Pathway to Japanese Literature

“Monk! It’s terrible!”

It was the proprietress of the pickle shop across from the temple who came rushing in with these words.

“What’s so terrible?”

“That brat Gokichi of mine has gone and fallen for some woman. That woman you’re talking about—isn’t she that whore from behind the temple, the one who got her buttocks slapped? It’s turned into such a pathetic mess. I’ve half a mind to slap that brat Gokichi’s buttocks myself, you know. Well, I thought I’d ask you, Monk, to give that brat a good sermon.”

“If it’s that woman, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“She’s got good features and a certain allure.”
“She may be a bit dim, but that’s what makes her interesting—you never grow tired of her.”

“Please stop that.”
“I hate *pansuke*.”
“Even so!”

“A man’s pride must be upheld.”
“There’s no need to distinguish *pansuke* from courtesans.”
“For Gokichi, that much is just right.”

“Please don’t say things like my good-for-nothing husband does.”
“Men—why must they be like this?”
“Women must keep themselves pure, mustn’t they?”
“You’d say my good-for-nothing husband visiting *pansuke* is fine too—that if a man’s pride isn’t upheld, what else can he do? That bastard—at his age, he’s still itching to pay for *pansuke*!”
“Remember that, damn you!”
“You’re probably the same way too, aren’t you?”
“Honestly, I’m at a loss for words!”

“So entrusting this to me is futile.”
“If it were up to me, I’d let those two stay together—you’d best resign yourself to that.”
“It’s sinful.”

“What do you mean by ‘sin’?”
“Cut it out already!”
“You good-for-nothing!”
“But, you know...”
“I beg of you.”
“I’ll send that brat Gokichi over, so take him to the main hall or somewhere and give him a proper sermon before the Buddha, will you?”

Thus, the Monk came to speak with Gokichi.

“Did you sleep with the girl from behind the temple?”

“Hah, I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve made a marriage pact with her?”

“Yes, sir.
The woman says she wants nothing to do with me—I feel like I’m going mad.
The money I’ve poured into that woman alone has already reached three hundred thousand yen.
Maybe I should just cut that hussy down and die.”

“Now, now—you shouldn’t be saying such dangerous things.”
“Hah.”
“So it turns out you tried to buy the woman with money, eh?”

“That’s correct.”
“Since she’s that pansuke who had her buttocks slapped—so cute and innocent-looking yet the kind of woman who’d become yours if you just paid up—I figured I’d make a deal, and sure enough, just as I expected.”
“But once I got to know her, she was cold yet affectionate, and I got all carried away, heh.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“Entangled in the depths of my mind—even in sleep I couldn’t forget her.”
“I humbly beseech you to exercise your wise discernment and, through Buddhist power, undertake mediation on my behalf.”

“For a fool, you’ve got quite a way with words.”
“Cold but tender, is she?”
“Ah, I see.”
“Very well—I’ll exercise Buddhist power to mediate this.”

He was a nonchalant monk.
He was known for his devotion to brewing doburoku and playing shogi, shortening sutras to about a quarter of their length, but as the neighborhood caretaker, his kindness made him well-liked.

The whore who had her buttocks slapped behind the temple was the daughter of a carpenter and was called Sonoko.
After the war ended, her father fell ill with tuberculosis; Sonoko became an office worker to earn money, but with only a woman’s hands alone, supporting her sick father and younger siblings was impossible.
Before she knew it, she had come to work as a whore.
While doing it outside was manageable enough, she sometimes brought men home.

Finally unable to endure it any longer, her sick father seized Sonoko, pinned her down, yanked up her buttocks, and struck her repeatedly with sharp slaps.
As he struck her, he vomited blood, lost strength, and died instantly.
Thus it was that Sonoko caused her father’s death in agony.

The sheer ferocity of that frenzy—perhaps manifesting the violence of life’s end—was such that neighbors came pouring out to gawk.
Before the stunned onlookers, he slapped Sonoko’s buttocks with all his might and then collapsed.

“Patients tend to become hysterical.”

Having said that, the understanding Monk defended Sonoko at the wake.

“Since there was no other way to express gratitude, he slapped the buttocks.”
“That’s just how people are.”
“The deceased is grateful.”

No one said a word.

“This here.”
“Your buttocks are such cute buttocks.”
“It’s a splendid pair of buttocks that sustained your father’s life and earned the money for his medicine.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of at all.”

The buttocks were thought to be truly adorable.
She was petite and slender-framed, but chest and buttocks were plump with just the right amount of firm flesh, exuding an allure that visibly stirred carnal desire.
The Monk’s demeanor appeared so filled with impassioned affection—as if he might caress Sonoko’s buttocks at any moment—that the people were robbed of their venom by the uncanny sight.

Having accepted Gokichi’s request, when he visited Sonoko, the younger siblings had already left for school, a pair of men’s shoes lay by the entrance, and it appeared someone had hidden in the closet.

“This here.”
“Come out.”
“You don’t seem to be a complete rat.”
“There’s no need to hide.”
“If you’re hiding here, we can’t have a proper conversation.”
“Since the old man slapped her buttocks and died in agony, it’s no wonder men come to play and stay over.”

Sonoko bowed her head.
When the Monk stood up and opened the closet, a young man sat hunched over, also hanging his head.
Having resigned himself, he crawled out.

“Well, sit there.”
“Meddling at every turn—hardly a proper way to settle things.”

The Monk did not fly into a rage.

“Truth is, I came at the pickle shop heir’s request—seems he’s utterly smitten with you.”
“He says he wants to marry you if you’re willing. How does that suit your situation?”

“It doesn’t suit me.”

“You’re a frightfully blunt child.”
“Doesn’t suit you?”

“Since Father slapped my buttocks and wound up cutting his own life short because of it, I’ll stubbornly spend my whole life as a prostitute.”
“I’ll see it through.”

“Well now, this is the most spirited thing I’ve heard in recent days.”
“A samurai is ashamed of a wound on his forehead.”
“In China they speak of ‘face’.”
“I’ve long heard of saving or losing face, but do modern women use their buttocks to save face now?”

“I don’t know about that, but I have to support my younger brother and sister, so I can’t quit this line of work.”
“Especially since the neighbors glare daggers at my face while calling me ‘prostitute this, prostitute that’—how could I ever marry into such spiteful folks?”

“That’s quite reasonable. However, you don’t want to marry Gokichi not because you hate him, but because of your stubborn pride, eh?”

“No. I dislike Gokichi too.”
“If I liked him, I’d entertain him for free.”
“Because I disliked him, didn’t I hound him for things like allowances and shopping?”
“Those people—just because they poured 300,000 yen into him, they go saying ‘Marry me already’—ugh, there’s no worse way to put it!”

“I see.”
“Every point stands valid.”
“Even if you married into that pickle shop, your family would drown in misery—and theirs too.”
“Since this humble monk’s settled all affairs, devote yourself wholeheartedly to whoring.”

The Monk returned and administered the final rites to Gokichi.

“Damn you!”
“That hussy actually said such things?”
“This is unforgivable!”

“It’s no use.”
“Even if you contort your face in rage, it won’t resolve anything.”
“That girl’s built her pride around the buttocks she got slapped—your way of thinking’s different.”
“Make a clean break of it.”

“Heh-heh-heh.”
“I’ve no taste for impossible things myself, but this has turned downright scandalous.”
“You damned beast! Even if I don’t slice you up, I’ll at least have you tonsured!”

A profound grudge had clearly taken root.
The Monk, growing concerned, went to inform Sonoko that given Gokichi’s current state of such-and-such, she ought to take care—and then—

“Oh, thank you.”
“A man on a business trip will be taking me on a three-week trip, so the timing couldn’t be better.”
“Once three weeks pass, that man’s feelings will probably settle down.”
“Because he only says whatever he pleases, I can’t stand men like that.”

After saying that, she handed money to her younger brother for during her absence and just like that vanished somewhere.

In Buddhism there exists the expression Drifting Clouds and Flowing Water; regarding one such as Sonoko, she had truly attained mastery over the realm of unsui wandering monks, the Monk marveled. Generally speaking, those called unsui are merely those who wrap their utterly unresolved spirits and bodies in kasaya robes to wander about various places, but Sonoko's case was not such an ambiguous matter. Everything was cleanly defined—in essence, it was simply that buttocks were traversing the world as Drifting Clouds and Flowing Water. One truly had to call it clear-cut. It seemed no founding master could find an opening to deliver their disciplinary shout.

Sonoko was still eighteen.
Normally, she would have been nothing more than a still-developing schoolgirl.
Her figure still retained many shadows of immaturity, yet her breasts and buttocks seemed to suddenly swell with vitality, plump and radiant.

Those buttocks have the gall to embody Drifting Clouds and Flowing Water, thought the Monk, feeling a twinge of envy.
At his age, he was far beyond the stage where a disciplinary shout would suffice.
It was the Monk who needed to receive thirty blows.

“In this day and age, even Kume no sennin would have to be rolling his eyes nonstop.”
“It’s only someone like me who can keep hanging on.”

With that, the Monk offered meager consolation.

However, three or four days later, Gokichi vanished.
It was discovered that he had withdrawn 500,000 yen from the company funds and fled.
Upon investigation, it was found that he had previously embezzled approximately 500,000 yen as well.
He had been pouring that into Sonoko.

“Good grief, Monk—that’s one utterly hopeless blockhead.”
“He went on about how Sonoko took three hundred thousand yen—what a load of nonsense—and I kept thinking, what’s this fool even blathering about?”
“I never imagined he was stealing to provide for her.”
“In the end, he had the nerve to run off hand in hand with Sonoko, I suppose.”
“What a stupid fool he was.”

“Gokichi did it out of desperation, you know.”
“He can’t be with Sonoko.”
“That girl wouldn’t give Gokichi the time of day.”

“Oh, you said that, did you?”
“Don’t go spouting enlightened-sounding nonsense.”
“You good-for-nothing!”
“But, Monk.”
“What in the world should I do, I wonder?”

“Since we don’t know where he is, there’s no use fretting here. You’re too busy spouting off like some unseemly woman—no wonder you can’t raise a decent child.”

“Well, pardon me for breathing!”
“Octopus Monk, putting on airs.”
“But, Monk, do some fortune-telling or whatnot for me.”
“Just grab that bastard by the scruff and kick him loose for me.”

The Pickle Shop Owner had demonstrated her vigor through such an eccentric phrase as “kick him loose,” but between being hauled in by the police and reporters descending en masse, she was boiling with rage.

However, around the tenth day after that, Gokichi, having spent all five hundred thousand yen, was found dead by hanging in the mountain forests of Sagami Lake.
Most of the stolen money appeared to have been lost through gambling.

★

“Monk.”
“I’m sorry to trouble you, but that bastard still can’t attain Buddhahood, so please chant sutras and perform the funeral rites for him.”
“Once night falls, that urn starts clattering away—it’s so damn noisy I can’t stand it!”

“It’s your imagination.”
“You’ve gone and gotten neurasthenia yourself, haven’t you?”
“I thought you of all people wouldn’t catch that illness, but you never know what’s around the corner.”

“Don’t you dare mock me! That idiot had the nerve to hang himself, but do you think I’d get neurasthenia or something? It’s because you abbreviate the sutras that that bastard can’t attain Buddhahood!”

“Lately my memory’s been failing me. Sutras are the kind of thing that gain flavor the more you trim them down. I’ll add to them for you when I have time, so take your sweet time chatting with that restless spirit.”

“Don’t you mock me!”
“You good-for-nothing!”

With that, the Pickle Shop Owner left in anger, but about an hour later, she returned with a troubled expression.

“Monk.”
“I’m so appalled I can’t even speak.”
“That restless spirit really went and showed itself, I tell you!”

“How unusual.”
“Did it say something?”

“It’s not like that, you know.”
“It’s strange that the urn keeps rattling like that, don’t you think?”
“I thought maybe there were rats or something.”
“I opened the urn and checked it.”
“I poured it out roughly onto newspaper and stirred it around, but nothing changed.”
“Then before I knew it, I’d gone and picked up the tooth.”
“That bastard’s front tooth’s got a number written on it.”
“Thirty.”
“I can’t read Western letters myself, but that good-for-nothing husband of mine got all high-and-mighty reading foreign scripts, and now it’s come to this ‘thirty’ business.”
“Isn’t this just appalling?”
“That bastard can’t let go of his grudge over the three hundred thousand yen Pansuke swindled out of him!”

“Let me see that tooth.”

When he looked, there were indeed brown streaks resembling patterns.
It could be interpreted as thirty, though it wasn’t clearly thirty.
These hadn’t been carved into the tooth during his lifetime; rather, they looked as though something written in ink had bled through.

The shogi-obsessed Monk, who also fancied himself a detective, eagerly leaned into the investigation.

“Hmm.”
“Very well.”
“I’ll investigate it for you, so why don’t you come along too, Okami-san?”

The Monk visited a dentist acquaintance.
The dentist was twisting the tooth this way and that,

"I'm afraid I can't quite figure this out.
Since I've never treated a deceased person's teeth, I can't say for certain, but this is likely just a coincidence and nothing significant."

"This deceased man hanged himself—but if he'd written characters on his teeth with ink before dying, wouldn't they end up like this after his bones were cremated?"

“Well now, let’s see,”
“I’ve never heard of anyone writing on teeth with ink. Since mouths are usually moist, wouldn’t any ink just wash away and disappear?”
“This must be some coincidence.”
“I’ve never seen teeth turned to bone like this, but if Shisai examined them, there might be plenty of similar cases.”

“Still, we can’t rule out the ink possibility, don’t you think?”

“Monk.”
“Isn’t this absurd?”
“You’re no child—what’s a shaven-headed old man like you blathering on about ‘ink, ink’ for?”
“It’s that idiot Gokichi’s grudge festering and manifesting itself here.”
“It’s because you go abbreviating the sutras that things end up like this!”
“Well, I must say, the way that urn’s been carrying on seems rather extraordinary.”

“Fine, fine. In that case, I’ll take custody of the urn. I’ll enshrine it in the main hall and devoutly chant sutras for three weeks to console him.”

The Monk reluctantly took custody of the urn. Otherwise, he’d have to go out and chant sutras. As long as he enshrined it in the main hall, no one would notice even if he neglected it.

Before long, Sonoko returned from her Drifting Clouds and Flowing Water, so [the Monk] summoned her to the main hall.

“Here’s the thing. While you were away, Gokichi hanged himself and died.”

“So it’s true, huh. He was possessed by a death god, I suppose. There are plenty of men like that.”

“Didn’t the pickle shop owner come storming in here?”

“She hasn’t come yet, but there’s nothing to be done about it now, is there?”

“That may be so, but Gokichi reportedly can’t let go of regret over those three hundred thousand yen he spent on you. The urn rattles noisily every midnight. Finding this odd, when we opened it to check, the character ‘thirty’ had surfaced on a front tooth. So he can’t rest in peace over three hundred thousand yen. Look, since those are Gokichi’s remains right there, you should pray for him. It’ll serve as a memorial service.”

“I don’t want to.”
“Pray for him? As if.”

Sonoko got angry.

“If he’d died quietly, I might’ve prayed for him, but to go and die leaving a grudge against me—what a petty way to be.”
“Then I’ll hate him right back.”
“Ever since my father struck my buttocks, I’ve considered the world my enemy, so a ghost like Gokichi means nothing to me.”

“You’re quite the strong-willed girl.”
“I didn’t know you were such a formidable girl, I must say.”

The Monk brought the urn, stirred around inside it, and took out a front tooth.

“Here, look.
“You see? The character ‘thirty’ is written right here.”
“I suspected that bastard, in his bitter frustration, smeared ink on his front tooth just before hanging himself—but the Pickle Shop Owner claims it’s a restless spirit lingering here to inscribe characters on teeth.”
“Fools like that cling to their grudges—you never know what they’ll pull even after dying.”
“Because I abbreviate the sutras, that bastard just can’t find peace, I tell you.”

Sonoko picked up the tooth and examined it but showed no trace of fear whatsoever.

“Fine then.”
“I’ll hate you back—mark my words. You’re not the only one.”
“They’ll all end up like this from now on.”

Sonoko wore an audacious, scornful smile and discarded the front tooth into the urn.

“Impressive nerve. Do you have someone you love?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Even if it’s meddling, I’d like you to tell me. Modern women are beyond comprehension—I need guidance. I’ve kept three mistresses and frequented Kotsu and Naka back in my day, but today’s women baffle me.”

“Isn’t it cowardly for a man to die while smacking my buttocks? Gokichi was just as spineless. It’s perfectly fair to think all men are cowards. I do nothing but hate men. They all look like utter fools to me.”

“I see.”
“I suppose that’s how it goes.”
“Now that you mention it, men certainly are fools.”
“This is what they call a viper in the grass.”
“However, Gokichi resented that he couldn’t chop you to pieces, so he settled for cursing me instead—best stay on guard.”
“Restless spirits are persistent things.”
“As a monk, you come to know these things all too well.”
“They won’t haunt beyond three generations, but they’ll tenaciously fixate on one, I tell you.”

Sonoko merely smirked, offered no reply, and left with a "Goodbye."

The Monk gazed intently at the urn.
The words "All men look like fools" struck home.

Men were indeed nothing more than unenlightened beings.
They could not compare to the realm of Drifting Clouds and Flowing Water embodied by Sonoko’s buttocks.
Water did not halt, shadows found no lodging—those buttocks were pure essence, and serene composure was this very state.

As he contemplated breasts and buttocks that still exuded the milky scent of infancy yet swelled with vigorous vitality in their adorable plumpness, the Monk found himself utterly confounded.
The Buddha had lied.
Could it ever be conceivable that men might attain enlightenment?

Gokichi—whose restless spirit lingered in this land, inscribing the grudge of 300,000 yen onto a front tooth and noisily rattling the urn each night—might just have been a warrior among men, a man’s man through and through.
He may not have attained serene composure, but for a fool, he had turned out rather well.
The Monk found himself harboring an affectionate regard for the urn for the very first time.

However, as he was busy brewing doburoku, he did not recite the sutras.

★

The man who hid in the closet when the Monk visited Sonoko’s house was one of the fools most deeply entangled with her.
He had taken Sonoko on what he called a three-week business trip—a complete fabrication—having embezzled public funds, they were now fleeing blindly.
In other words, he had reached the same desperate state as Gokichi.

After returning to Tokyo and hearing from Sonoko about Gokichi’s hanging and the urn, he sank into profound despondency.
He himself had been driven to the brink, brought to the very edge of hanging.

“Mr. Gokichi and I are different, I suppose.”
“You do love me, don’t you?”

The man asked worriedly.

“Gokichi and you are different.”
“I do love you.”

“Is that so?”

The man fell into deep thought.

“But if I lay everything bare, won’t you end up hating me?”

“That’s not true.”
“You’re the first man I’ve ever fallen in love with.”
“So don’t abandon me, okay?”

The man fell into deep thought again.

“Then I’ll just come out and say it.”
“There’s no choice left but to just spit it out.”
“I’ve got no choice but to kill myself today.”

“Oh, that couldn’t possibly happen.”

“There are things you don’t get.”
“I’m in the same mess as Mr. Gokichi.”
“Understand now?”
“The business trip was all a lie.”
“I embezzled company funds and have been running.”
“The stolen money’s gone too.”
“I’m not brave enough to rob people to survive—dying’s my only way out.”
“Even while traveling I looked for a place to die, but I just dragged myself back to Tokyo.”
“The only reason I’ve stayed alive this long was worrying if you’d die with me.”

“If you were to die, I’d have no reason to live either.”

Sonoko had never been this weak-spirited before.
She was still just an eighteen-year-old girl.
Until that moment, death had never even crossed her mind, yet now she suddenly felt drawn to it.
She suddenly felt pity for the man and found him dear.

It was likely due to this dark parallel with Gokichi’s circumstances.
Eighteen years of age had not yet tempered her enough to bear it.
Rather than resist, Sonoko found herself overcome by a fierce urge to leap forward of her own volition.

“I don’t want to go on living as a prostitute either.”
“But there’s no path for me besides being a pansuke.”
“If you die, I’ll die too.”

The man burst into tears.
There was no other way for him to express himself.
He was that desperate.

When Sonoko’s resolve solidified, departing on a death journey instead welled up within her as a tension brimming with hope.
She left the man behind, went to the hairdresser’s, and had them style her hair into Peach-Split.
For she had even dreamed of trying Peach-Split once but never managed it before.

She prepared a lavish feast and enjoyed her last meal together with her younger brothers and sisters.
Sonoko, fearing her hair would come undone, rejected even the man’s final request—refusing to rest her head on a pillow—and remained sitting upright until late at night.

“It’s almost as if that Peach-Split matters more than my love—than our love.”

The man poured out his resentment to Sonoko.

“You say such things because you lack love yourself.”
“Let’s forget everything else now—let’s focus solely on dying.”

“I see.”
“That’s right.”
“You must be a saintly maiden.”

The man regretted, was moved, and sank into tears again.
And the two of them, in the predawn hours still thick with darkness, bathed in the cold morning wind, lay down side by side on the railroad tracks running immediately alongside the temple.

“Because if my torso gets split clean in two, it’d be unsightly and I can’t stand that.”

And as previously arranged, they positioned themselves with their torsos and legs toward the embankment, placing only their necks upon the tracks.

It was from that moment that Sonoko became frightened.

“It’s cold.”
“Hold me.”

Sonoko kissed the man.
Like standing lovers exchanging a kiss, she artfully drew back her face and retracted her neck without his notice.
Then she pressed her lips downward against his face.

The first train came at that exact moment.
Releasing her lips, Sonoko threw herself down pretending to pillow her head on the rails—but only her Peach-Split hairstyle touched the tracks, her head having overshot them completely.

★

“There’s been a suicide on the back tracks, so please perform a memorial service for them.”

Roused by the townsfolk, the Monk climbed up onto the tracks.

The dead one was a man.
The neck had been cleanly severed, and the torso remained at the position where it had been dragged, showing no signs of disturbance.

The severed head seemed to have rolled about eighteen meters before coming to rest upright on a railroad tie like a sarashi-wrapped neck.
The large eyeballs were glaring.
Moreover, as if seeing off the train that had run him over, he was glaring straight ahead at its destination.
It showed not the slightest sign of distress.

“Such fine manners.”
“This tuna’s got the spirit to give a ‘thank you for your service’ sort of greeting to the train that ran him over.”
“Might just be a young samurai from some distinguished lineage.”

“Hmm?”

The Monk stared at the neck.

“Ah.”
“That man.”

It was the man who had been hiding in the closet.
So he finally did it.
She’d had the nerve to say it wasn’t just Gokichi who’d die, and now the second installment of the buttocks’ revenge had come to fruition.

“Hey!”
“A woman’s topknot had the nerve to come flying all the way over here.”
“This topknot’s a Peach-Split.”
“Come clean out from the roots at the scalp—hasn’t it?”

From a distance came the sound of someone shouting like this.

“Now that you mention it, a woman’s wooden sandals had the nerve to come flying over here.”
“Then I guess the woman got hit too?”

Dawn had broken, and quite a crowd had gathered.
At that moment, the man who had found the wooden sandals let out a shrill cry.

“Hey! Found a woman’s corpse!”
“She had the nerve to get flung into the ditch.”
“She had the nerve to stick out just her nose.”
“Look!”
“She might still be alive, don’t you think?”
“She’s propping herself up with her hand to keep from sinking into the water, had the nerve to.”

It was the Monk who hurriedly rushed to the spot.

He grabbed the collar with a grunt and pulled her out from the water.
It was Sonoko.
Sonoko opened eyes.

“Hah!”
“So you were pretending to be dead.”
“I witnessed it!”

The Monk involuntarily let out a loud shout.

The hair had come out entirely.
Apart from that, there seemed to be no injuries anywhere else.
It was unclear whether she had rolled into the ditch from the momentum of her hair being torn out or had stealthily submerged herself into the ditch upon sensing approaching people.

However, a certain scene appeared vividly before the Monk’s eyes.
The precision of Sonoko’s craft—having pretended to die together, she had allowed only her hair to be crushed.
This being an eighteen-year-old’s first battle—what a terrifying prospect.

The Monk suddenly became agitated.

“You hussy!
“You faked dying and got only the man killed!
“From the start, you had no intention of dying, you villain!”

The Monk threw Sonoko down, rolled up her backside, and pulled down her drawers.
Pure white buttocks appeared.

“This!
“This!
“This bastard!”

The Monk was like a madman.
He was endlessly slapping the buttocks.
The policeman had quite a struggle keeping the Monk at bay.

The Monk's actions did not arouse suspicion among the people.
This was because they believed the Monk had simply performed the chastisement that should have been administered by Sonoko's deceased father.

However, for the Monk, this must have also been a kind of struggle.
Yet despite that, the Monk found no salvation whatsoever through it.

In conclusion, there existed but a single outcome: Gokichi’s restless spirit had finally fulfilled its long-held desire by making Sonoko’s head as bald as a monk’s.

Hair would grow back in a year’s time.
Sonoko wasn’t troubled at all.
And so, from now on, she simply resolved not to commit any more double suicides but instead to thoroughly drain weak men and torment them.