

Aoki averted his eyes, sipping whiskey as he mumbled.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to…”

“Nonsense. You know.”

A considerable interval passed.

“What exactly do you take Nishimiya for?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Her character.”

“She’s an employee here, right?”

“She is an employee, but...”

After a brief pause, Ishimura snapped.

“There’s no concrete evidence yet, but if my eyes aren’t mistaken, she’s a member of the Japanese Communist Party.”
“At the very least, she’s a Party sympathizer.”
“And she’s trying to obtain some sort of information here.”
“Recently our headquarters has made investigating other companies’ internal affairs its primary work—this provides convenient opportunities to gather related intelligence. Moreover, there must be news worth learning about concerning the National Police Reserve, the Security Force, or matters tied to my personal connections.”
“But we can’t afford to let someone like her catch our trail so easily.”
“Instead, I want to get my hands on her—no, the JCP’s—tail.”
“I thought you were handling that work.”
“If you haven’t started yet, it’s not too late to begin now. Why not give it a try?”
“Even seemingly trivial fragments of conversation would suffice.”
“Given your relationship with her, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

Aoki couldn’t lift his head.
Makiko had shown glimmers of liberal leanings, but he’d never imagined her a Communist Party member—much less a spy.
Now the task assigned to him amounted to counterespionage against spies—and worse, counterespionage employing sexual tactics.
He threw back the whiskey.

“That speech you gave about the Huai River waterworks was rather impressive.”

And suddenly, Ishimura burst into uproarious laughter.
Aoki’s face flushed, and he panicked.

“No, that was just a spur-of-the-moment idea I had at the time. The same goes for something like the Great Wall of China.”

“Nonsense. What about the Great Wall…”

“It’s that massive wall stretching nearly three thousand kilometers.”
“It was a massive construction to prevent invasions by frontier barbarians, but even that—like the Huai River water control project and…”

Aoki’s words caught in his throat.

“That’s right—Japan needs its own kind of Great Wall.”
“Even if done gradually, military armaments to serve as the backbone of national defense are necessary.”
“However, when it comes to the method of rearmament, there are various conflicting theories, and no consensus has been reached at all.”
“First, the former Army faction and the former Navy faction are in severe disagreement, and various other factions are arbitrarily pushing their own agendas.”
“Unifying national opinion and building a Great Wall—that is the urgent task at hand.”
“Liberalism, pacifism—those aren’t the issue.”
“It’s through such gaps that we’ll be exploited by the enemy.”

Aoki was completely rotten.
No matter how much he regretted bringing up the Great Wall now，it was already too late to take it back.

“It’s all for the Great Wall of China.”
“You’ll handle what I mentioned earlier，won’t you?”
“I’ll cover the Kikukas’ expenses，so that’s settled，right?”

“Anyway, let me think it over carefully.”

Answering even that much was all Aoki could manage.

Through the nighttime streets, Aoki walked with detached ease.
On the well-trodden path he knew by heart, his feet moved naturally in a fixed direction without conscious effort.
At a certain food stall, he gnawed on eel heads while drinking shochu.
Then he walked again.
Having confirmed that the narrow entrance to the basement stood wide open, he staggered down.
At the very back of the space partitioned into several shops, there was a bar with plain wood tables lined up along the wall.
At a table in the far corner, Maruta was drinking sake.
He was an employee of Ishimura Securities.
Aoki went and stood before him.

“Oh, welcome.”
“We often meet here, don’t we.”

Aoki silently stared at his face.

“Did something happen? You’re looking pale.”

Aoki formed a faint smile and sat down.
While accepting the offered cup，he stared intently at Maruta’s face.

“Since you’re in charge of accounting, you must know—how is Ishimura Securities’ financial state at the moment?”

“It’s in the red.”

“So you can’t pay the retirement allowance?”

Maruta, the conscientious man over fifty, made a strange face as he gazed at Aoki.

“Regarding the retirement allowance, Mr. Ishimura did make a promise, didn’t he.”

That was a fact.
It was when Ishimura Trading was switched to Ishimura Securities.
Ishimura had vowed to the employees that there probably wouldn’t be much work for the time being anyway, but he would guarantee their livelihoods.
And regarding the retirement allowance, he had promised to pay one month’s salary for each year of service, so they should keep working quietly.

Maruta said soothingly.

"The company’s situation may be dire, but there’s no need to worry."
"I can’t say I fully understand it myself, but during the trading company days, he made considerable profits, and there seem to be indications that Mr. Ishimura’s assets are quite substantial."
"Something like employees’ retirement allowances probably isn’t even an issue."

Aoki was already thinking about other things and remained silent.

“What are you so lost in thought about? Let’s do this with gusto.”

Maruta ordered drinks and offered some to Aoki as well.

“What exactly is the problem?”

Because there had been a pause, Maruta’s eyes widened.

“What exactly is the problem for Mr. Ishimura?”

“I don’t know about such things.”

“It’s the Great Wall of China.
He wants to build a Great Wall in Japan.
So isn’t that absurd?
If you want to know who started it, it was me.
So isn’t that absurd?
All of this—every bit of it—is because of the alcohol.
So isn’t that absurd?”

Maruta remained silent with a bewildered look.

"The root of every mistake lies in either suspecting people indiscriminately or trusting them recklessly."
"So you end up making huge mistakes—seeing spies in trivial matters, or spies of spies where there’s nothing at all."
"So isn’t that absurd?"
"I absolutely detest it."
"All of it’s because of the alcohol."
"So I’m quitting drinking."

And Aoki drank alcohol in rapid succession.

“Honestly, today you’re really not yourself.”

Aoki stared wide-eyed at Maruta’s face peering in.
“Oh—it was you, Mr. Maruta.”

“This is quite the greeting.”
“Who exactly do you think you’ve been talking to all this time?”

“Huh? Did I say something?”
“Please disregard what I said.”
“I started feeling a bit queasy.”
“This is a basement, right?”
“That’s why it’s lower than the canal’s water level—lower than the filthy ditch water.”
“So that’s why I feel nauseous…”

Aoki clung to the table, leaned his upper body forward, and vomited violently.

Late at night, Aoki returned to his apartment dead drunk.
But while his body was dead drunk, his mind felt unnervingly clear.

His wife Toshiko was already asleep but got up.
After changing into a kimono, Aoki snapped irritably.

“You don’t need to get up anymore.”
“Go to sleep quickly.”
“I have important work to do—I’ll sleep after finishing it.”
“It’s noisy—don’t get up.”

With the living room between them, one side was the bedroom and the other a four-and-a-half-mat study.
Aoki drank cold bancha tea greedily and lay down in the study.
He pictured a certain kind of spider and beetle.
When those insects sensed a great enemy approaching their vicinity, they would tuck heads and pull in legs to feign death.
Even if someone poked them with fingertips, they did this.
And they stayed utterly still for a very long time.
Even flipped over, they kept pretending to be dead without moving.
Only after sensing the enemy had retreated would they finally crawl out and flee.

Why he had conjured up such images, even he himself didn’t know.
And on the other hand, he kept repeating it in his mind.
“I’ll kill someone.”
Some bleeding is unavoidable.
Some bleeding is unavoidable.

For a considerable length of time, he kept at it.

Then he got up.
Stealing his footsteps and stealing all sound, he prepared the tools.
A sharp knife... a safety razor blade... Adorm tablets... Oxyful... adhesive bandages... bandages...
He arranged those items on the room’s desk.
He boiled water in a kettle, cooled it to lukewarm in a washbasin, and brought it over.

He folded a zabuton cushion in two to make a pillow, lay on his back, pulled the quilted robe up to his chest, propped a book against his left elbow, and positioned his fingertips to dip into the washbasin.
In other words, by cutting the artery in his wrist and letting the blood flow into lukewarm water, he intended to achieve a painless death.

He kept his eyes closed for a while, remaining lying down.
Then he sat up and took the safety razor blade.
Of course, there was no need to take Adorm or use a knife.
He lay back down as before and carefully inflicted a superficial wound on his left wrist.
There was only a sharp throb; he felt almost no pain.
The thin vein was cut, and blood began to flow.
He immersed that wrist into the washbasin and closed his eyes.

I'll kill one person.
Some bleeding is unavoidable.
Some bleeding is unavoidable.

As he was timing it, at an unexpected moment, the sliding door slid open with a whisper, and Toshiko’s face appeared.
A ghostly presence—Aoki shuddered violently, every hair on his body standing erect.
He sprang upright and sat there shielding the items on the desk with his torso.
By then Toshiko—her sleepwear covered by a padded robe—had already latched onto him.

“What are you doing?”
“You….”

Aoki wordlessly shoved her aside.
Then with methodical calm he washed his wrist, sprinkled Oxyful over it, applied an adhesive bandage, wrapped it in gauze, and made Toshiko fasten the end.
Her face was deathly pale, frozen in terror too deep for speech.

“Idiot, why did you get up?”

That she had seen him was intensely displeasing to Aoki.

In the lukewarm water of the washbasin, thin threads of blood trailed.
Staring intently at them, Aoki finally felt his mind grow calm.

He suddenly said.
“Do you love or hate a drunkard like me?”

Toshiko quietly shook her head.
Strands of disheveled hair hung down over plump cheeks, her long-lashed eyes already seeming to smile.

“Fine.”
“That was just an act.”
“But without the props, true resolve is hard to come by.”
“I’ve killed off my drunken self.”

However, thanks to that farce, Aoki caught a cold and was bedridden for two days.

After his cold had healed, Aoki went out to Ishimura Securities.
On the way, he stopped by a sushi restaurant, drank some alcohol, and had lunch.
However, he didn’t drink enough to get drunk—it was merely to solidify his resolve.

He climbed the stairs, turned down the corridor, and found a door with "Ishimura Securities" embossed in gold letters on frosted glass.
Aoki passed by that door and approached the next one.
This door bore gold characters reading "Ishimura."
Aoki tilted his head slightly.
The lettering hadn’t been there three days prior.
After a brief pause, he knocked.
Kojima, the female secretary, opened the door.
When she saw Aoki, her face showed an "Oh?" expression.
Aoki ignored her reaction and spoke.

“Is Mr. Ishimura here?”
“Yes, he is here.”
“Do you have a visitor?”
“No.”
“Then, please announce me.”

Aoki entered and waited inside.
Eventually guided by Kojima, he was taken to the president’s office.
Ishimura straightened something on his desk by the window and stood up.

“What’s the matter? You could’ve used the other door.”

“No—today I didn’t come to the company. I came to see you.”

Ishimura stared fixedly at Aoki’s face.

“Your name has been put on the door, I see.”

“Hmm, there are all sorts of clients coming in.”
“Well, do sit down.”

That response, which Aoki had actually intended as a firm stance coming from him, yielded no reaction whatsoever, and he even began to feel that he was the ridiculous one.
He suddenly took out the resignation letter from his inner pocket, presented it to Ishimura, and then sat down in the chair.
Ishimura quickly read through the piece of paper and fixed a gaze that seemed to latch onto the other man’s face.

“Very well. If that’s your wish, I’ll grant it. But this ‘personal circumstances’—what exactly does that mean?”

“Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say it concerns my state of mind. In other words, I wish to place myself in a state of calm composure.”

“So, are you saying that being in this company disturbs your state of mind?”

“That’s not precisely the case, but given my selfishness, I may prove incapable of accommodating your intentions. Moreover, as a drinker, I’m liable to commit indecent acts. If such things were to compound, you would surely dismiss me.”

Ishimura laughed.
“Well, I suppose that’s how it would be.”
“Therefore, I must remain constantly on edge, wondering when I’ll be fired.”

“I understand completely.”
“No need to wrap it in riddles.”
“We’ve known each other since Shanghai—six years at this company.”
“The direct reason’s that incident the other day.”
“The Nishimiya affair—this whole intelligence business—that’s it, eh?”

Aoki remained silent.

"If you're so fixated on this, I'll let you have your way."
"As for me, once I've said something, I can't very well take it back."

"I detest the spy mentality."
"Spies spying on spies—that sort of thing makes my skin crawl."

"For you as you are now, I suppose that's how it would be."

Aoki furrowed his brows.
It was somehow contrary to his expectations.
The conversation was being understood all too readily.
Ishimura said quietly.

“You’ve changed too.”

Aoki looked at Ishimura’s eyes.

“In other words—how should I put it—you’ve become an intellectual.”
“As the times changed and tensions gradually intensified, I too changed.”
“Contrary to you, I’m gradually becoming more barbaric.”
“It seems you and I are walking in opposite directions, I suppose.”

Aoki furrowed his brows again.
The conversation was understood all too readily.
Suddenly, he felt a doubt.

“Since I committed such indecencies, you weren’t simply joking to create a pretext for my resignation, were you?”

“When you say ‘joke’…”

“All that spy talk, the intelligence business…that matter.”

“No.
“That’s absolutely not the case.
“As proof, I’ll make you a promise.
“If you ever wish to return, just come.
“In return, as long as you don’t come to me, I won’t reach out from my side.
“Let me make that point clear.”

“I understand completely.”

There was nothing more to say.

Ishimura filed the resignation request into the desk drawer.

Aoki considered for a while, then began.

“There are two things I would like to request.”

“Ah.”
“Don’t hold back—go ahead and say it.”

“Well, Nishimiya Makiko is neither a Communist Party member nor a sympathizer.”
“And certainly not a spy.”
“Can I ask for your understanding on this matter?”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“Yes, I believe that.”

“Very well, I shall take you at your word. By the way—do you love that woman?”

“That’s not the case. It was a mistake made while drunk. I have a wife.”

“But that woman seems to belong to your camp rather than mine.”

“That seems rather the opposite from my perspective, but…”

Ishimura tilted his head.
At that moment, Aoki clearly realized.
Using Nishimiya Makiko as a pretext, the two had clearly severed ties.
He felt cleansed without any lingering residue in his heart.

“As my final request—might I receive the retirement allowance as promised today?”

“You’re being preposterously hasty.
I’d like to arrange a farewell banquet with the staff one evening—what do you say?”

“I’ve no desire for such performances.”

“How remarkably decisive of you.”

Ishimura went to his desk, checked a ledger, then called Kojima and had her deliver a slip of paper to Maruta.

After a while, Maruta arrived and—upon seeing Aoki—paused in surprise; he then handed an envelope to Ishimura and left with only a nod to Aoki.

Ishimura returned to face Aoki.

“Now, this is this month’s stipend. This is the retirement allowance. The retirement allowance is in check form—that’s acceptable, yes? Check it.”

Aoki checked the money and stamped the receipt placed before him.

Ishimura had returned from his desk and was still standing there rigidly.
After submitting the money, Aoki stood up.

“Thank you for your long-standing support.”

“Well, you’ve put in the effort.”

When Ishimura extended his hand, Aoki shook it.
At that moment, Aoki felt his entire body freeze from both Ishimura’s piercing gaze and the unyielding hardness of his grip.
That sensation bore an uncanny resemblance to the moment during that farce when his wife Toshiko had discovered him, and Aoki shuddered even more deeply.
Aoki searched for words rebelliously and blurted out something foolish.

“I do not love Nishimiya Makiko in the slightest.”
“However, that woman seems like she’d get along with you.”
“If you were to try using her for other matters, I believe she would certainly prove useful.”

Having said something unnecessary and realizing his blunder, Aoki bit his lip.
Ishimura replied coldly.

“Ah, I’ll consider it.”

Aoki spun around and walked out through the door.
Then, in front of the securities company’s door, he hesitated slightly—but as the recent blunder struck him once more, he did not go inside and instead hurried past.