Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Mistress's Solicitor

As Dr. Ōmaki walked along the hot spring resort's coastal street at his wits' end, someone tapped him on the back.

"Aren't you Dr. Ōmaki?"

When he turned around, there stood a man around fifty years old with a master-like demeanor and a deep, resonant voice. It was a face he had seen before.

“Who might you be?”

“It’s Shiba no Anfukuken.”
“That international cuisine restaurant Anfukuken—three houses down from your place until before the war.”
“You remember now, don’t you?”
“Since the war ended, I’ve been running an establishment here at this hot spring resort under the same name: Anfukuken.”

“So, you’re a resident of this hot spring?”

“That’s right—the hot spring’s newest attraction, Anfukuken International Cuisine.”

“Thank heavens!”

When Dr. Ōmaki cried out so emotionally, Anfukuken—wearing a look of utter disbelief—wondered if this doctor hadn’t eaten anything for two or three days.

“This hot spring makes an ideal spot for couples—even a famous place for double suicides—but surely you’re not the survivor from such a pair, are you, Doctor?”

“Oh.
It’s no wonder it looks that way.
Actually, I came to visit Mr. Kawano Mizutarō—a writer living at this hot spring—but unfortunately he and his wife were away traveling.
Since it seemed a shame to go back like this, I resolved to relax in the hot springs for a night after so long—but then they tell me it’s Saturday and there’s not one vacant room left in the whole city!”

“I see. Understood.”
“Then allow me to show you the way.”

“You—is that true? It’s not a brothel, is it?”

“Preposterous!
“It’s the ultimate haven of tranquility—the only one of its kind in the entire city.
“You can have it all to yourself.
“The rates match standard inns.
“Well, leave it to me.”

With these words, Anfukuken led him to a small house beneath a cliff halfway up the mountain.

“See? Isn’t it tranquil?”

A detached house surrounded by grand villas—undeniably as quiet as deep mountains—but the target lodging was a small house that resembled a charcoal hut with a few extra frills.

“This is an inn?”

“Lately, the Shimota families have each been running inns. We deliberately don’t put up a sign, but this way is more thoughtful and ensures you’re completely satisfied.”

When one stepped through the entrance, the entire interior became visible at a glance. There was only one room that could be called a proper guest room. The rest was the dining area and the maid’s room. If you couldn’t have this all to yourself, there’d be no other room to stay in. Though admirably small, there was a hot spring. Anfukuken guided Dr. Ōmaki there and,

“Look here.”
“This is the hot spring!”
“In other words, it’s as if a toilet, bath, kitchen, and maid are all attached to your single room.”
“If you complain about this, divine punishment will strike!”
“Where else can you find an inn with every possible amenity provided?”

“So you’re saying I can soak in the hot spring atmosphere with this?”

“You’ll see soon enough—the mistress here is a first-class chef.
And as for other services—top marks…”

Because those eyes brimmed with absolute confidence, Dr. Ōmaki—perhaps relaxed at having secured lodging—found himself somehow feeling reassured.

Dr. Ōmaki was a physician in private practice specializing in internal medicine.
As he was a busy doctor, he rarely had time to visit hot springs.
It had all started when, on his return from business in the Nagoya area, Dr. Ōmaki finished his tasks a day earlier than planned; resolving to stop off at the Izu hot spring for a long-overdue drink with his old acquaintance Kawano Mizutarō was what had led to this outcome.

After taking a bath and relaxing in a yukata, he somehow found himself in a hot spring mood—a curious thing indeed.
When he drank a beer with Anfukuken, the food proved not half bad.
Anfukuken abstained from drinking himself but urged him on skillfully.
Dr. Ōmaki grew intoxicated,

“How about it? Let’s move to another room and call a geisha.”

“That won’t do. Today is Saturday—have you forgotten the tearful face from two hours ago? Once the meal is properly finished, the mistress of this establishment will appear to serve you, so please wait. She’s beyond comparison with hot spring geishas, I tell you!”

“Who is she?”

“Well... She has to make a living in this line of work—she’s a widow. Twenty-nine years old. Back in the day, she was a top-ranked beauty who made her name in Shinbashi.”

“I see—quite the impressive figure.”

“She’s the most impressive of impressive figures! She has culinary skills, and her manners extend even to the tea ceremony—all impeccable. And to top it off, she’s a beauty. Just the honor of beholding her face would be the ultimate blessing for a man.”

“Hmm.”

Gradually, Anfukuken grew all the more reliable.
Before long, the old woman was replaced by the mistress, who appeared.
She was indeed beautiful.
It might be called idiot beauty, but her sparse words and lack of expression gave her an air of dignity, as though she belonged to a family of deities.

“Hmm.”
“Her every movement is splendid, isn’t it?”
“Flawless as a martial artist, yet brimming with radiant sensuality.”

“Are you pleased?”
“Then, would you care to request a kouta ballad?”

“Would it be acceptable to make a request?”

“That—you are our guest.”
“You may ask for anything you desire.”
“She’ll decide whether to say yes or no.”
“In any case, we’d never dream of embarrassing our valued guest—I assure you.”

“Hmm.”
“Really?”

After thoroughly provoking him, Anfukuken seized the moment of drunken stupor and vanished.
After that, the old woman—acting on Anfukuken’s instructions—arranged matters appropriately, and the inebriated Dr. Ōmaki ended up forming a fleeting bond with the mistress for a single night.

The next morning, because the woman had a gloomy face,

“Not feeling well?”

“No. Doctor.
“I’m begging you.
“Please take me to Tokyo.
“Please make me your mistress.”

“That’s... rather sudden.”

“But if I don’t become your mistress, I have no way to survive.
“The master says I must do this.”

“The master?”

“He’s the man from last night.
“I am that man’s mistress.”

“Anfukuken is your master?!”

“That’s right.
“Every time he brings a customer, he threatens me to become his mistress.
“He says I don’t need to do much in return for past favors, but I must receive an appropriate severance payment, leave it here, and go.
“If I don’t become someone’s mistress, I can’t bear it any longer.”

Perhaps driven to desperation, the woman's expression grew increasingly blank as she collapsed trembling into tears.

When he realized what kind of man Anfukuken was, it shattered his carefully cultivated mood. Though he pitied the woman, he couldn’t afford to dwell on such matters. He rushed to prepare for departure. Anfukuken appeared to have anticipated this outcome—there were no oversights in his arrangements.

“Leaving already?”

The old woman emerged and presented the bill—a detailed statement Anfukuken had prepared the night before. It naturally included his own food and drink expenses. A flower fee triple the standard geisha rate was listed. Even the tip had been scrupulously calculated.

“It says breakfast here, but I’ll be leaving without eating it.”

“Breakfast is a standard inclusion with lodging—it would be a shame not to partake.”

“It says two portions here, but do I really need to cover Anfukuken’s breakfast too?”

“That, you see, is the geishas’ breakfast.”
“This is also a standard inclusion for the entertainment.”
“How about it?”
“Shall I add a bottle for you?”

“Don’t take me for a fool.”

“Don’t let this deter you—please come again.”

Dr. Ōmaki fled from the tranquil inn in a flurry.

Eccentric Cult Leader

A year had passed since then.
One day, Anfukuken brought the woman in question to Dr. Ōmaki’s hospital in Tokyo’s Shiba district.

“Thank you for staying with us, Doctor. But soon after that, she appears to have developed a mental illness.”
“Could you arrange her admission to a mental hospital?”

So he declared.

Since there was no alternative, he summoned the woman to the examination room to assess her condition—and indeed, she proved abnormal.
To her eyes, every last person appeared an utter fool.

“What is it?”
“You with that pompous look.”
“When I stare intently at you—look—someone like you will shrink down tiny, like a dwarf on my palm.”

The woman glared at Dr. Ōmaki with a strangely seductive intensity and cackled shrilly.

“This is a hospital, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Hmph.
I’ll examine you, so hand over the *pinseruchin*.”

“What’s a *pinseruchin*?”

“There isn’t one in your hospital, I suppose.”
“In that case, I don’t need the stethoscope or thermometer—hand over the scalpel.”
“I’ll drain your bad blood for you.”

Since she appeared to harbor dangerous notions, Dr. Ōmaki—momentarily stunned—entrusted her supervision to the shrewd Mr. Hino, a fabric merchant’s clerk who had fortuitously come seeking an examination, and had her removed to the X-ray room.
Then, summoning Anfukuken,

“You’re quite the piece of work.”
“After putting me through that unpleasant experience before, you have the nerve to bring her here without a shred of shame?”

“Well, you see...”
“She’s the one who keeps talking about you, Doctor.”
“She says she wants to meet you, you see.”

“Don’t lie to me.”
“She doesn’t even seem to remember my face.”

“Right now, yes—but that’s a madwoman for you.”
“That, you see—at times she seems to remember you with grave intensity, Doctor.”

I was sure it was all nonsense, but when it came out of Anfukuken's mouth, I couldn't help feeling oddly pleased—and that galled me to no end. But I didn't want to keep being looked down upon either; simply turning them away held no appeal. This time, Dr. Ōmaki conceived the idea of getting back at them through mischief.

"But hasn't your woman gained even greater dignity since going mad? That way she cackled while looking down her nose at me—it seemed less like madness and more divine, wouldn't you say? I shuddered, I tell you. Felt like I'd been struck by some sort of sacred authority."

“Now that you mention it, her dignity and allure have only grown more abundant, I must say.”

“What a waste to put her in a mental hospital.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re quite the roundabout fellow for a shrewd merchant, aren’t you? Don’t you recognize her divine nature?”

“So, you’re saying she should be a cult leader?”

“Exactly, exactly. Among the tools and medicines doctors use, there’s no such thing as a *pinseruchin*, but that’s probably what they call neologism. She has her own unique vocabulary, you see. Isn’t this also a divine being’s trait? The fact that all humans look like fools to her, and when she glares at them, they shrink down tiny enough to fit on her palm—isn’t this too a magnificent trait befitting a divine being? Generally speaking, hot spring towns are perfectly suited for the emergence of cult leaders and establishment of religious headquarters—yet you’re making a colossal mistake dragging such a prime candidate all the way to Tokyo just to dump her in a mental hospital. Kindly take her back reverently and establish a proper religious sect.”

“I see—that’s an intriguing idea, Doctor.”
“If you’d lend us your expertise, we’ll do it.”

“I won’t be lifting a finger.”
“Kindly put that business acumen of yours to use without cutting corners.”

“Even with business acumen, I can’t lift a finger if it’s a different line of work.”
“If you would use your title and renown to enshrine her as a deity, then I shall lend her to you.”

“What need would I have to borrow your woman and make her a female cult leader?”
“I merely offered my advice because you seemed troubled, but if that displeases you, I’ll have you take her back.”

“Don’t say such things—just have her admitted somewhere, won’t you?”
“That’s just because it’s too much trouble for you, isn’t it? So you’re spouting all this half-baked nonsense.”

“I have no obligation to handle your troubles, you see.”
“Get out of here at once.”

Mr. Hino, who had been listening to this conversation while confining her in the adjacent X-ray room and keeping watch, interjected at that moment.

“Hold on.”
“Mr. Anfukuken.”

“Hmm.”
“What a presumptuous fellow, this guy.”

“If you’d be kind enough to lend her to me, I’ll spare you the trouble and expense of hospitalization.”

“Well now, that’s an interesting thing to say.”
“If you’ll just submit a written pledge not to dump the cleanup on me, I might not refuse to hear you out.”
“Excuse my asking, but how much savings do you have?”

“This is most regrettable.”
“Out of consideration for tax authorities I cannot disclose specific amounts—though being engaged in kimono fabrics through steady trade channels—rest assured you'll incur no losses through my actions.”
“In exchange I'd request your written pledge severing relations with your patron and henceforth abstaining from patron-like conduct.”

Anfukuken observed Mr. Hino's face with apparent amusement, though this Mr. Hino was thirty years old that year. Despite being a kimono fabric clerk, he wore gabardine suits with panache, his postwar dandy style visibly lacking some essential quality. Anfukuken considered that he appeared somewhat diminished.

“I’m sure you can appreciate that letting go of such a beauty doesn’t come free, but well—shall we have a meal and discuss this properly?”

“That would be most agreeable.”

The outcome was unexpected.
Though neither knew what exactly pleased them, they both wore buoyant expressions as if by prior agreement.
Both seemed satisfied with how things had turned out and appeared to have their calculations in order.
And now that they apparently no longer had any business with Dr. Ōmaki,

“Well then…”

With this joint signal from both men, they left a cursory bow for the doctor and withdrew, each tending to the divine being born in this examination room through their respective methods.

God-sama’s Solicitor

Another year passed.

Because Sunday and a public holiday happened to fall consecutively, Dr. Ōmaki set out for the hot spring in question that he had long intended to visit.

At that hot spring, a new religion called Anira-sama had emerged, and Dr. Ōmaki was now counted among its believers.
There were rumors that Kawano Mizutarō, the literary figure, had rolled up his sleeves to assist, and word had spread that Anfukuken had abandoned his family business of international cuisine to devote himself wholeheartedly to the endeavor.
The cult leader went by Anira Daifujin, and with the head priest being described as an eloquent man around thirty, everyone found something that resonated with them.
Matters had reached such a pass that people were approaching Dr. Ōmaki with inquiries about the Anira Cult, and since there was talk of him being exploited for promotional purposes, he had been waiting for an opportune moment to go investigate.

However, few of those who came to inquire with Dr. Ōmaki brought bad rumors about the Anira Cult.
It might have been because Dr. Ōmaki was a physician, but they all came declaring her healing power to be especially supreme, as if by prior arrangement.
That had become Dr. Ōmaki’s foremost concern.

By the nature of his trade as a practicing physician, Dr. Ōmaki had privately come to keenly realize certain truths regarding the true cause behind doctors' popularity.
Of course, it depended on medical skill, but social acumen was also crucial, and he had privately come to think that what most effectively promoted healing was none other than the suggestive power inherent in physicians.

"Anira Daifujin was a woman who innately possessed an idiotic nobility."
Looking back now, there had been a pathos about her that could quell carnal desire.
I only realized this now, but if Head Priest Hino had discerned it at a glance, then he too was a remarkable man.
With that awkward dignity of hers, if she bombarded the troubled with her self-coined arbitrary jargon to provide answers, then indeed she might possess considerable healing power.
After all, when faced with one who had resolved to regard people as fools, humanity at large stood no chance.
"I would very much like to witness the renowned power of the Daifujin for myself."

Dr. Ōmaki secretly harbored such fears deep within his heart.

Now, when he disembarked at the hot spring station, he found—quite unexpectedly—people clad in Anira Cult happi coats engaging in solicitation-like activities right there in the station.
When he saw the dignified figure who appeared to be the commander-in-chief, lo and behold, it was Anfukuken.
His master-like demeanor had become even more composed, seeming to emit a subdued inner glow.
Dr. Ōmaki tapped Anfukuken on the back.

“Oh! What a rare sight.
Have you just arrived?”

“I’ve come to meet Mr. Kawano—but are you the head solicitor of the Anira Cult?”

“Today there’s an event at the church, so believers will gradually gather, you see.”
“Since there’s no need for me to tend to the believers, if it’s Mr. Kawano’s residence, I’ll accompany you there as well.”

When they began walking side by side, Anfukuken’s personality abruptly transformed in an unexpected manner,

“I’m completely fed up.
“They’re worshiping my old mistress as God-sama now, and I’m not even allowed to speak to her.”

“If you dislike it, you should quit.”

“Then it wouldn’t earn a single penny.”
“As long as I keep clinging on like this—being an executive and all—there should be quite a profit.”
“Even the international cuisine side—since boxed lunches for the church make for better business—I just have to endure it as my top priority.”
“Lately, I can’t even sleep facing toward the church.”

“Ah, isn’t that just perfect?”

“Well, it’s acceptable for now. However, Mr. Hino is a man of fearsome business acumen. That crazy woman—well, she moves exactly as he wills. Moreover, she acts as God-sama. If I ever get the chance, I’d like to master this esoteric art myself—but you’d need to be a genius to pull this off, Ah.”

“You were manipulating her and making her engage in prostitution too, weren’t you?”

“That’s the way of common men and women. He can make her play the role of God-sama. By manipulating that God-sama, he can even cure incurable diseases. Absolutely. There’s a considerable number who get cured just like that, I tell you. Mr. Kawano was another one who fell for it that way.”

“Did they cure Mr. Kawano’s illness?”

“No, they cured that teacher’s eldest daughter’s bedwetting, then cured his second daughter’s epilepsy, and now he himself seems to be using Anira Daifujin as his secret remedy. Humanity’s just a pack of fools, I tell you. If you’d just gone to the trouble of tossing her into a mental hospital back then, the number of fools in this world would’ve decreased a fair bit by now, I tell you.”

Anfukuken muttered irritably under his breath. In days past, even while committing misdeeds, he had carried himself with a brisk efficiency that radiated genuine composure, but now—having severed ties with wrongdoing through his humble service as God-sama’s attendant—he seemed more restless and devoid of calm than ever. This led one to conclude that God-sama must indeed wield formidable power.

Radiant heat from palms

“They say your stay at Anfukuken’s brothel inn was the auspicious origin of the Anira Cult, isn’t that right? A major event worthy of special mention in Shōwa religious history, wouldn’t you say?”

Kawano Mizutarō made an unpleasant remark and teased Dr. Ōmaki. At that, Dr. Ōmaki became somewhat displeased.

“Are you devoutly believing in the Cult Leader? Or are you despising her?”

“Of course I believe. That woman does have a peculiar spiritual power, and the Head Priest is surprisingly business-savvy for his youth. The Cult Leader personally examines patients only once—after that, the Head Priest and others take over as substitutes. In my daughter’s case, he came every single day without fail to perform water austerities until she was cured. In the dead of winter, stripping naked to have bucket after bucket of water poured over him. That sort of thing—Anfukuken couldn’t do it. This oaf’s only talent lies in making women engage in prostitution for paltry earnings. When his woman ran off, he squandered a crucial golden opportunity. Lately he’s done nothing but snivel and spout complaints every day.”

“What are you talking about?”
“There’s no need to make people toil away with water treatments.”
“Having the Cult Leader and Head Priest work their fingers to the bone so I can reap easy profits just by praying—now that’s what I call smart business.”

“I hear you’re using the Cult Leader as your personal remedy too.”

When Dr. Ōmaki posed this question, Kawano gave a solemn nod.

“It works wonders for headaches, stiff shoulders, general fatigue—all that.”
“The Cult Leader’s acupressure does miracles, but since she won’t make house calls, we have disciples come instead—far better than traditional massage.”
“They scrub you raw with azuki bean sacks, sometimes triple-team your muscles, whack your back with rubber rods—all sorts of inventive methods.”
“That’s the disciples’ approach.”
“The Cult Leader doesn’t stoop to such things.”
“She heals through radiant heat from her palms.”
“Hold her hand steady over a spot and it burns like fire.”
“Sometimes her palm sticks to your back like a leech.”
“When it lets go—pure relief.”
“I mean every word.”
“I’ve no reason to tout the Anira Cult—just stating facts.”
“It genuinely works.”
“You ought to try it yourself sometime.”

Anfukuken grinned slyly nearby,

“Gets hot—what’s that like?”

“It gets as hot as if you’re right next to a fire—steadily burning like that.”

“Out of ten people, about three will start saying such things. There’ll be one in ten who claims to’ve seen several beams of light smoothly piercing through. What about those who say they feel the light stabbing in?”

“You make money playacting faith while fancying yourself the only clever one, but you don’t seem to grasp that those gaining real efficacy through true devotion are far cleverer.”

“Are you obtaining any real efficacy?”

“I’ve been using it instead of *amma* and achieving real efficacy.”

“That’s an excuse, I tell you.”
“Calling it an *amma* substitute reeks of pettiness, I tell you.”
“If it’s just replacing *amma*, there are countless other ways to gain real results, I tell you.”
“A religion’s efficacy must be more all-encompassing—otherwise it’s a sham, I tell you.”
“Hey, Dr. Ōmaki.”
“Am I right?”
“Mr. Kawano’s lying through his teeth somewhere, I tell you.”
“I suspect you’re not truly devout at all, I tell you.”
“You’re merely trying to convince yourself there’s spiritual potency, I tell you.”

Anfukuken stared unhesitatingly at Kawano with eyes brimming with pompous confidence.

Dr. Ōmaki recalled how Anfukuken had maintained those same confidence-filled eyes throughout when first guiding him to her inn. These eyes, so to speak, were the very eyes from which the Anira religion had sprung. For some reason, he found himself thinking along those lines.

Yet even as Anfukuken stared unflinchingly at his opponent with those pompous, self-assured eyes, he was spouting traitorous words against the cult: "You've got no real faith—you're just desperate to believe there's fresh spiritual efficacy."

Anfukuken is quite a strange fellow, Dr. Ōmaki thought.
Could it be that he was gazing upon reality—and upon himself—with even greater sharpness and ruthlessness than Kawano the novelist?

Humans at best only perceive reality to the extent of a novelist. Yet Anfukuken might be observing reality at a far deeper level—with the cruelty of someone who had made his own mistress work as a prostitute. That cruelty was not something Dr. Ōmaki—who was accustomed to viewing and treating human beings as material entities—could not come to terms with.

"He’s an unpleasant fellow, but I can’t bring myself to utterly despise this cruelty."

Dr. Ōmaki thus concluded.
And thus, his desire to observe the Anira Cult clearly intensified.

“Won’t you let me meet the Cult Leader and Head Priest?”
he requested of Anfukuken.

“Certainly! They’ll be overjoyed. Why, our cult pamphlets explicitly state that Dr. Ōmaki himself acknowledges the Cult Leader’s divine nature.”
“We’ll welcome you most heartily.”
“Mr. Kawano—what say you?”
“Why not take this chance to test again the heat radiating from her hands?”

“But today’s an event day.”

“The Cult Leader and Head Priest only need to show their faces for less than an hour—after that, they’re done.”
“Only the other executives and believers are busy—on days like these, you can actually meet with the Cult Leader and Head Priest at your leisure without anyone disturbing you.”

Anfukuken explained with the brimming confidence of an inn solicitor.
So it was decided that Kawano Mizutarō would accompany them as well.

Her Divine Majesty’s True Power

The large mansion that had once been the villa of a wealthy man had become the headquarters of the Anira Cult.

The main building teemed with believers on both floors, but the rear annex—off-limits to all but special executives—lay eerily still despite the midday hour.

When they reached this entrance, even Anfukuken could no longer enter.
Other executives took their place and guided the two inside.

“Well then, I’ll be waiting for your return, I tell you.”

After muttering this, Anfukuken adopted an air of feigned ignorance, then abruptly pressed his palms together in solemn prayer, closed his eyes, offered a reverent bow toward the Cult Leader deep within, and turned back.

First, they met the Head Priest in the study. Not a trace remained of his once-starched gabardine suit's former semblance. His head had been shaved into a gleaming bluish-black buzz cut, and he wore a special garment resembling simplified priestly vestments. If anything, it was now impossible to tell how much he still resembled a kimono fabric shop clerk. What betrayed his clerkly origins was likely the scent of perfume—undoubtedly high-priced—that enveloped his person.

“That’s quite a pleasant fragrance. What is this fragrance?”

When Kawano inquired with a puzzled look, the Head Priest answered with an easy smile.

“It’s a modest French perfume. The last time you came, Doctor, I don’t believe I was wearing this yet, was I?”

“When I came last time I was drunk, and it’s been over half a year now. I haven’t been here since we moved to this headquarters.”

Mr. Hino thrust out his gleaming bluish-black head toward the two men and,

“Anyway, I am the Head Priest, you know.”
“Unlike the Cult Leader, I don’t possess any inherent spiritual power, so I have to work hard on my external appearance.”
“As for this head of mine, I apply clippers every day and scrub vigorously to ensure there’s not a single flake of dandruff—using a rice bran bag, I tell you.”
“I’ve used okara at times, and when believers delivered nightingale droppings, I’ve employed those as well, but primarily it’s the rice bran bag.”
“After giving it a good scrub, I soak my head in milk and thoroughly clean my ear canals as well.”
“That way, it naturally gives off a luster, you see.”
“There was someone who suggested I might be applying oil to make it shine, but I don’t engage in such practices.”

“Hmm, you’ve been performing your duties thoroughly.”
“Truly worthy of your reputation.”

Kawano let out a sigh of admiration.
Perhaps pleased by this, Mr. Hino’s ears flushed crimson up to their tips,

“Each time I have the honor of meeting you, you’ve shown me such encouragement that even someone as mediocre as myself has lately come to be regarded with some favor by others.”

Mr. Hino had always been a competent man, but when he was Dr. Ōmaki’s patient, he hadn’t possessed this virginal freshness. Dr. Ōmaki even found himself recalling the celibate Dalai Lama, wondering if this was how living deities were meant to become. There was something faintly altar boy-like about him.

Dr. Ōmaki had little interest in savoring atmospheres, so he cut straight to the point,

“You’ve become such an esteemed Head Priest now—an existence beyond the reach of us mere mortals—but truth be told, I’ve long felt dissatisfied with modern medicine myself and find my heart drawn to things like religious suggestion power and spiritual forces.”

“According to Mr.Kawano’s account,” he continued without pause, “he states that receiving the radiant heat from the Cult Leader’s palms leaves him remarkably refreshed and lightened.”

“Moreover,” he pressed on while adjusting his glasses skeptically though his tone remained polished clinical courtesy demanded no less from one physician addressing another regardless their diverging paths now “it appears she boasts various successful healing cases.”

A beat then sharper edged yet still wrapped in velvet inquiry: “While I lack chronic ailments myself making me poor test material might I too experience this ‘radiant heat from palms’ Mr.Kawano describes?”

Finally bowing his head just enough for plausible deniability about mockery creeping through cracks between words: “It grieves me to appear distrustful of spiritual forces but professionally speaking—as fellow practitioner—I must insist on firsthand verification.”

“Certainly.”
“Then I shall go consult the Cult Leader at once.”

Mr. Hino readily agreed and headed to the inner room without showing a trace of religious solemnity.
He didn’t keep them waiting long.
Mr. Hino returned and,

“Please, this way.”

They were shown to what appeared to be the Cult Leader’s guest parlor.
It was an ordinary tatami room.

The Cult Leader greeted the two with a bow.
Especially toward Dr. Ōmaki,

“I must apologize for my great rudeness the other day.”

She lowered her head lightly, three fingers pressed to the floor.
Her expression remained as inscrutable as ever.
The mere act of speaking made her appear more ordinary than ever before.

“Hmm—has her schizophrenia been cured?” Dr. Ōmaki found himself wondering.
Nor was there any particular madness in her gaze.

“It would be best if you removed your jacket.”

Mr. Hino prompted lightly, like a massage therapist’s assistant.

“Very well.”

Mr. Hino waited for Dr. Ōmaki to remove his jacket,

“Please, this way.”

The Cult Leader took him by the arm, led him to the head of the room, and had him sit down.

“This area is where you’re unwell, I see.”

The Cult Leader sat facing him, placed her hand lightly near his stomach, and peered fixedly into his face.

The Cult Leader’s expression had already changed.
A martial artist’s impassivity.
Or perhaps it was as if she had put on a fox mask.
Dr. Ōmaki recalled her damp and clammy, tear-drenched face.
With this same intense expression, she soon collapsed prostrate in weeping.
It was imbued with a delicate grace devoid of sexual desire.

Her hand pressed against his stomach like a heavy stone—straight and powerful—digging in. It didn’t tremble in the slightest. What surprised Dr. Ōmaki most was that from her closely pressed body, he couldn’t detect her breath, her pulse, or even the body odor of a woman.

She released her hand.
Everything suddenly became light and bright.
And Dr. Ōmaki abruptly noticed.

“Ah, right. I’d forgotten about the heat! No—I feel as though I’d forgotten everything, I suppose. But how light I’ve become!”

It was as though he had been abruptly dragged back to reality. He involuntarily let out a cry of admiration.

“Ah! How wonderful this is! It’s as if my body has suddenly become half again as light!”

“You see? Looking at that face of yours, anyone can tell.”

Kawano chuckled in harmonious agreement.

The Cult Leader sat with one knee raised like a martial artist after a match, bracing herself against the tatami with one hand, eyes lightly closed—appearing on the verge of collapse.
She radiated the aura of someone who had poured out her entire soul.
There too, Dr. Ōmaki perceived something wholly divorced from carnal desire.

Is this religion?
Is this religion's allure?

He found himself cornered by these thoughts.
He could respond neither yes nor no.

A Man Even God Could Not Defeat

When the two reached the front entrance of the headquarters, Anfukuken was lying in wait.
He merely grinned slyly.
He seemed to already know how things had gone without needing to ask.

“Eiyatt!”
“Eiyatt!”
“Eiyatt!”

Fierce martial shouts, like those from a kendo practice session, rose from the dojo.

“Come take a look for a moment.”

Anfukuken guided the two to the entrance of the dojo.
Inside, men and women sat packed tightly.
Just when it seemed they were chanting something, they suddenly thrust one hand sharply upward in an uppercut-style motion—once, twice, thrice—

“Eiyatt!
Eiyatt!
Eiyatt!”

they shrieked.

“What kind of ritual is this?”

“It doesn’t matter what they’re doing, really. Let them do handstands or whatever they want. Never mind that—look, can’t you see a familiar face right over there?”

Being told this, when the two looked at the spot, there sat Mrs.Kawano Mizutarō, chanting spells and swinging her arms with blank concentration as if in a trance.
When he saw this, Kawano’s expression momentarily darkened, but he hurriedly replaced it with a smile,

“Strange things catch on these days.”

“Huh? Hey, you there!”

Dr. Ōmaki hurriedly pulled Anfukuken’s sleeve.

“Isn’t that old woman over there the one from that inn?”

“Yes, that’s right,”
“That scheming old hag of a creature,”
“And the one next to her is my real wife.”

Anfukuken replied with composure.
A docile-looking middle-aged woman sat with a child of around seven.
She was making the child press their hands together in prayer and chant *Eiyatt, Eiyatt*.

“Is that warty one your wife?”

“Yes, that’s right.”
“After all, our household makes its living through this religion—women are honest by nature, you see.”
“They’re fools, you see.”
“They’ve got too much time on their hands.”
“If they’d just believe in me, that’d be enough.”

“Let’s go. Let’s go.”

Kawano urged the two.

Dr. Ōmaki could not help but clearly recognize the strange contrast between Kawano and Anfukuken.
While Kawano was restless, Anfukuken remained in a state of damn composure, utterly composed.

It had become clearly discernible that the reason Anfukuken did not speak to the two was due to his lack of interest in discussing matters of religion.

The two vulgar men were still unable to free themselves from the stench of religion and remained in a state where they couldn’t calmly consider anything else.
It was a composure that had resolutely concluded it was futile to address the two during all this.

"What blatant distrust toward religion! This man has never had his heart stirred by faith at all."

Dr. Ōmaki felt this with visceral clarity. Those self-assured, obstinate eyes—he now saw them as belonging to someone who’d never once believed in any divinity.

"It’s not that those eyes don’t feel somewhat familiar to me either. But I’ve no intention of following them down that path. In short—those must be the eyes of the schemer making Anira do his bidding."

And he found being with Anfukuken unbearably irritating.
Seizing the opportunity when they reached the corner,

“I’ll have a drink with Mr. Kawano somewhere, so let’s part ways here.”

However, Anfukuken answered with extreme nonchalance.

“Yes, since I’m free too, I’ll come along with you.”
“Now that I’ve guided you two around the corner, my duties for today are done.”
“Now, where shall I guide you two?”

Because the reply was so nonchalant, Dr. Ōmaki felt as though he had been spared embarrassment by it—or perhaps made to feel indebted.

Anfukuken stared unreservedly at the two with those characteristic eyes of his,

“I can’t leave that religion because it’s my livelihood, but you two have no business taking interest in such things.”
“What’s so interesting about that stuff anyway?”

Even he, disliked as he was by others, couldn’t comprehend what compelled him to follow these two.

However, Dr. Ōmaki became aware of his own unreliability—how, given the slightest trigger, he could very well become a believer in Anirakyō before the night was out.
And compared to that, Anfukuken—who kept tagging along like this despite fully knowing how uninteresting it all was—struck him as remarkably sturdy.
He didn’t try to find life interesting.
He was overwhelmed by the confidence of this man who lived so nonchalantly, fully aware that life held no interest.