Pathway to Japanese Literature

1 “Hey Mary, what’s gotten into you?” “There’s no need to be so against it.” “It’s not like I’m entirely without charm as a man.” “Do as I say, do as I say.” Judas tried to embrace her.

Judea's foremost beautiful courtesan, Mary Magdalene, snorted derisively through her nose. "Hmph. What do you think you're doing? You don't even have money." "Bring me thirty pieces of silver..." "What? What did you say?" "Thirty pieces?" "Do you really charge that much?" "Look at these breasts—my breasts."

Mary forcefully opened her collar. Two full breasts came into view. Judas felt dizzy, his head spinning. “Bring me thirty pieces of silver... That’s about what I’m worth, isn’t it?”

“Mary, don’t forget those words. “…Thirty pieces of silver! “Understood.”

Judas fled the room.

The one who hurriedly entered through the sliding door was Jacob the leather merchant.

“Come on, Mary, thirty pieces of silver. “Take it—it’s yours. …In exchange, you’re mine.”

He jangled the leather purse.

“Let me see that!” she snapped as she snatched it away, but when she glimpsed the bottom of the purse, “So they’re really here—thirty pieces of silver... Very well, come here.”

She creaked open the bedroom door.

The fully satisfied leather merchant slipped out of her bedroom when the spring moon rose to the treetops. Mary was wearing a crimson nightgown, creating folds between her thighs as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Thirty pieces of silver lay on her lap.

“Damn it!” she suddenly shouted. “I’ve been had! Damn that Jacob-faced cheat!”

She scattered the thirty pieces of silver.

"Mary!" a voice called out at that moment.

“Who?!” she said in her courtesan’s voice. “Don’t you recognize me?” “Surprised?”

“Oh，I know who it is．” “Do come in．”

Her lover, the high priest Caiaphas, entered the bedroom.

“Well, well,” he said.

“It appears we have a silver deluge.”

“If you want them, go ahead and take them.” “How generous of you.” “Is that for real?” Caiaphas made a suspicious face.

2

Over Jesus and the Twelve Apostles, the spring night hung heavy. The hazy moon of Nisan's thirteenth night tinged the palm, olive, and fig trees with silver-gray.

The musky scent of coral fungi and the sweet perfume of winter daphne—the air was saturated with fragrance.

The thirteen walked onward. Small birds began to stir in their roost. They must have been startled by the sound of footsteps. Then the night wind blew in. It was a warm, suffocating night wind. It flowed toward the Kidron Valley and the Garden of Gethsemane. It flowed toward Jerusalem. The moonlight evoked the coming of dawn. The thirteen faces were white. And took on a bluish tinge. A spring haze like lustrous silk! It drifted hazily before them. Judas Iscariot alone walked behind.

Judas had not betrayed Jesus simply because he was swayed by Mary Magdalene's beauty alone.

To him, Jesus appeared suspicious.

Doubts about Jesus had taken root in him long before. To Judas, Jesus appeared arrogant. He found this unbearably unpleasant. When John the Baptist—the greatest man ever born of woman—paid his respects and sent two messengers, Jesus gave this reply: “The blind can see; the lame can walk; lepers are cleansed; the deaf can hear; the dead are raised; and the poor have the gospel preached to them. Blessed are those who come to me.”

At that moment, Judas thought this was an outrageously arrogant statement. For someone who called himself a prophet, what on earth was he saying?

However, Judas did not betray Jesus over something as trivial as this. It was not for shallow emotions but for more profound ideological reasons that he betrayed Jesus.

"What exactly is God?" Judas embarked from there. "The one thing that creates and governs all living and non-living things in the universe! Judaism teaches thus. And Jesus too teaches thus. But is that truly the case?"

3

Judas was opposed to that doctrine.

The universe is never governed. All creation swirls of its own accord. They are born and die of their own accord. God! Such a thing does not exist. To Judas' eyes, Jesus' various miracles appeared as nothing more than Arabian magic. And these senseless fanatics—bewildered and dumbfounded yet marveling at such childish miracles while clamoring about "the salvation of Israel"—along with patriots attempting to build the "Kingdom of God" through reliance on Jesus' miracles—appeared utterly ludicrous through Judas' perspective.

On a beautiful small hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee below, when Jesus once again performed parlour tricks to enrapture five thousand believers and vanished alone amidst their unceasing applause, Judas laughed coldly. When Jesus preached to the believers in the village of Capernaum like this, Judas was truly enraged. "You seek me because you received bread? But you—that is not good. Do not labor for the food that perishes, but labor for the food that endures to eternal life... God has now given you the true bread. I am indeed that bread. Those who come to me will not hunger; those who believe in me will not thirst."

"What nonsense," Judas thought. "He’s not even worth calling a prophet. He’s a shameless egoist. He's an outrageous delusional maniac. ‘Do not labor for the food that perishes, but labor for the food that endures to eternal life,’ he preaches. This is nothing but a lunatic's daydream. What exactly is eternal life? Living things will surely die. Only non-living things endure eternally. ‘Those who come to me will not hunger. Those who believe in me will not thirst.’ So those who don’t come to you will starve? And those who don’t believe will thirst? He’s nothing but a charlatan!"

It was this difference in thinking that led Judas to betray Jesus.

The thirteen walked on. Gradually, the night grew deeper. The moonlight gradually grew sharper. The thirteen looked emaciated. They looked as emaciated as mummies.

It seems Judas has sold me out. The Pharisees' enforcers seemed to be closing in nearby.

――Jesus had already perceived. His movements were erratic. There was none of his usual calmness; he stumbled over roots and rocks. And he rested many times. And yet he preached each time.

Passing through willow thickets, fording the Kidron stream on foot, they at last came to the abandoned garden of Gethsemane.

Jesus' body was trembling. He seemed to be terribly afraid.

"Now then, you keep watch. "John, Peter, James—come." “Come with me.”

Having said this, Jesus proceeded deeper.

“I want to pray alone. You go back and keep watch too.”

He had even driven away those three.

Jesus stumbled and staggered as he entered deeper alone. And there stood a grove. It was a grove of poplars and olive trees. Jesus entered the grove. Moonlight did not reach there. A silence akin to an ascetic's meditation was all that lurked there. Suddenly Jesus threw his body against the base of a large tree. “If it is possible, please help me!” “Father, you are almighty.” Raising a pitiful voice as if he were an idiot, a child, or a coward—like this Jesus prayed.

4

Judas secretly followed behind. He hid himself in the shadow of a linden tree and observed the situation from there.

He was completely satisfied. He came to realize that the deed he had committed had not been rash. “That man is Jesus—just Jesus. That man’s no prophet! If he were a prophet, he wouldn’t be begging for help. Using that favorite miracle of his, he should be able to swiftly escape this predicament. But,” he pondered. “What if, just as they’re about to make the arrest, he performs some magnificent miracle? And if he were to escape this predicament?” He felt a pain in his heart.

"There’s absolutely no way such a thing could happen." "But if by some chance there were—if that man turned out to be a prophet—" "I’d surrender cleanly." "Whether he’s prophet or charlatan—even as just a method to verify which—my act of betrayal wasn’t ill-conceived."

Dew fell from the treetops. Poplar flowers scattered down. The sound of Jesus praying in a choked voice went on and on.

Eventually, Jesus stood up and returned to the apostles.

Due to anxiety and fatigue, the apostles had made tree roots and rocky outcrops their pillows and sunk into a deep slumber. Jesus awakened them one by one. “You must not sleep. Let us pray.” The twelve excluding Judas there renewed their prayers.

However, evidently overcome by sleepiness, the apostles once again drifted off. They seemed paralyzed by a pathological drowsiness.

“Are you sleeping again? What is this!” “Pray that you do not fall into temptation.”

Jesus said in an utterly lonely manner. And then he suddenly shouted.

“The hour has come!” “They have come!” He pointed toward the foothills.

Hiding in a thicket of wild grapevines, Judas had been observing the situation when he now stole a glance toward the foothills.

Through the overlapping tree leaves, he glimpsed flickering pine torchlight. These were the pine torches carried by soldiers. At intervals, soldiers' helmets appeared. They shone in the torchlight. The metallic clang of weapons rang out.

“Yeah, they’re here,” Judas said.

Then he hurried in that direction. When the soldiers recognized Judas, they stopped and saluted. At the front was Malchus. He was the servant of High Priest Caiaphas.

“Malchus,” Judas said as he approached. “The kiss is the signal,” said Malchus. “Don’t mess this up.” “It’s under control.” “It’s under control.”

Thereupon, the squad began to advance. From a side path, Judas circled around to the front.

"If he's a con artist, he'd quail in fear; if a prophet, he'd work a miracle." ...It was one or the other. "What an intriguing act." Judas felt exhilarated as he ran. Malchus and the squad of soldiers arrived before Jesus and the apostles.

The apostles surrounded Jesus. Jesus stared at Malchus, his eyes blazing like fire. Yet his demeanor remained composed. He had stopped trembling. Dead Sea water! That was how he appeared.

At that moment, parting the fig tree thicket, Judas abruptly stepped forward.

“Rabbi, peace be with you?” Judas said. And then he embraced Jesus. Then he suddenly kissed him. Jesus’s face contorted. His face had turned pale like amber. Lips and eyelids convulsed. But in the next instant, he returned to his former demeanor.

Jesus approached the soldiers and then asked this.

“Who do you seek?” “Jesus of Nazareth,” Malchus said. “Jesus of Nazareth?” “Then it is I.” Malchus and the soldiers stepped back.

“Who do you seek?”

Again, Jesus asked this. “Jesus of Nazareth,” Malchus said.

“Did I not say it was I?” “…You have found me.” “…These people bear no guilt.” “Let them go.”

Having said this, Christ looked at the apostles and raised his hand as if to say "Go." The apostles knelt on the ground. They kissed the earth many times. Then they raised voices in prayer. Judas alone remained standing.

5

It was a dramatic spectacle.

But nothing changed.

The moon sank as it was destined to sink. Instead, the cross star shone. In the far-off expanse of the Mediterranean Sea, the waves twisted their backs. At the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan River, flying fish were skimming across the water's surface. In Philippi's tetrarchy, the town of Bethany, Jericho, and the small villages of Samaria, people were sleeping peacefully.

In the garden of a certain high priest, a bonfire was blazing red. The Pharisee scholars, Sanhedrin council members, and those people were waiting by the bonfire for Christ to be dragged along.

It was a dramatic spectacle. Simon Peter, one of the apostles, suddenly shouted and leapt up. He drew the sword at his waist. Malchus's ear was severed in that instant, like a leaf.

"Peter!" Christ restrained him with a hand and looked pityingly at the wounded enemy. "It was the cup given by the Father." He held out both hands.

He calmly accepted the bonds.

Everyone without exception left. The Mount of Olives fell silent.

Judas alone remained.

"Without grieving, without performing miracles—to accept bondage as calmly as one who longed for death? What in God's name was he?"

Judas was utterly astonished. All his calculations had gone awry.

He leaned his body against a poplar tree and looked at the approaching dawn sky.

He couldn't quell his unease.

The trial of Jesus was conducted within that night.

High Priest Caiaphas asked this: “Are you truly the Son of God?” “I am,” Jesus said authoritatively. “The Son of Man will sit at the right hand of Power and appear among heaven’s clouds. You will see that.” From the perspective of Judaism as presided over by Caiaphas, claiming oneself to be the Son of God was the ultimate blasphemy. That crime warranted death.

To carry out a death sentence on someone, they had to consult Pilate, the governor of the Roman government. Until dawn broke, the Sanhedrin council members, Pharisees, and High Priest Caiaphas gleefully tormented Jesus as their plaything. At last, night broke and morning came.

To the Roman Praetorium of Pilate, Caiaphas and his group led Jesus.

It was Friday. Coinciding with the Passover festival, the streets teemed with crowds. Inside the houses, men and women made merry.

Pilate was a thoughtful official. But he was weak-willed.

Pilate had Jesus alone summoned into the praetorium, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

He first asked this. “My kingdom is not of this world.” This was Jesus’s reply.

“In any case, are you a king?”

“I am,” Jesus said authoritatively. “I was born for this purpose. “…that is, to proclaim the truth.” There, Pilate intuited the meaning of the king as Jesus spoke of it and the meaning of the kingdom as Christ spoke of it.

He went out to the entrance and said. “This man has no crime.”

However, the crowd was not pleased. They dragged Jesus outside. They placed a crown of thorns on his head, draped a purple robe over his shoulders, then raised their voices in unison. “Crucify him!” “Crucify him!” To Calvary Hill outside Jerusalem, they drove Christ. Sprouting grass covered the entire ground. Juritsu Hill was being encircled. Smoke rose from the altar, and the sacrificial young goat was being burned. Bells were being rung in the temple.

Jesus was crucified. His suffering lasted three hours. “It is finished,” he said.

When his life ended, the temple veil tore in two, the earth quaked, and the tombs opened.

6

Around this time, Judas was wandering the Mount of Olives like a madman.

He died without fear or sorrow, composedly. "In any case, he's no ordinary man... Then is that guy a prophet?" Judas did not think so. "He was ultimately just a fanatic—someone who blindly believed himself to be a prophet. Merely someone who had deluded himself into believing he was a prophet."

Judas recalled a certain song. That was a song Jesus had loved to recite since childhood. With utmost sincerity, may He show that path. He shall not weaken nor be dismayed Until He establishes His way upon the earth He was despised and rejected by men A man of sorrows, acquainted with grief

"I see," Judas muttered.

"That's exactly the kind of song he'd love," Judas thought. "It fits that guy perfectly." "He was despised and not forsaken by men."

"He was truly despised and abandoned."

“He shall not weaken nor be dismayed” "This too is exactly as it says. He never lost heart until the very end. ...Hmm... Then did that man, while anticipating such things, still strive so diligently to establish his path?"

Judas suddenly came to an impasse.

"Even if he wasn't a prophet, wasn't he something more than a fanatic—a great man?"

His chest ached.

"No! No! These thoughts won't do!" "There's no such thing as great men in this world." "Believing otherwise is prejudice." "Living things and dead things - that's all there ultimately is." "And in the biological world, only males and females exist." "Female!" "A woman!" "Ah, Mary!"

Judas frantically searched his pockets. Thirty pieces of silver lay within.

Mary Magdalene was singing. "Lord Christ has died, they say."

"Hmph, serves you right. Did you finally get it through your head?" "...I initially loved that man—anointed his feet with perfumed oil, tried my hardest to please him—yet he wouldn't even look back at me." "So I took Caiaphas as my lover and schemed to have that man killed." “Mary!” Judas rushed in. “Thirty pieces of silver! “How about that?!”

Judas tightly embraced Mary.

“Now wait a moment, let me see that.” She snatched the leather wallet and peered intently into it, but—

“How unfortunate for you—they’re counterfeit!” “I was fooled once—hmph!—but you won’t trick me again!” “You got them from Caiaphas, didn’t you.” “I was the one who sent them to Caiaphas.”

Having spoken up to this point, Mr. Saeki nimbly stood up from his chair and took out a strikingly foreign-looking leather wallet from the collection shelf. “Now take a look—this is it, the legendary silver coins we’ve been talking about.”

He placed them on the table with a thud, as if tossing them down. “When I went to Jerusalem, I bought these at an antique store—they’re of course not genuine. They’re the kind you can find anywhere and everywhere. They’re fakes for wandering tourists… But isn’t it fascinating? Even now, the Jewish people interpret Christ, Judas, and Mary exactly as I’ve described. And then they even craft silver coins and sell them as legitimate. You can’t beat the Jews once you deal with them. The biggest fool is Christ, next comes Judas Iscariot, then Miss Mary—making the leather merchant the cleverest one of all.”

I took the silver coins in hand. A large coin measuring five bu in thickness, one sun in width, and two sun in length—so heavy it weighed heavily in the hand. And they shone with a brilliant luster, as if freshly minted yesterday.

“Aren’t they terribly heavy?” I said in surprise to Mr. Saeki. “Were ancient Jewish coins really this terribly heavy?”

“Well, I can’t say for sure about that. But Japanese Tenpo coins were also quite large and heavy, you know. …isn’t the emblem fascinating?”

It was indeed a fascinating emblem. “How about it? Doesn’t my current story make for good novel material?” “Yes, indeed it does—it’s first-rate material.” Though I had said that, I found being told such things disagreeable. Most people, upon recognizing someone as a novelist, would invariably tell them some story and then demand they write it. I was thoroughly tired of it. That said, this story certainly seemed worth writing. Because idol destruction, value inversion, atheism, and nihilism were vividly present. Of course, if I were to write it, Judas Iscariot would naturally have to be the protagonist.

7

“Please do write it—I strongly recommend it.”

Mr. Junichiro Saeki, who was both a traveler and a collector, said this: “Therefore, I will lend you the coins. Even just examining the emblem would be an interesting pursuit, don’t you think? Don’t take just one—take all thirty pieces. The truth is, I’ll be leaving on a trip tomorrow or the day after tomorrow anyway—so I won’t need them for some time. It would be rather inconvenient if they were lost... though these aren’t exactly items one misplaces easily—and while I say I’m lending them out, what I really want is someone to keep them safe for me—so no need for formalities there... That said—they’re dreadfully heavy—you’d never manage carrying them home yourself—let me call us a taxi.”

In truth, I was interested in both the coins themselves and their emblems. Even if I were to weave it into a story, having some tangible reference like those coins seemed extremely useful for conveying authenticity.

I decided to borrow them without hesitation.

In the midst of this, a taxi arrived. Mr. Saeki put the coins into the leather wallet and then carried them into the taxi for me. “Once I return from my trip, I shall send you a letter.” “No—I shall come to visit you.” “Seeing a writer’s household is something I’m somewhat interested in, but saying such a thing may be terribly rude, I suppose.”

Mr. Saeki said such things at the entrance. The taxi eventually started moving.

“Goodbye,” I said, removing the hat.

“Goodbye,” Mr. Saeki said with a smile.

But to me, that smile struck me as terribly unsettling.

The night view of Nagoya was beautiful. My taxi drove past Tsuruma Park Zoo.

8

My taxi drove off.

The park was shrouded in winter fog. Exiting the park brought me to a town. The town lights were also shrouded in winter fog.

Nishi Ward, Kodamacho, Nagoya City, 223-banchi: a two-story duplex with newly built latticework construction. That was my residence.

It was about twenty-five minutes later that the taxi arrived there.

My wife Kumeko was awake.

“You’re late,” she said reproachfully. She embraced me tightly. Then she pressed her cheek against mine. This was her habit. She would treat me like a child.

I went into the second-floor study. “Hey, I’ll show you something good.” “This, you see, is a Judean silver coin.”

I took out the silver coin from the wallet.

“My, it’s awfully big.”

She began to laugh cheerfully. Her teeth were misaligned. Two of her upper front teeth had been extracted, and the rest were all dentures. When she laughed, her dentures were exposed. I didn't like that. But those eyes were cute. From the outer corner toward the inner corner, about a third of an inch inward at one spot, her lower eyelid drooped. However, the outer corners of her eyes were not drooping. The outer corners themselves were perfectly ordinary. Only that part drooped. That made her eyes intensely, adorably cute in a modern way. They were a child’s eyes. Every other part of her had matured, but those eyes alone remained utterly childlike—as if that one spot had never developed at all—creating such an endearing gaze. As long as those eyes remained those eyes, her purity could be trusted.

She laughed cheerfully with those eyes. At that point, I explained. “This, you see, is an incredible counterfeit.” “It’s shining brightly like silver, right?” “But it’s not silver.” “It’s filled with lead or something.” “I borrowed it from a friend, you see.” “I’m thinking of creating a story with this, you see.” “Well, look here at the emblem!”

The emblems were all different. All thirty coins each bore distinct emblems. Surrounding the coin's edge were embossed laurel leaves framing a struck portrait. The portraits differed. I picked up one and examined it. There was struck an unmistakable portrait of Christ—long hair hanging limply to his shoulders, a visage both sorrowful and noble. I picked up another coin and examined it. Struck upon it was an old man's figure—bald with sunken eyes, thin lips tightly pressed—the very embodiment of willpower. It was undoubtedly the apostle Peter. I picked up another coin and examined it. A poet-like figure with fiery swirling hair gazed skyward through meditative eyes, sensitive lips slightly parted amidst laurel leaves. It was unmistakably the author of Revelation. I picked up another coin and examined it. There appeared the portrait of a peaceful apostle—round-faced, beardless, with narrow eyes. This could only be Philip who first preached in Samaria. I picked up another coin and examined it. Struck upon it was a gaunt, wrinkled face so lifeless it seemed drained of vitality—Apostle James, shamelessly slain by King Herod's murderous blade.

I picked up another coin and examined it. On that one too, a portrait had been struck.

“Hmm, this one’s Judas Iscariot.”

I was immediately able to tell. It was so distinctive. At first glance, it was a grotesque appearance. But upon closer examination, it was a terrifyingly superior countenance. First, the crown of the head was bald. However, there was hair extending from both ears to the nape. In other words, the hair formed a ring around the back half of the head. At first glance, this looked unpleasant. However, from one perspective, this was the visage of wisdom seen in scholars—something one could never laugh at. The forehead was unnaturally narrow. This too was unpleasant at first glance. It also bore the countenance of a born criminal. However, this too—from another perspective—could be said to resemble the forehead of Socrates, the kind often seen among those pathological geniuses. Both eyes protruded grotesquely. I hoped they wouldn’t get poked by branch tips—they protruded so much it made one think such things. But after all, this gaze too resembled that of Socrates. It was an exceedingly intellectual gaze. The nose was what is called a snub nose. The lips were thick and puffed up. Both of them seemed to be expressions of strong willpower.

High cheekbones that displayed rebelliousness as if carved for that purpose; full-face wrinkles that manifested intense spiritual anguish—I will never compromise! A jaw that seemed to declare this defiance—firmly set—and a neck thick like a battle-ready bull’s. The entire face was shrouded in skeptical melancholy. "He doesn't believe in anything at all." It was a face that seemed to proclaim this.

9

"I see," I thought to myself.

"From traditional aesthetics' perspective," I thought, "this was indeed an aesthetically displeasing face." "Women and children wouldn't take to it." "But isn't this face—couldn't this be humanity's true visage?"

I placed Judas's portrait and Christ's portrait side by side for comparison. It was truly a striking contrast. Faith, meekness, love, endurance—these were the characteristics that filled Christ’s portrait. The whole was slender and beautiful, classically harmonious. Its strength was exceedingly weak. Nihilism, rage, hatred, defiance—these were the characteristics that pervaded Judas’s portrait. The whole was boldly rugged and crudely hewn, modernistically malformed. Its strength was terrifyingly intense.

These are two extremes—they should never coexist. They were never meant to be master and disciple. It was only natural they would clash. Even Christ could not reign over Judas. Even Judas could not reign over Christ. They each have their own realms. So let those who wish to go to Christ go and find their peace. So let those who wish to go to Judas go and seize something. But those who go to Christ will undoubtedly be castrated. They will develop a slave mentality. Instead, they will be able to feel secure. However, those who go to Judas will have their revolutionary spirit stirred. And then they will be persecuted by society. They will never attain peace in their lifetime.

By comparing Christ and Judas, I grew somewhat meditative.

I examined each emblem one by one. As a result, I managed to painstakingly select portraits of the Twelve Apostles and Jesus Christ from among those thirty coins. Seventeen coins still remained. Each one had a portrait struck on it. I was soon able to ascertain this as well.

They were portraits of Moses, Abraham, Job, Solomon, David, Samson, Joshua, Samuel, Elijah, and others—all prominent figures from the Old Testament—because there were signatures written in tiny, tiny horizontal letters beneath the portraits—so small they were almost imperceptible.

"If these were ancient Judean coins, the signatures should be in Judean script," I muttered. However, they were signed in English. This one thing alone proved these silver coins were counterfeit.

I muttered involuntarily.

“No,” my wife said then.

“Huh?” I looked up. I had been so absorbed in studying the emblems that I had forgotten about her.

“Did you say something?”

She did not respond. There was something odd about her expression. Her eyes remained fixed on the silver coins. Those were eyes burning with feverish intensity. Her cheeks bore an unnatural flush. Abruptly, she turned her gaze toward me. Eyes brimming with distrust met mine.

“Kimiro,” she said reproachfully. “How many people did you borrow these from?” “Such a strange, creepy thing.” “Creepy?” “Why’s that?”

In what you might call a dumbfounded state of mind, I had no choice but to retort.

“They’re counterfeit money from ancient Judea, you know.”

“Hey Kimiro,” she said. “From how many people did you borrow?” “Tell me.” “Now. Immediately.” It was a voice straining for solemnity. A voice ill-suited to her. “Someone called Saeki.” “Junichiro Saeki.”

Somehow, I grew uneasy. "He's a fine gentleman, a collector."

“Junichiro Saeki? That’s a name I haven’t heard before.” “But you didn’t have any friends with that name among your acquaintances, did you?” I suddenly felt disgusted. He’s sniffed out something again, that damn sharp-eyed brat! "But this time, too bad for you—I don’t feel the slightest bit inferior." This is what I thought. And I said sharply. “He’s a friend I’m going to add to my list of names from now on.”

“Hey Kimiro,” she said. “Why and where did you become friends?”

"In the park. At Tsuruma Park, you know." "When?" she pressed. Her voice held a note of reproach.

I nearly felt resentment. However, I restrained myself. Because what I saw on her face was not anxiety but even sadness.

“This afternoon—on my way back from the hospital.” ……She looks terribly worried. It would be pitiful to make that cute Tetchin worry. Alright then—I’ll tell her everything in detail.

I was a patient with Basedow's disease. I had to go to the hospital once a week and receive fairly strong X-ray radiation. On those trips, I passed through the park. Tsuruma Park was a nice park, even more well-maintained than Hibiya. Sitting on one of the Roha benches and smoking favorite La Labia had been my habit since summer.

Midwinter in mid-January—despite the cold wind whirling about, I couldn’t break this habit, and that day too I leaned against the Roha bench, smoking La Labia.

10

At that moment, a distinguished gentleman of about forty-five or six wearing a fur coat sat down beside me and leisurely began smoking a cigar.

“Excuse my rudeness, but might you be an artiste?”

The gentleman abruptly spoke up. “No,” I said curtly. As a matter of personal preference, I not only disliked but detested being asked about my occupation and age. And being approached by strangers in such a manner was another thing I disliked as a matter of personal preference.

The gentleman slowly took out a card case from the inner coat pocket of his overcoat. He bowed and presented his business card. “My name is Saeki. I recently returned from Europe.”

This attitude became even more disagreeable to me. So what if he'd returned from Europe?! I nearly spewed venomous words. But what stopped me was how this Mr. Saeki's courtesy felt genuine - not a trace of affectation in his refined manners.

I also handed over my business card.

“Oh, so you’re Mr. Ichijo.” “I am well acquainted with your name.” “I’m certain I’ve seen O-saku as well.” “No—I thought from the very beginning that you were an artiste.” “That’s why I took the liberty of addressing you.” “Truly, there is a certain type among artistes, you see.”

This remark hit the mark. Artists had a type. It wasn't a particularly pleasant type, though.

“This is terribly abrupt and rude of me, but if it wouldn’t be an inconvenience, might I ask you to come to my humble residence now? Since I have something I wish to show you, you will likely find it to your taste. The truth is, I am a collector of some standing in that field—having pursued my interests quite extensively, even traveling overseas for them. I’ve amassed quite a collection of rare pieces. My residence is right behind the park. Yes, that’s correct—XX-cho. No need for such formalities. As I wish for your evaluation directly. Having someone like yourself—an artist—appraise it rather than some incomprehensible antique dealer would be immeasurably more valuable, I assure you. Collecting objects serves both to satisfy one’s personal tastes and to have discerning experts evaluate and critique them—that constitutes one of its fundamental purposes, you see.”

Mr. Junichiro Saeki spoke in this manner. Courteous, tactful, and charming—it was a way of speaking that made refusal almost unthinkable. So I resolved to go. What I was thereby shown were the legendary thirty pieces of silver.

11

When the wife heard my story, she grew even more anxious.

“So you were the one who borrowed them.” “Oh, you’re utterly impossible!”

She clattered downstairs. There was the sound of a drawer being pulled out. She returned to the study.

“Go ahead and compare them for yourself.” She flung the ring down. “Hey, isn’t this platinum?” The ring was undoubtedly platinum. Because it was platinum, she had kept it hidden deep within like her most prized possession. I compared the two. The thirty pieces of silver and the ring. I felt a strange chill. The two were exactly the same.

“Hey, this is identical!”

“It’s not counterfeit—it’s platinum.”

“This size… this weight…” “Thirty in number.” “Well? Why don’t you consider the money?” “Ah, I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Hey, call a taxi!”

I was scared to go alone. Or rather, it seemed my wife was anxious about leaving someone as indecisive as me to handle things alone.

And so, the two of us got into the taxi. Both my hands and hers were pressing down on the leather wallet. I had no choice but to become lost in thought. "This must be some kind of mistake. Otherwise, it's a conspiracy. Please let it not be a conspiracy. Even if I'm not an issue, someone as astute as Mr. Saeki shouldn't fail to distinguish between counterfeit money and platinum. He knew and lent them to me. But such a thing shouldn't be something one would lend out as part of some reckless scheme. Converted into money—how many tens of thousands of yen would it be? What goddamn fool would lend something like this?! But the fact remains that he did lend them... There must be a reason..."

Our taxi was speeding through the night. She remained silent. The hour had passed midnight. What a winter fog shrouded the town!

Finally, the taxi arrived at the park. It passed through the park. It came to XX District. I had to return these preposterous counterfeit coins as quickly as possible!

“Stop!” I barked.

The taxi slowed down and came to a stop.

“Which house? Mr. Saeki’s house?” My wife whispered to me. I peered out from the window. “Look,” I said, swallowing hard. “That mansion with the red police lanterns flickering.”

My wife seemed to swallow hard too. The driver tried to open the door.

“Wait,” I rasped. I swept aside the window curtain. My wife’s sideburn hair touched my cheek. The imposing main gate of the Saeki residence stood thrown wide open to both sides. Lanterns with red stripes—two or three of them—darted about. The onlookers keeping their distance watched in complete silence. From the gate’s roof toward the sky, a pine tree jutted out sharply. At a four-way intersection in the distant town, the last train passed by. A piercing silence filled the air.

“Hey, driver, turn us around, please.”

And so, the taxi turned around. She said nothing. Her shoulder trembled unpleasantly warm near her arm. I felt like making some cynical remark. "That’s what they call ‘the hush of an arrest,’ huh?" "Did I mention going on a trip?" "Ah—so it was prison he meant." "Saeki—now there’s an aphorism for you."

Of course, I had uttered this within myself.

12

The next day’s newspapers were filled with sensational articles. I decided to list only the major headlines. International Master Con Artist Junichiro Saeki Arrested

Of course, it was in extra-large type.

It was recorded across three columns: that he had operated organized fraud for over a dozen years using Europe and America, the South Seas, China, and the Near East as his stage; that there were victims even among Japan's renowned wealthy gentlemen; that several months prior he had infiltrated Nagoya, prompting judicial department activity and ongoing searches; that last night some informant had finally revealed his whereabouts; that the house search yielded only counterfeit antiques with nothing of monetary value; that the students and maids were newly hired and unaware of circumstances; that he had moved to the XX District mansion so recently that neighborhood interactions hadn't even begun; and finally under a subheading—that he appeared connected to an international conspiratorial secret society.

My wife and I exchanged glances. We didn't know what to do. Carrying what we thought were thirty genuine silver coins and reporting to the police would have been the proper course of action—but being suspected as accomplices for doing so, undergoing tedious interrogations and newspaper exposure was utterly unbearable. On the other hand, keeping them would mean facing criminal charges for concealing stolen goods should they ever be discovered.

“Hey, what should we do?” “Well, I don’t know…” she pondered. “Reporting it would be the proper course of action, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” I pondered. “If they investigate too persistently, you have that tendency to flare up.” “And you’re busy, aren’t you?” “Yeah—insanely busy.” “What troubles me most is being disrupted.” “This is a critical time for me.” “All these hard-won imaginings will get blocked.”

“That would be the most troublesome, I suppose.”

She pondered intently.

Like most artists, on one hand I was neurotic and on the other bold. On one hand a wit and on the other remarkably indolent. Since being seized by this fateful illness, its intensity had grown more severe. As a characteristic of this illness, my mind remained perpetually agitated. Yet there were moments I wanted to bless my sickness. "It was because 'fantasies' came galloping in." By nature, I had always been a fanciful man. Imagination never failed me. Since falling ill, its torrent seemed only to swell. The architecture of ether taking shape in emptiness! The swarming electrons tearing it down! Such visions were what I could truly "see." But I was still no spirit medium. Though that too would come in time. Messages from beyond, communiqués from Hades, ghostly depositions—all these I would come to know.

There were times when I suffered while writing. It was because fantasies came chasing after me one after another at a run. It was because they wouldn't even grant me time to put them into words and transcribe them onto manuscript paper. At such times I flopped down. Suppressing my violently pounding heart, I waited for the fantasies to race past. While walking through town, I would stop, lean against a utility pole, and jot down the surging fantasies on a scrap of tissue.

One night, a fantasy welled up. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any tissue paper. I wrote with a fountain pen on the wooden wall of a shop. And there were even times when I went out the next morning and copied it down.

Before long, I might end up attaching paper to the backs of people on the street and writing there.

I was filled with creative power. I hated having it destroyed by such trivial matters.

Suddenly, my wife laughed strangely. It was a bone-chilling laugh. Then she began to mock me. "That’s only natural, coming from you. When that kimono dealer who frequents us came flaunting a platinum wristwatch after making some stock market profit, didn’t you declare ‘That’s just nickel with a fine polish’? Yet when it came to my watch—which as nickel goes is unparalleled, more costly than a gold watch—didn’t you make a huge fuss about ‘This is magnificent platinum’? Not knowing whether it’s platinum or silver isn’t the least bit surprising, I suppose."

13

“What nonsense!” I bellowed.

“What good does bringing that up do?”

But she laughed harder and harder, and mocked me more and more.

“Darling, you’ve been tricked.” “Yes, that’s the only way to see it.” “But why such a trick?” “Why on earth would a great swindler like Saeki have to set up such an absurd trick?” “It’s not even profitable.” “On the contrary, it would mean tremendous losses.” “There’s something deeper here.” “I can’t see it any other way.” “How dreadful. What should we do?” “Return them immediately.”

“Fool!” I bellowed again. “What, you want me to haul them off to prison and give them back?” “So you can’t handle it, then?”

Suddenly she grew calm. "Entrust this matter to me."

“So, what do you intend to do?”

“Do you wish to hear that? Then you may do it yourself.” She became sarcastic again.

“But that’s precisely how it is, isn’t it? If you don’t entrust everything to me.” "But I can't lay a hand on it." “Do write the manuscript now.”

It was a singsong tone. “And just don’t think about a thing.” “Do devote yourself to your work now.” “You’re such an adorable little fool.” “Expecting someone to handle organized tasks—that’s simply impossible, I tell you.” “Do believe me, you know.” I ended up leaving everything to her. I decided not to think about anything. Time to work! Time to create! Imagination, spur me on!

The year turned over, ushering in the New Year.

My wife's demeanor had begun to change.

She and I became husband and wife through love. She loved me. But recently she stopped loving me.

“Hey, little fool.” “Hey there, Bumpy.” This had been the affectionate nickname for me. By then she had stopped using it altogether. She used to be terribly witty. She would frequently come up with outrageous quips that delighted me immensely. "Look, see how Becky is using her paw as a pillow?" She often said things like that. Becky was our pet dog. She had named him after Baby Becky, a child actress prodigy. Tematsuku meant using a paw as a pillow—her way of describing how the dog slept.

This might have been an insignificant way of putting it. However, when she said it, the scene would leap vividly into view. It was as if not a dog but an utterly adorable human girl named Becky were sleeping there, using her hand as a pillow in such an endearing manner.

However, by this time, she had stopped saying such things. When I tried to go for a walk, she would surely stop me. Standing upright, she would hold me close, press her slightly protruding forehead tightly against mine, widen her eyes like an owl’s, and puff out her cheeks as if to startle,

“That’s fine. Go ahead.” Having said this, she would finally release me. But she stopped doing that too. She was a woman who liked to cry. One morning I washed my face and went to the living room with cold hands. There she was, putting on her makeup. Her décolletage was pale and beautiful. I pressed my cold fingertips against her. She said it was sad and started crying. Her way of crying was extremely beautiful. It was, of course, a contrived act of coquetry. That suited her well. But she stopped doing that too.

She had been a woman skilled in laughter. She had been skilled in the art of naive laughter. When the clever woman began to laugh, she appeared as a naive innocent girl. That very laugh was indeed what one had to call a blessing for any man. Because in an instant, all hardships would be healed. But she had stopped doing that too.

She was a mysterious woman. She had a clairvoyant-like trait. After downing a couple glasses of whiskey—I was originally quite the heavy drinker, able to down one sho of sake without difficulty—when I quietly opened the lattice gate, she would invariably say: “You seem cheerful—that’s not like you.” ...Occasionally when I went to restaurants for social engagements and returned home discreetly, though she remained three rooms away, “You awful Bumpy, you kissed her, didn’t you. “With a young, beautiful geisha.” “There’s face powder on your collar.”

...But by this time, she had stopped saying such things too. Whatever I did outside, she made no attempt to care.

What in the world had happened here? What had changed her? She had liked wearing her hair in a round chignon. At some point she had changed it to a princess-style chignon. She had been a woman who preferred to stay at home. However, around this time, she began wanting to go out constantly, even without any errands.

Something astonishing was discovered. In an astonishingly short span of time, she had miraculously become beautiful and miraculously grown noble. “You’ve been going to some beauty club or something. Or could it be you’ve found yourself a lover? When a woman gets a lover, she suddenly becomes beautiful.” My heart ached. I couldn’t help but feel depressed.

14

Something utterly astonishing was discovered. One night I returned from outside. She was in my study. She was smoking a thin cigarette. On the finger of the left hand that supported the cigarette, a large diamond glittered. “That ring?” I said. It was a ring unfamiliar to me. She wordlessly extended a finger. And stared fixedly at the diamond. Her eyes held an expression as if savoring that brilliant bluish-gray radiance. Supported by two fingers, purple smoke rose from the cigarette that stood straight upright. A single strand became entangled with the diamond. Light and smoke! A subtle harmony! What aristocratic taste this was! Her sculpted face! Her lips seemed on the verge of parting. The smile of Mona Lisa? No! The courtesan Mary Magdalene’s laugh!

I was instantly vanquished.

Several days later, a set of garments arrived from Matsuzakaya. They were expensive garments. Obi! Metal fittings! They were costly. They were garments that shouldn't have been ordered. They were garments I didn't recognize. There I pleaded.

“Tell me, what’s happened?”

She simply smiled. With that same Mary’s smile.

“Hey!” I barked ferociously. “You disposed of them! The stolen goods!”

“Darling,” she said like water. “Stolen goods, you say? “What a vulgar choice of words.” “You sold them!” “The platinum!”

“Darling,” she repeated. “That was our promise—not to ask—wasn’t it?” She looked up at me from beneath lowered eyes. She was nobility incarnate.

The scene before the climax had arrived.

I was walking along Entonji Street. It was a night of thick fog. A car approached from behind.

"You idiot!" the driver barked. I had nearly been run over. I looked back in fury. The window curtain was open. A gentleman and a lady were seated inside. The lady looked familiar to me. It was my wife. She seemed to recognize me too. She revealed dentures between her lips. The gentleman also looked familiar to me. He was a prominent businessman in the city. I had known him from newspapers and magazines. He was an elderly gentleman over sixty, renowned in society for his boundless vitality and lecherous nature.

My head spun dizzily. But I did not lunge forward. I bent my shoulders, hunched my back, and lowered my face close to the ground. And like a beaten dog, I staggered unsteadily sideways; I tried to cling to something.

Something cold touched my hand. It was the entrance door. I was drawn inside.

Directly in front was a person. A narrow forehead, bulging eyes, a bull-like neck, protruding cheekbones—it was Judas Iscariot. It was a coffee shop. It was a mirror. I had been reflected there. Jesus Christ cursed it. Mary Magdalene cursed it. Judas Iscariot cursed it. They all did so in different terms. And now I curse. Detestable thirty pieces of silver!

When faith is stolen from someone, they become an atheist in an instant.

When someone is betrayed in love, they become a nihilist overnight.

Such was Judas's fate.

As my own ideology, I had harbored Judas’s atheism and nihilism within my heart. Now, as an emotion, I had to possess it.

Now, I was Judas.

“Help me! “Help me!”

I came to seek salvation. But salvation was nowhere to be found. There is one! Christ!

Christ! Judas Iscariot who sold Christ must have sought Christ after selling him!

15

This might finally be the climax.

That night I was in the park. I had wandered my way there. To Rohan-dai, where I had encountered the con artist, I sat alone. A tepid night breeze carried cloying floral scents—it was spring orchid season. The fountain lay dormant. No lamps burned in the music hall. It wasn't a Sunday evening. The park stood empty. Silence pooled thickly about. Night pressed down with oceanic depth. The moon hooked itself on empty sky. Mist wove through tree limbs. Faint outlines of things hovered at vision's edge.

My spirit and body had been worn down until there was nothing left to wear down. I had not written anything for a long time. All my fantasies had completely vanished. The illness had advanced terribly. Heart palpitations、trembling fingertips—I was exactly like a stroke patient. My eyesight had deteriorated terribly. And thus I developed severe astigmatism. I couldn't stare at anything for more than five minutes. I blinked incessantly with a rapid patter. The insides of eyelids had become chapped.

No one took care of me.

Mother! Mother!

I was completely estranged from my family home. And that too stemmed from my marriage to her. Kōgen Shinano! That family home there! I suppose I'll have to die without meeting anyone.

Just one more breath. Just fingertips will do. Just give me a little push from behind. I can fall into the abyss of death.

I lifted my knees onto the Rohan-dai. I pressed my forehead against my knees. I curled up small and tight. "Just one more breath. Just fingertips will do."

At that moment, the sound of a car came.

I reflexively jumped up.

A car approached from the direction of the hospital. It crossed before my eyes. A gentleman and lady sat inside. The lady was my wife. The gentleman wasn't that previous gentleman. He was one with worse notoriety. The department store proprietor. The man newspapers had exposed for keeping a mistress. Peach-colored light illuminated the car's interior. Plush cushions, perfumed air—they must have been blissful. Their faces nearly touched as they conversed. The moment vanished instantly. Moonlight pooled on the vehicle's roof. Dew threatened to drip in rivulets. The urban sky glowed crimson. A horn blared from that crimson direction.

“That’s enough,” I said to myself.

It was because the final push had come. Beyond the flower bed was a grove of trees. It was the grove I had set my sights on. I made my way into it.

"Judas must have hanged himself and died." I had to choose a tree. The trees were all young. I placed my hand on one of the trees. I pressed my forehead against the trunk. It was chillingly cold. And it was remarkably smooth. The heart fell utterly silent. Peace returned to the heart.

"A fragile-looking tree. "It might break."

I touched another tree.

At that moment, something touched me. Someone had restrained my shoulder.

I quietly turned around.

A man was standing there. He was wearing a hunting cap on his head. He had slipped on wooden sandals.

In my more robust days, I had once worked as a newspaper reporter.

This man is a detective, I thought. I could tell.

“What’s wrong?” the man said. “…………” “You won’t get anywhere by staying silent.”

There was no mistaking it was a detective’s voice, but no threatening tone could be discerned. “You mustn’t do anything rash.” It was rather a chiding voice. “You don’t seem like an uneducated man, but…” The detective looked at my feet. “Where do you live?” “Nishi Ward, Kodamacho, City.” “What’s your line of work, anyway?”

I didn't respond. "Oh well... If you don't want to say it..." "You should go home now."

The detective started to turn his back. "What home do I have?" "What?!" The detective spun around. "Didn't I say I live in Kodamacho?!" "You have a house." "...But I don't." The detective glared for some time. "Ah hah, you're drunk... Your wife must be waiting at home... Stop talking nonsense and get going." "Wife," I said, raising my shoulders.

“The Wife rode off in a car.”

16

The detective considered for a moment. “Hmph—this guy’s a lunatic… Go die wherever you want.” “But this is my jurisdiction… Go hang yourself somewhere else.” “The Wife got into a car.” “Just now.” “With a gentleman.” “This makes no sense,” said the detective. “So you know that woman?” “The whore I’m tracking.” “That’s my Wife.” Something propelled me. Damn! I’ll shock this bastard!

“You—that guy’s a con artist. He swindled platinum out of people. …Of course you know—the great con artist Junichiro Saeki—that’s his partner in crime.” The detective was listening intently. “Arrest him. It’ll be a feather in your cap.” The detective suddenly tensed up. But he immediately turned sarcastic.

“A beauty like that becoming the wife of a madman like you? Don’t make me laugh.” “Enough now—be off with you.”

A sturdy hand shot out and seized my arm. “You—got any money?”

“Uh-huh,” I nodded. “How much you got? Out with it.” “It’s in my sleeve—the clasp purse. Who’d keep count?”

The detective released his grip on my arm.

“I’ll check it. Hand it over.” I took out the clasp purse from my sleeve. “That’s five yen.” “That’s a red coin.” “That’s ten sen.” “That’s five yen.” “Still more here. That’s ten yen.” “There there,” the detective nodded. “That should be plenty.” “Walk, walk. I’ll take you home.” “You’re really more trouble than you’re worth.” He grabbed my arm again. He pulled me toward town. I felt oddly amused. And I launched into a nonstop rant.

“You’re such a fool, Detective. That woman’s a con artist. She’s hiding thirty platinum pieces—must’ve used one or two by now. They’re enormous things—each must weigh fifty momme. A single piece is worth three thousand yen. Thirty of them altogether. They belong to Saeki—the master swindler. I was the first to borrow them. Then he snatched them away. Ow! Quit yanking me! It’s true, damn it! You moron—go arrest him! He walked right into his own scam! Knew he’d get caught too. I’m a writer—a novelist! That’s what he exploited. Fed me some wild story, piqued my curiosity, then foisted that stuff on me. Ancient trick—old as dirt. He’ll come reclaim it when they spring him from jail.”

“That means he found a good hiding spot.” “It’s true—you’ve got to believe me.” “Search my house—it must be somewhere in there... That’s how despicable women are.” My vision swam dizzyingly. Right—once she obtained that platinum... “...she’d changed completely......”

The detective was smirking. Exiting the park brought us to town. At the right corner was a rental car waiting area.

“Hey, car!” called the detective. “Right away!” the driver called as he came running. “Take this man.”

The car was promptly brought around. I was shoved into it.

“I’ve got money. Don’t worry.” “Take him to Nakamura or wherever.” “Let him enjoy a night at the brothel.”

Having said this, the detective laughed with apparent amusement. It was an extremely good-natured laugh.

With a roar, the car started moving.

She lived her life. I lived mine. Our family life lay destroyed. Yet we still shared a roof. She grew more beautiful by the day. Her beauty became unapproachable. And through it all, she attained splendid nobility.

“Your Ladyship, exactly what sort of person are you?” She had become the sort of woman who seemed to demand such address.

She had reached her destined place. I had come to indulge in debauchery.

Drink! Women! Staying out all night!

At a certain time and place, I stayed for three days. On the evening of the fourth day, I returned.

And there was a rental notice posted. "The bird has flown!" I said. “Lady Ophelia, Lady Ophelia, off to a nunnery with you!” Shakespeare’s white floated up. “A nunnery? It’s paradise! Mary Magdalene has flown to paradise!”

I tried to laugh out loud. But instead, my body trembled. "But my planned course of action—" I tried to turn back. “O God, please spare a coin! Alright, I’ll become a beggar!”

“Hey,” a voice called out at that moment.

A small man was standing nearby. "Oh yes, yes," I said, rubbing my hands.

“Sir, do you require something?”

I started practicing begging.

17

“Are you the master of this house?”

The well-dressed gentleman said.

“Oh yes, yes, indeed. In the past, that is. Now I’m just an idler, sir.”

The gentleman smiled.

“It’s a message from Madam.” “As a suitable house has been found, Madam relocated yesterday, I’m told.” “That is why I came to escort you.”

“Exactly what manner of person might you be, sir?” “Your servant is but a humble taxi driver.” “Get in this instant! You imbecile!” The sound of falling objects permeated the city streets. Not rain - fallen leaves instead. Beneath vivid azure gas lamps, Wanderers lingered like remnant moths.

Decadent poet Verlaine—you alone knew! The breath of autumn, the heart of fallen leaves, the soul of a moth abandoned in death. My taxi drove on. The street trees shed their leaves. People armored themselves in coats. They hunched cold into their collars. Winter came walking there— winter robed in bridal white.

"I've suffered for so long..."

I crouched down by the cushion and thought. "Can’t you show some mercy already?" I steadily closed my eyes. "If not, then bury me." "Fallen leaves would be good—magnolia leaves."

My taxi was driving. "If only I could cry." Timidly, I opened my eyes and peered outside the car.

It was a bustling main street. Winter goods were displayed in the show windows. There was a woman looking at them. The chignon stood disheveled as if chilled. We passed before a huge building. It was undoubtedly Meiji Bank. There was a couple descending into the basement. They were probably going to sip coffee in the cafeteria. There was another huge building. It was the former Ito Textile Store. The taxi turned right from there. The town grew slightly lonely. The taxi drove on through Otsu Town. I closed my eyes once more.

I arrived before an impressive mansion. I had to get out of the car. An imposing gate loomed. Black-paneled walls hung there.

The driver bowed respectfully.

“We have arrived at the mansion, sir.”

I silently looked up at the nameplate. It read “Ichijo Residence.” I opened the side door and went in. The distance to the entrance must have been eight ken. Smooth stone pavement lay spread out. A damp dew had settled. There stood a tall pine hedge.

“Three hundred yen for rent!” I muttered like a delirious utterance.

I stood before the entrance.

And then, the shoji screen slid open smoothly.

My wife? No, no—an unfamiliar woman was sitting formally with her hands respectfully placed before her.

“Welcome home, Master.” The woman wore her hair in a Shimada style.

"And... you?" I asked. There was the sound of the car departing.

“Yes, I am the housemaid.” I abruptly ascended the entrance.

“Yeah.” “By the way, Yamagami?”

There was a parlor immediately to the left. The door was open. It was a Western-style parlor. "Ah, she is currently resting." "Is the Countess resting?"

I entered the parlor. I had been drawn in by a certain force. I recognized that parlor. It was Mr. Junichiro Saeki's parlor. 18

Since then, we lived in that house. She still went out. As if it were her daily routine. She applied makeup meticulously. As if it were her daily routine. She washed her face with milk every morning. She took particular care with her nails. There was a very good reason for this. Because no matter how beautiful everything else might be, even a single spot on her nails would prevent her from being seen as a noblewoman.

She paid attention to the hair around her ears. The hair around her ears was always pink. That made her look youthful. She paid attention to her heels. They always maintained their roundness, smoothness, and petal-like hue. She paid attention to her ear canals and nostrils. But her complexion was pale. That too was due to her preference. A ruddy, innocent face ran the risk of being mistaken for that of a country person. Urban noblewomen must have pale faces to be considered intriguing. Apparently, she used blue face powder from France or similar places.

The buttocks became noticeably smaller. And thus the waist became slender. The posture grew more commanding. The skin took on a pearl-like luster. It was a cold luster. The skin texture became as fine as silk.

It must be smooth. But I could not touch her. Because she refused it.

I had to worship her from afar. Moreover, in a certain sense, that arrangement brought me happiness too. Because if my hand were to slip while carelessly touching her, it would be troublesome should she fall. “Ah, how well Western dresses suit her.” One day I uttered with profound sincerity. It was not at all a sarcastic compliment.

That worry proved unnecessary.

The next day, Western clothing was delivered. It was the same pearl color as her skin tone.

Putting it on, she was about to go out.

She glanced at my face. She tapped her eyelids twice. Her gaze was commanding. I hurriedly stooped down. I tried to lift the hem of her dress. Like an excessively attentive page. That consideration proved unnecessary. Because today's fashionable Western dresses did not have long hems like that. They should be short enough that the thighs show.

Occasionally she would say to me.

“Be refined. Be refined.” “Be refined. Be refined.” “You too, do be refined.” And I said to myself.

"This woman hasn't fully become one yet. Exactly—a noblewoman she's turned into! 'Be refined! Be refined! Your Ladyship and Your Lordship too, do deign to become refined!' I had to spout this nonsense to keep up appearances."

This concern too proved unnecessary. She truly began using aristocratic speech patterns starting the very next day. She no longer looked like a counterfeit. Even her natural forehead had somehow become less noticeable. Even her poorly fitted dentures had somehow become less noticeable. She must have exchanged hers with someone’s perfectly aligned teeth.

Her height was tall. It appeared even taller. There was no sign of her walking on tiptoes, though. ——It must have been due to her improved posture.

She indulged in gourmet meals every day. Western food! Western food! Greasy food!

She pressed gourmet meals on me as well. I didn't eat much. She changed outfits multiple times a day. Moreover, she changed them formally. This too was a noblewoman’s custom. And she pressed that on me as well.

I cried out thus in my heart.

"The traitor's woman urges her husband and tries to make him into a traitor too! Lady Macbeth's state of mind!" And thus I felt Macbeth's anguished psyche.

She invariably went out alone. No matter what happened, she never tried to walk out together with me. She seemed to want to hide the fact that she had a husband. The household furnishings were replaced. Ebony craftsmanship! Inlaid woodwork!

A gardener came to tend to the garden. The sound of scissors filled the garden. A carpenter came to tend to the rooms. The sound of planing filled the room. The mansion gradually grew grand. “Exactly—a Buddha statue gains no value without a proper temple complex.”

One evening, a car arrived. She departed in Western attire.

I followed her to the entranceway. Like that very page of old.

The car was a large private vehicle.

There was a gentleman in the car. He was stroking his beard and laughing. He was the famous Mayor of this city. "Ah, so he came to invite her. She'll probably head to some hotel or the like. A soirée, huh. Splendid...... I'll just poke at some pork in my study."

But what in the world was happening? She hadn't spent a single night away, had she?

No matter how late it was, she returned.

There was no need for restraint. Stay over already.

I said this in my heart.

"Most noblewomen occasionally spend nights with gentlemen. That too must be part of their training. What reason did I have to get angry? Nor could I sustain my anger. First of all—haven't you skillfully conditioned me over time to never get angry with you?" 19

It was a certain day in early winter. I lay sprawled on the couch in my study, wrapped snugly in the rug, thinking about inconsequential things. She was out that day as well. Truly, this word "her" was the perfect word for her. She and I were strangers. ……We should have addressed each other in third person.

"Materially, I was satiated. Spiritually, I was hungry. This was my current life. What a strangely crippled existence this was."

I stroked the rug all over.

"The softness of this fur—a Korean tiger pelt. It must have cost a fortune." "When I lived in Kodamacho, even fantasizing about such an item was beyond my reach." "I was snugly wrapped in it." "Well then, me." “Am I happy?” "There I answered myself."

The sad thing is, I'm not happy.

I looked at the front wall. Of course it was a small piece, but it was an authentic Matisse—not a reproduction—set in a fitting frame and hung in just the right position.

"Is this a painting she bought? Or did she swipe it from some magnate's museum as payment for batting her eyes? A genuine Matisse—silver-gray frame, impeccably hung, perfectly balanced. She truly has an aesthetic eye now. But her former self never possessed such refined discernment—at least not the kind that would yearn for Matisse—or so it seems to me. Remarkable progress indeed. Though one shouldn't be surprised—she is a Countess after all."

I once again said to myself.

“Very well. She is a Countess.” That I must acknowledge, no matter what. But here’s the problem—if she is a Countess, then I myself, being her husband, must naturally be a Count. “Me—will I take on being a Count?” I replied to myself. “Oh no—the burden’s too heavy for me.” “In the end, I won’t take it on.” “Why do you ask?” “I’ll explain.” “This is how it is.” “If there were a deep quagmire cloaked in rainbows, jewels, and perfumes—who would want to live there?” “Unless one’s a wriggler, that is.” “But then again, if I wanted to be a Count, I’d have to live there.” “Because my current life is that very quagmire.”

It wasn’t a particularly clever metaphor.

"Well, putting that aside—she’s a Countess, so why hasn’t she hired a cook?"

I began to think such thoughts.

"Two maids, one live-in student—a household of five is pitifully meager. Madam, you absolutely must hire proper staff. Then I could decree a menu—the 'Peaceful Sleep' menu."

I couldn't even obtain Peaceful Sleep.

"Help me!" "Help me!"

I was still seeking salvation.

Will there be anything to save me?

If there is one, it's Him! Christ! But in what form would the modern Christ appear? I was gradually becoming cynical. I gradually became resigned. But I was always being threatened.

"He's a con man, not a killer." Once he serves his sentence—five years, maybe ten—he’ll undoubtedly be released. He'll come to take them—the thirty pieces of silver! What should I do? I can't return them! "She'll probably spend them in the meantime." But when humans are driven to their absolute depths, they are spurred to reactive courage.

One day I said to myself. "There's no need to seek Christ." "Relying on others is the recourse of cowards." "Take care of your own affairs yourself." So I decided to act. So I said, "Farewell." It had not been said directly to her. It had been said to the muddy swamp life.

And so I carried out that "Farewell." It didn’t require any great courage. It was carried out with utmost simplicity.

Without taking anything, I ran away from home and took lodgings in a cheap boarding house near the castle. I settled into a small room that overlooked the castle’s moat, stone walls, and pine trees. It was a harsh winter shrouded in thick fog. Whether she was surprised or not was none of my concern. Whether she searched or not. It was none of my concern. Anyway, I abandoned her. "For me, it was a great leap."

Strangely, a certain peace returned to my heart. It was a peace that only human beings who had suffered terribly could perceive.

“Perhaps I might be able to write.” And so I took up the pen and tried. I could write effortlessly and smoothly. Thoughts and emotions became unified. Scattered things coalesced. Even fantasies began to well up.

"If I just make a little effort, I might become my former self again.... As long as I write, I'll be fine."

I had anxieties about daily life. However, if my manuscript sold, it seemed I could at least pay the lodging fees. "I've had my fill of luxurious living. So I have no desire for that. This is a true blessing—I'll suppress my desires one by one and live an utterly simple life." 20

I was also able to suppress my sexual desires. I had long been subjected to enforced celibacy for her sake. Before I knew it, it had become second nature. And to put it another way frankly, I had become thoroughly disenchanted with the opposite sex. "I must forget about her!" This didn’t seem too difficult either. However, I had to rely on the assistance of both effort and time. I could say it was fairly peaceful.

My solitary life flowed quietly along like this, and my body gradually recovered. My nerves also gradually grew stronger. It seemed I might even become healthier than I had been before the incident. I maintained a disciplined routine. I woke up early and went to bed early. Once I got used to it, I even began to find interest in that. I even decided to eat three meager boarding house meals a day. Once I got used to it, I even began to find flavor in them.

I sneaked around town for walks. The most I did was stop by a coffee shop. I had quit both alcohol and tobacco. At the coffee shop, I drank soda water. "A literal Puritan."

I began reading the Bible. It appeared completely different from before. These words seeped into my being. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” “Blessed are they that mourn,” “Blessed are the meek,” “Blessed are the merciful,” “Blessed are the peacemakers”

“How strange,” I said. "Had it been me before the incident, I would have dismissed them as emasculating words of servility with a scornful laugh, but the current me cannot take them as such."

“It’s not strange,” I said. “The thoughts of Christ who suffered anguish cannot be understood by those who haven’t suffered.”

And yet I said. "This is a commonplace interpretation. But isn't it fine if it's ordinary?" I felt a kind of spiritual ecstasy.

"I will not be easily shaken." I had even come to think this way.

And that was indeed true.

One morning I was in my room, brewing and drinking tea.

There was a newspaper in front of me. An article caught my eye.

"Junichiro Saeki Released. Reason: Insufficient Evidence" "Reason: Insufficient Evidence"

I was not shaken. However,

"She must have been so shocked," I thought, as a feeling of pity for her stirred within me. And I muttered, "You... Please make it through this." It wasn’t sarcastic or anything like that. I had wished it with all my heart. Any hatred I’d felt toward her had vanished without my noticing. On the contrary, a sense of pity had begun taking root in my heart.

The next day I went for a walk. It was a cloudy day in early February, and there were few people out in town. I walked towards the park. There were no people in the park either. Even in the flower beds, no flowers were blooming. Only two or three winter roses shivered, their petals trembling as if from the cold.

I sat down on the Roha-dai bench. It was the Roha-dai bench where I had met Mr. Saeki. A concert hall stood in front, and the bare pillars appeared gray. Then came the sense that someone was about to stealthily take a seat beside me. A pungent cigar smell hit me. I was vaguely thinking. “You’ve lost a bit of weight, haven’t you?” I heard such a voice. I turned my face in that direction. A gentleman was smiling. He was wearing a fur coat. That was Mr. Junichiro Saeki.

“Well, this is unexpected,” I said. I was not shaken. I simply stared fixedly at the man. Mr. Saeki had not changed. The fatty, ruddy face seemed as healthy as ever. He did not appear to be someone who had gone through a long period of life as an unconvicted suspect.

“I have just had the pleasure of meeting your wife.”

He spoke in his characteristically courteous manner. "I’m just returning from there now."

“Ah, I see.” “I hear you’ve been away from home as of late.”

“Yes,” I smiled. Suddenly, Mr. Saeki fell silent. He stared fixedly at the woods. A figure appeared from that direction. That was a sturdy foreigner.

Suddenly, Mr. Saeki stood up. Then he began speaking in a terribly rapid manner. 21 “I am terribly pressed for time. “I won’t go into tedious details. “Your wife will explain everything in due course. “…Now then—regarding those thirty pieces of silver—I had come here to collect them. “However, upon meeting your wife, my thoughts changed. “…I have decided to present them. “No—not to you. “I presented them to your wife. “…Your wife is truly beautiful. “And she is extremely bold. “How should I phrase this? “In any case, I have been vanquished. “I have encountered numerous ladies, but never such a lady as your wife. “…And so I must inform you. “You needn’t worry in the slightest. “The thirty pieces of silver and I have severed our ties as of today. “Those now belong to the two of you.”

“Even if you have gone to such trouble for that money until now, I must ask you to have no further dealings with it henceforth.” “...Truly a remarkable lady, ah.” “...This time without fail, I shall depart from the country of Japan.” “Farewell.” “Farewell.”

He left Rohadai and walked toward town with large strides.

Then, two foreigners walked after him as if following.

They hid behind the fountain.

I did not leave Rohadai. But I muttered. "I should go and congratulate her once and for all." Even so, I did not leave Rohadai. "A large sum of money had entered her pocket. That is not why I am going. "...But I want to see for myself."

I crossed the park. I emerged into town. Then I crossed the tram tracks.

And so I stood before her house. I entered the gate and made for the entrance.

"There was no need to request guidance"—and so I went up.

The study door was open.

Her eyes opened wide in a daze—her face turned toward the window with a peculiar expression, as if beholding a dream in broad daylight—she sat on the chaise longue.

I entered the study. I sat down beside her. I remained silent for a while.

Silence occupied the room.

I could not remain silent. I solemnly asked her.

“Tell me. “Please... go on.” “Can I really believe that person’s words?” “I met that person.” But she remained silent. She only shifted limply. She appeared utterly exhausted.

I solemnly asked once again. "That expensive platinum has become yours, hasn't it?" "Can I really believe that?" Then she nodded. Then she took my hand. Her hands were hot. And they trembled violently. Her throat made a sound. She seemed to be holding her breath.

I quietly released her hand, left the study, and went out to the entrance.

"This really won't do. "This house—"

I stepped out through the gate.

“She had grown even worse… Her mind was thrown into disarray by joy.” “If that spreads to me, I can’t bear it.”

I decided to continue living in the boarding house.

It was the following day.

Absentmindedly, I looked at the evening paper.

"Junichiro Saeki Brutally Killed. In the car... Cause unknown." There was an article written like this.

“The situation has deteriorated somewhat.”

Even I stiffened involuntarily. "Could it be her doing?"

Suddenly, I thought this.

"There was something suspicious about Mr. Saeki’s words from yesterday." "There’s no way he would readily hand over such an exorbitant amount of platinum like that." "He had said he’d give it once, but upon reconsidering, perhaps he grew reluctant and went to take it back?"

I methodically considered the situation.

In order to retrieve the thirty pieces of silver，Mr. Saeki visited her. She tried not to return it. Inevitably，a conflict occurred. If that escalated，it became a violent act. Given her nature，she wouldn't hesitate to do it.

The next day's newspaper was eagerly awaited. But the next day's newspaper made no mention of the perpetrator. "Then perhaps it wasn't her?"

I felt somewhat relieved.

"May peace be with her."

Even so, I was concerned. I carefully read the newspaper for a couple of days. Both the cause and perpetrator remained unclear. There was no mention of that. Before long, the article disappeared from the newspapers.

“To use the popular phrase, the case had entered the labyrinth.” “…But that’s perfectly fine.” This was in no way meant as irony. If she were the perpetrator, then I, who had been living with her, would inevitably be drawn into the vortex, and my current peaceful life would undoubtedly be destroyed. That was not my wish. And above all else, she was my wife. That misfortune had come upon that woman was painful for me.

It was better that the case had entered the labyrinth.

Peaceful days flowed by. But they did not last even ten days. The following advertisement appeared in the newspaper.

"To the owner of thirty pieces of silver: Send them by mail to the △△ Newspaper Company. A reward of 10,000 yen shall be given."

22 "This is suspicious," I said. "When speaking of the owner of the thirty pieces of silver, there was likely no one else but her." "The only one who could claim them was Mr. Junichiro Saeki." "But Mr. Saeki had been killed." "Who was making the claim?"

I came to await the arrival of the newspaper. In the newspaper a few days later, a similar advertisement had been placed.

"To the owner of thirty pieces of silver: Send the thirty pieces of silver by mail. A reward of 20,000 yen shall be given."

"The reward has doubled."

My interest grew. In the newspaper a few days later, a similar advertisement had been placed. "To the owner of thirty pieces of silver: Send only the Twelve Apostles by mail. A reward of 30,000 yen shall be given." "It says to send only the Twelve Apostles. There seems to be a profound meaning. But I can't figure it out."

In the newspaper a few days later, a similar article had been placed.

"To the owner of thirty pieces of silver: Send only the Twelve Apostles by mail. A reward of 50,000 yen shall be given."

"The reward has become fifty thousand yen." My interest had swollen.

Then, another advertisement appeared in the newspaper.

“To the owner of thirty pieces of silver: We have determined your residence. You reside in the East District. Send only the Twelve Apostles by mail. We will no longer offer any reward.”

“This won’t do,” I said.

“These words contain a threat. Now what will she do?”

Then yet another advertisement appeared in the newspaper.

“To the owner of thirty pieces of silver: Send the thirty pieces of silver by mail. Beware lest you meet a swindler’s fate.” "This is a terrifying threat!"

I fell deep into thought.

"But now the truth had become clear. The advertiser was the owner—the true owner of the coins. It was Mr. Saeki who had stolen them. That’s why they had waited for his release—to kill him and reclaim the coins. They succeeded in killing him but failed to retrieve them. That outcome was only natural—the person holding them wasn’t Mr. Saeki but an entirely different her instead. So that person offered a reward and tried to recover the coins—the thirty pieces of silver—while simultaneously exhausting every means to track down their owner. And thus they had identified her...Floating cloud! Floating cloud! She was a floating cloud!"

My heart was shaken. "They're people who could even easily kill an international con artist like Mr. Saeki." "Killing her would mean nothing to them."

Suddenly, her corpse appeared before my eyes. "I can't just leave this alone." I hurriedly left the boarding house. I took a rickshaw and rushed there. I crossed the park and emerged into the town.

I rushed into her house.

She was sitting in the study. Her face was pale. Thirty pieces of silver were on the desk.

I strode in.

She suddenly looked up. Her gaze was bone-chilling.

“It’s no use anymore,” I said.

“Return them! Return them!” “Let’s sell them! Let’s sell them! The platinum!” She snapped.

“It’d be better if we just didn’t have them.”

She staggered out of the study. The sound of a phone call could be heard. She must be calling a jeweler or something. She returned to the study. She sat down facing me. But she didn’t say a word. Sometimes she audibly gnashed her teeth. The jeweler arrived one hour later. She flung out a single coin. It was a coin bearing Solomon’s mark. The jeweler examined the coin. “This is counterfeit money.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” she shouted. “I sold you one before. ‘Platinum of unparalleled quality in the entire world!’ You paid a fortune for it after I told you that!”

“The one you sold me must have been genuine.” “The platinum you sold.” “This is not platinum.” The jeweler’s words were dispassionate.

“Fine, fine, that might be the case. There are plenty of them. The platinum...” she pressed, “Perhaps one of them might be counterfeit. How about this one? What about this coin?” She flung out another one. It was a coin bearing David’s mark.

“This is also counterfeit money.” The jeweler’s answer was cold. She and I exchanged glances. “Hmph—is that so? Counterfeit money?” “There’s plenty of platinum.” “Two fakes among them wouldn’t be strange.” She said this while trying to remain calm.

“What about this one?!” “What about this coin?”

She flung out another one. It was a gleaming coin bearing the mark of Apostle Paul. “This isn’t counterfeit, is it?” The jeweler did not even take it into his hands. “It remains counterfeit.” “Fine,” she moaned.

She turned the leather wallet upside down. She emptied out all the platinum.

"How many are there?" "The real ones?" 23 The jeweler looked them over. He curled his upper lip. "They're all counterfeit." "Get out!" she barked.

The jeweler sneered and left.

“No, he’s a plant!” “That villainous advertiser’s agent—yes, his lackey!” “He lied about them being counterfeit and tried to steal them!” “As if I’d fall for such an old trick!” “We can’t handle this by phone—let’s go ourselves.” “Let’s go drag a clerk here.” “A clerk from a trustworthy metal dealer—one skilled in appraisals.”

She dashed out of the study. The sound of her making a phone call could be heard. It seemed she was calling a taxi.

Before long, the taxi arrived.

She got in and left.

I remained seated in silence.

“She might just go mad.”

I waited for a while.

"There was no reason for her to have business with this house. A fair warning! That was enough. Whether she heeded it or not was up to her... Whether they were counterfeit or genuine made little difference to me."

And so, I returned to my lodging.

A few days later, the newspaper carried an advertisement of the following sort. “To the sender of twenty-nine silver coins: You were remarkably astute. Your act of leaving behind Judas Iscariot and mailing the remainder caused us to nod in approval and smile. Rest assured. We shall not inflict harm.”

"It appears she finally mailed them. The reason she didn't send the single coin bearing Judas Iscariot's mark was undoubtedly because she had sold it previously."

Anyway, I was relieved.

But she had become poor. "She might no longer be able to live in that house."

One day I secretly went to check on her house. The house had a for rent sign posted.

"Just as I expected," I said.

She must have set off on some vagabond journey.

I felt both relief and loneliness. I would never meet her again. This was why such thoughts had arisen.

Before long, spring arrived. Before long, late spring turned to early summer. There was no risk of her noticing me. I could take walks freely. After events had passed, visiting the sites where they occurred and indulging in memories was a pleasant thing for a writer. So I went to the park, touched the tree where I had tried to hang myself, and sat on the Rohadai bench where I had met Mr. Saeki to think things over.

The season when iris flowers bloom, the season when strawberries appear at the greengrocer's—this is the season I love.

Gradually I became healthy.

One day, I visited Dr. K after a long interval.

Dr. K was a renowned forensic scientist and a mystery novelist. That day too, he was writing something in his study.

I got engrossed in conversation there.

And then Dr. K suddenly said, "The secret society of Pan-Judaism - Freemasonry's members have entered Japan in considerable numbers, haven't they?"

“Ah, is that indeed the case?” “According to what I saw in The London Times, their precious secret documents were stolen by a certain Japanese individual, so they came to retrieve them—or so it appears.”

I became somewhat interested. 24 "That’s highly detective-like in nature." Dr. K lowered his voice slightly.

“Let me explain in more detail.” “Actually, as a personal interest of mine, I had previously investigated Freemasonry’s inner workings.” “Regarding the secret documents I just mentioned—they’re apparently not written on paper. It’s said they’re engraved somewhere on the emblems of those thirty platinum coins using cleverly designed pattern-like characters.” “Now regarding the coin emblems—they’ve selected thirty figures from among those appearing in the Old and New Testaments and stamped them on the coins, it seems.” “Christ and the twelve apostles are of course included among them.” “Among these, what’s particularly important are said to be the coins stamped with the eleven apostles excluding Judas.” “But well, putting that aside—what’s interesting is that of those coins, all except one of the twenty-nine are apparently not platinum but counterfeits.” “In other words, to make them seem valuable, they’re crafted to resemble platinum, but their cores are just lead or something like that.” “However, the Japanese person who stole them had no inkling of this fact and apparently stole them under the belief that they were genuine, magnificent platinum.”

"Ah ha," I said with a smile. "Wouldn't the real platinum coin be that one stamped with Judas as its emblem?"

“Oh, how do you know that?” Dr. K looked utterly and completely astonished,

“Exactly as you said.” “But why was only that coin made with real platinum?” “In other words, Freemasonry is a gathering of nihilist thinkers.” “And their guardian deity is Judas Iscariot, you see.” “It would feel rather sacrilegious to craft their guardian deity in counterfeit metal—that’s why they supposedly made just that one coin from extremely valuable platinum.” “But I don’t know the truth of it myself—it’s supposedly just a legendary tale.”

I thought there. I wondered whether to share the story I had experienced with Dr. K. ……But I decided against it. It wasn't a story worth boasting about, and I didn't want to disgrace my unfortunate wife who had vanished from this world by telling it. After engaging in some small talk for a while, I left Dr. K's residence.

I had one doubt. "At the very least—did she know only Judas was genuine platinum when she sold it? Or did she just happen to sell that coin..." "Such things don’t matter," I immediately denied. "Hasn’t everything already passed? It makes no difference either way."

Boarding house life became inconvenient. "I'll rent a small house in the suburbs and try living self-sufficiently," I decided.

I searched for a rental house.

I went toward Kodamacho and approached my old residence. Someone had already moved in. This was only natural. I felt somehow nostalgic. I stood there for a while, surveying the scene.

“Oh,” I said without thinking. My name was written on the nameplate. In my own handwriting: Ichijo Hiroshi. “This is strange... What’s going on?”

Inside the lattice was a shoji screen with glass embedded in its panels. Though considering it somewhat rude, I peered into the house. "Oh," I said again. Beside the familiar long hibachi stove sat an equally familiar woman - demure and lonesome in her posture - engaged in sewing work. As if sensing human presence, the woman abruptly raised her face.

“Kumeko!” I exclaimed.

At that, the woman stood up abruptly. I unconsciously opened the front door. She was standing in the dirt-floored entryway.

I felt a heaviness in my chest. Her face was there. I felt both shoulders tighten. Her arms had tightened.

A sob escaped from her mouth. "I believed—I truly did. "I was certain—absolutely certain you would come. "Yes, you’d come back—……I was waiting for you……Please believe me. "Oh, me! "I am pure!" She raised her eyes and looked at me. And I looked at her. "As long as those eyes remained those eyes, I could believe in her purity." She had those eyes. As of old, still unchanged.

The complete change in her attitude and transformation into a bump-type woman hadn't been of any real significance. By behaving in such a manner, she emboldened her spirit, made her appearance alluring, refined her movements, used these as weapons to confront the great con artist, forced him into submission, and attempted to wrest the thirty platinum coins from the swindler's grasp.

Unaware of this truth, I who had agonized was ultimately nothing but a fool.

And as for how things turned out, it had culminated in her victory.

This was only to be expected. It must have been based on the notion that to deceive the enemy, one must first test their allies—but regardless, she who had honed her mind and body through such profoundly reckless behavior that even her husband, me, had once resolved himself to die—such a woman could never lose to some mere swindler. Mr. Junichiro Saeki respectfully presented thirty pieces of silver to her. And then, most unfortunately on his return journey, he was assassinated by members of Freemasonry. Those two foreigners who had followed Mr. Saeki—they must undoubtedly be the perpetrators.

25

We came to live together. At first, it was strange. It felt somewhat discordant. But we gradually grew accustomed to it.

Gradually, the two became happy. She became her former self. She still soothed me as before. She would say humorous things.

“The wind’s blowing today, you know. A cold winter-like wind. Wrap it round and round – really coil it tight.” She was telling him to wrap his scarf. “Put on your tabi socks. You know – the tabi socks.” She was telling him to put on his tabi socks. One time I asked her this:

“You had a rendezvous with someone in the park, didn’t you? The detective said you were a prostitute.” “Oh, I did. With the Governor.”

It was an exceedingly frank reply.—That was precisely why I felt reassured. “Did you know about it when you sold it? The coin with Judas’s crest was, at the very least, genuine platinum.”

“No,” she said laughing. “That Judas fellow had the most detestable face—that’s why I sold it.” The realization settled within me. Judas Iscariot truly did possess a countenance displeasing to women and children.

The two of us were at peace.

However, I sometimes thought. I might have forgiven a kiss or two.

But immediately I reconsidered.

"But what's wrong with a kiss or two? Hadn't I myself pressed my lips against plenty of women over the years?" Time flowed peacefully onward.

Here was one regrettable thing—but for me as her husband, there was instead something tremendously reassuring—her appearance suddenly declined.

It was because she had toiled. Just as rural peasant women who always carry burdens lose their beauty early, she too had suddenly lost her delicate beauty from shouldering such a burden.

Whether mentally or physically, carrying too heavy a burden seems unwise. I too had considerable hardships. The reason I had more white hair than befitted my age was that I had borne heavy burdens. Her forehead had become noticeable. Her ill-fitting dentures had become noticeable. Her height had also diminished.

But that was just as well.

For a husband not of choleric temperament, possessing a beautiful wife could never bring happiness. But of course, even in the future, she will undoubtedly make various missteps and cause me distress.

But she probably wouldn’t torment me by playing at being a countess anymore.

Midsummer came, and midsummer departed.

There was no change in their life together. It was something insignificant, but I had neglected to mention it.

To Mr. Junichiro Saeki's former residence—for what purpose had she moved there?

That too had apparently been a strategy to intimidate Mr. Saeki.