Pathway to Japanese Literature

Outside was a moonlit night of terrifying brightness.
On the chimney jutting out directly opposite the entrance, the moon was swiftly sinking westward.

As I groped my way through the dark, clammy soil beneath the trees in the garden, I became drenched in sweat.
Having had spider webs cling to my face two or three times, I was truly at my wits' end.
I must have taken a wrong path, but I still managed to reach the back gate.

From the hidden door, I stuck out only my head. I surveyed the deserted back alleys of Ōkubo in the dead of night. After looking back once more at the black chimney's shadow, I veered off into a side street at a hurried pace.

Being a newspaper reporter well-versed in Tokyo's geography and police network made slipping out of Ōkubo undetected in the dead of night and reaching Shinjuku's red-light district a simple matter.

There, pretending to be thoroughly drunk, I hailed another dazed-looking taxi and returned to Green Apartments in Ochanomizu by walking up Surugadai slope, arriving precisely at 4:00 AM.

This apartment boasted state-of-the-art facilities and a luxurious heating system.
Access was of course unrestricted.
Nevertheless, with careful caution, I sneaked into my room at the far end of the third floor without making a sound, then quietly released the lock from inside.

On the desk at the center of the room lay a desk phone with its receiver removed and manuscript pages for the Sunday supplement I’d been writing until nearly eleven the previous night, scattered about.
The ink characters illuminated by the hundred-candlepower bulb left burning still retained their vivid blue.
Onto those manuscript pages, I tossed down a still-unwrapped bundle of thousand-yen bills I'd pulled from my inner pocket.
Then I stripped completely naked and inspected everything from my coat and clothes down to my shirt and undershorts.
After confirming there were no abnormalities anywhere, I redressed exactly as before.
I felt a slight chill.

I polished my shoes with the flannel cloth hanging from the bedpost.
Though I had already thoroughly wiped them down with an automobile mat...

I washed my hands at the washbasin in the corner of the room without making a sound.
I thought it wouldn't be problematic even if I made some noise, but...

Finally, I picked up the hat that had been placed on the chair and meticulously brushed it.
Since a few fine spider threads clung to it, I took particular care to pluck them off.
I rolled what had stuck to the brush into a ball with my fingertips and flushed it down the washbasin pipe.

I tried to hang it on the hat rack in the corner of the room, but on a whim peered inside and was startled.
Next to the sky-blue mark stamped with "JANYSKA," a slender creature striped in black and gold was firmly clamped in a lion-like bite.
Not only that, but it appeared to be starting to slowly move its single right front leg.

......A female spider...... That thing from the Nando family's grove had clung on and come all the way here.
When I was cleaning under the electric light, it must have instinctively scurried toward darker and darker places, skillfully evading my eyes before settling in this spot……The Widow Nando’s obsession……?…….

I suddenly found it funny.
Thinking I might have gotten a bit sentimental... I gently opened the window.
I shook my hat and let it escape.
After confirming that no threads remained behind, I placed it on my head.

For some reason, I felt relieved.

There existed absolutely no one who could connect Count Nando’s Widow’s death with me—save for that single female spider I had just released.
Unless the corpse stabbed through the heart with a dagger started screaming my name...

As soon as I finished writing this manuscript, I intended to mail it to a friend at the magazine.
Simultaneously, I would submit a notice to the newspaper office stating that my nervous breakdown had worsened and I would be taking about a month’s rest… With plans to flee somewhere far beyond the Metropolitan Police Department’s reach, there was not one chance in ten thousand of being caught.

However, taking endless precautions remained my nature.

The friend who received this manuscript would undoubtedly send it straight to the typesetting plant as usual without properly examining the contents.
Because it was an advance copy past the deadline...

There, this manuscript would be torn apart and pass into the hands of the workers.
There was no concern about it being understood even if printed.
Even when bound into a coherent text and distributed nationwide through the power of steam and gasoline engines, the place and personal names remained pseudonyms, and I had ensured that the hints contained in the title would remain undetectable except to either exceptionally attentive newspaper readers or particularly duty-bound officials who had conducted on-site investigations.
Therefore, it would take at least two or three weeks before anyone realized this manuscript contained the truth of that incident.
If someone like me couldn't achieve a perfect disappearance within that period, then I had no right to complain about being caught.

I know all too well that these actions of mine constitute both the sole confession and the only clue in this case.
...Nevertheless, why did I take such a bold... no, rather foolish course of action?

The reason is simply this... I want the truth of this case to be recognized in its authentic form, no matter how far it reaches.
Because I want to fulfill my promise with Count Nando's Widow.

As soon as I'm caught, I will undoubtedly be charged with blackmail and murder.
If I make one careless misstep, there’s a strong possibility they’ll have my neck wrung on charges of murder or robbery.
I’ve been handling such a horrifying case completely alone all this time.

Where could there be anyone capable of proving that I am a man particularly sensitive to all forms of life?

I am a parasite dwelling in the decadent layers of modern society.
I am a man who has persistently undertaken a certain kind of adventure - one that wouldn't flinch at being called cowardly or villainous - particularly where money is concerned... And especially this time alone, through an unexpected opportunity, I intend to have accomplished thoroughly satisfying work that greatly benefits society... work that even the victim themselves would likely feel grateful for.
I consider even a six-thousand-yen reward insufficient.

I intend to continue challenging society in this manner from now on.
With a notebook documenting this incident and six thousand yen as my capital...

You corrupt capitalists with guilty consciences.
Beware...

Outside seemed to have already grown light.

Let me take a breather here.

I visited Count Nando's Widow at her residence at exactly half past midnight this morning.

Of course, it was no ordinary visit.
To put it bluntly, the purpose was blackmail.

While working in the Foreign Affairs Department of Toto Daily News, one of Japan's foremost newspapers, I concurrently published a four-page newspaper called Family Weekly every Sunday from a small letterpress shop in Hongō Nishikata-chō.
The bulk consisted of clipped articles about cooking, sewing, handicrafts and suchlike, with perfunctory reports on society ladies' activities, actresses' movements, theater productions, and exhibitions—but its true purpose lay in publishing monthly exposés on girls' schools and upper-class households, then selling every copy of those issues at exorbitant prices.
Of course, since I had separately printed the newspapers meant for distribution, I never once committed any blunder that might draw police attention.

However, around this time, that blackmail began to take remarkable effect.
It seemed major newspapers these days had stopped covering upper-class scandals like they used to.
Eventually, just manuscripts... Recently, I could secure five hundred or a thousand yen merely by whispering a hint into someone’s ear.

In the social strata of late-stage capitalism, examples of upper-class corruption rebelling against economic depression abounded.
Therefore, I never had the slightest trouble with money.
The more money I grabbed, the deeper I delved into the underbelly of those corrupt strata.
I knew every single name of the women who bought actresses and the men who bought actors.

Count Nando's Widow was the most prominent of them all.

When the late Count—who had hoarded an immense fortune and devoted himself to collecting rare books and paintings—died of tuberculosis four or five years prior, the widow soon demolished most of the old mansion to build rental housing and installed a former banker as property manager.
She herself took up residence in a library built in a corner of the remaining garden, installing a crude red-brick chimney and employing a single commuting housekeeper.

It was around that time that the widow’s beauty began visibly reversing the passage of years.
Seating her voluptuous, radiantly beautiful form—utterly unimaginable as belonging to a woman nearing forty who should resemble an old cherry tree—upon the Women’s Moral Society’s chair, she began exuding boundless vitality through both eloquence and the written word.

She was a woman of remarkable wit and charm.
She never made enemies, neither materially nor spiritually.
She went about proclaiming her resolve to devote her remaining childless life entirely to public service.
She also said that visiting kindergartens and elementary schools to dote on children was her greatest pleasure.
Moreover, in reality, she did appear precisely that way.

Gentlemen and ladies who resonated with her causes and worked zealously for her endeavors gathered in throngs around her.
Performances supporting her causes invariably drew packed houses.

Newspapers and magazines vied to publish her photographs, quotes, and writings.
Her masterful calligraphy on large scrolls and decorative poem cards sold like wildfire in rural regions.
The world might as well have been enchanted by her.
She possessed a hidden reputation that surpassed her public fame.

Amidst them all, I alone remained completely unenchanted by her. From a certain mysterious motive, while keeping as much distance from her as possible, I investigated her hidden side with utmost seriousness.

That mysterious motive was none other than the newly installed chimney in the Nando family's library.

...The truth... The very motive that drove me to become so engrossed in investigating Count Nando's Widow's conduct—even to the point of obsession with Anna—was none other than that crude red-brick chimney.

The people near Ōkubo Hyakunin-chō would know.

Within the Nando family's stately main gate—a hinoki-wood structure studded with old-fashioned iron rivets—cheap American pine rental houses stood in a cluttered jumble, erasing any trace of former grandeur... Yet if one circled to the rear, an entirely opposite scene emerged: portions of dignified pine groves that spoke to the household's lineage, along with mixed forests of nanim trees, oaks, camellias, and cherry trees—encircled by towering black earthen walls and a sturdy zelkova-wood hidden gate—persisted as a bygone-era remnant, forming a separate world divorced from both the main gate's rentals and nearby residences...

Now, the Nando family's library standing in solitary isolation within that cedar grove was a two-story reinforced concrete structure measuring approximately five by four ken, tiled in tea-brown tiles with rows of green-painted iron blinds beneath a high-quality slate roof.
The entire structure was an earthquake- and fire-resistant Renaissance-inspired design that fully manifested the late Count's fastidiousness and cautious nature.

However, after the Count’s death, the newly installed chimney opposite the main entrance was a massive, clumsy structure made of ordinary red bricks stacked in a perfect square.
Not only did it clash discordantly with the library's idealized architectural style, but it had also utterly destroyed the dignified elegance of the surrounding cedar grove.
It felt uncannily reminiscent of a crematorium.

I had been suspicious of this chimney’s true nature all along.
For even after surviving one winter following its construction, by the following spring, this chimney had shown no signs of ever emitting smoke.
When I first discovered this fact, even I found myself tilting my head in puzzlement.
I stood rooted in the middle of the street for some time, blankly gazing up at the lightning rod atop the chimney’s peak.
I stared intently at the scaly clouds crossing over that lightning rod.

However, no matter how much I racked my brains, some things remained beyond comprehension.

The library had long since had daytime power lines and gas installed.
Not only was there not the slightest trace of coal or coke fragments scattered nearby, but no fact had ever been discovered regarding such merchants coming and going.
For what purpose had they installed this red-brick chimney that seemed unnecessary except for burning coal?
If it were meant as a stove flue, there existed a proper counterpart of decorative bricks neatly attached to the wall of the room on the right-hand side facing the entrance.
Moreover, if it were an ordinary ventilation duct, there would be any number of more convenient, refined, ideal ones available.
The kitchen must have been managed entirely with electricity and gas—so for what purpose had they erected such a dreary structure? The more I pondered this mystery, the more intensely perplexed I became.
I had lost count of how many times I’d considered sneaking inside just once to see the situation for myself...

However, after another year passed with no fire having ever passed through that chimney—as evidenced by a certain type of large-leaved creeping vine that began vigorously climbing up from its base—the vines proved to be of the same magnificent foreign species that enveloped the walls of the C国 Embassy in Kōjimachi Ward, though their growth appeared remarkably rapid. After just two summers, they had already climbed all the way to the lightning rod at the pinnacle and hung down in thick clusters. Then, as if following suit, the library’s exterior maintenance seemed to become neglected—dandelions and shepherd’s purse began sprouting sporadically across the slate roof. The green iron blinds began developing red rust. As this happened, the creeping vines that had scaled the chimney now began reaching sideways, until within two years they had ended up covering more than half of the library. Moreover, it seemed gardeners had ceased tending to the garden’s trees as well. Dead branches dangled, cedar trees tilted, and gradually everything began taking on a ruinous appearance.

The chimney, which had previously been discordant, now began harmonizing well with the building and trees.
It had even begun to take on a kind of exotic allure.
As though naturally symbolizing some aspect of that protagonist’s psychological state...

As I continued overlooking such scenes, I had unwittingly forgotten about the chimney's mystery altogether. Having convinced myself that its smokeless state was perfectly natural, I became wholly engrossed in pursuing other leads that seemed entirely unrelated to the chimney—when I reflected on it later, this too struck me as an uncanny psychological phenomenon.

Yet what compounded the mystery was how once my mind abandoned the chimney problem, my investigation into her hidden secrets began advancing with startling rapidity.

I noted down every taxi number she specifically summoned from distant locations to her Ōkubo residence. From those numbers I tracked down the drivers' names, and while applying bribes to inquire about the widow's destinations, found each of my hunches being corroborated one after another... Not only that, I had even discovered hidden crucibles of scandal lurking in unexpected places beyond my prior knowledge. Such locations were concealed in lofty, remote areas beyond ordinary reporters' and detectives' reach—but for someone like me with numerous connections in those clandestine circles, this proved not only convenient but revealed that all gentlemen coming to mingle with her in those crucibles bore faces so widely known in society they required no separate investigation.

Ridiculous as it may seem, I found myself astonished anew by Tokyo’s vastness. Thereupon, having judged the opportune moment, I tracked down the residence of the sole housekeeper employed at the Nando family’s estate. I confronted her directly and attempted bribery. I shall refrain from recording the housekeeper’s name and address here due to pitiable circumstances, but there is no doubt she was the widow of a war hero who perished in the ×× War. Despite this, that timid middle-aged housekeeper—tearfully rambling on and on about not wanting to cause trouble for her only daughter’s marriage prospects—ended up giving me a major windfall by confessing in exhaustive detail: the widow’s debaucheries at her Ōkubo residence, their exact timing, and those outrageously ingenious methods of cross-dressing partners before smuggling them in—all described thoroughly enough for me to roughly discern the types and names involved.

However, her attitude and manner of speaking had transparently revealed a fearful heart still concealing some grave secret. Just as I steeled myself to visit her home again and press for more details, that housekeeper unexpectedly vanished without trace.
She appeared to have settled her rent properly and moved somewhere, abruptly ceasing all visits to the Nando residence in Ōkubo.
In her place, a young innocent girl began commuting to the Nando family's residence too—strictly during daytime hours.

This was certainly due to my carelessness.
All clues that could lead to crucial evidence had completely vanished.
I should have at least asked about her only daughter’s marriage prospects…

However, on the other hand, I was also surprised to find Count Nando's Widow unexpectedly formidable.
I thought it would be more effective—and safer—to observe the situation a bit longer, secure solid evidence, and then open fire. Thus, for some time afterward, I found myself hesitating without truly meaning to hesitate.

Yet it was strange—the chimney mystery I had begun to forget came vividly back to life in my mind, triggered by this very housekeeper’s disappearance.

It felt less like my sixth sense and more akin to some sharper neural judgment process.
Of course, the fact that chimney construction had commenced after the Count's death powerfully corroborated this judgment—though...

However, it had been clear from the very beginning that concretely uncovering this secret would be no easy task.
I had considered that any investigation would require first establishing a general hypothesis—yet that very hypothesis proved frustratingly elusive.

It was around that time that I learned of the fact that the Count’s family real estate was on the verge of being put up as collateral—gleaned from an unexpected quarter.

It was Mr. Glucks, the C国 Ambassador, who had told me this story, but the moment I heard it, I thought: I can’t let this go…
Realizing that if I kept dawdling until they wrung me dry like dregs, it would be unbearable, I immediately wrote a forged anonymous letter and had them place an advertisement in both the Toto Daily News and Central Evening News specifying a meeting date and time—then the very next morning, while still asleep in my apartment, a call came through from Toto Daily News...

I hurriedly jumped up and grabbed the receiver.
"...Another incident?" I thought, instinctively scowling...

“Hello... What’s...”

“Ah... Thank you for your letter.
“Let us meet precisely at half past twelve tonight at my residence’s back gate.
“You’ve understood... Tonight at half past twelve... my home’s back gate...”

came the widow’s own voice.
And with that, the line went dead.

I felt my body tense up.

She knows everything. ...She might even know that tomorrow is my day off.

With these thoughts swirling in my mind, I slipped quietly out of my apartment after making thorough preparations and taking precautions.

"What the hell…" I sneered to myself…

Entering through the hidden door of the back gate as instructed, I found the widow waiting on a nearby bench in her visiting kimono to greet me.
Without uttering a word, she gripped my hand firmly, making me tense up once more.
She appeared to know even that I maintained strict punctuality regarding time.

But there’s nothing to fear.
If she intends to seduce me, I don’t mind being seduced.
"I won't yield an inch on the essentials..." I thought while being led hand-in-hand through overgrown garden plants that appeared desolate even to night-adjusted eyes, following a clammy dark path beneath forest shadows until I was pulled through the cedar-framed library entrance.
After passing through a short corridor devoid of any lighting, I found myself standing at the center of an utterly dark room ahead.

There, the widow released my hand, stepped to the room's midpoint, and yanked the light cord with a decisive click.

I blinked two or three times because it was excessively bright.
...but eventually confirmed that this house was, just as I had initially suspected, a library in name only.

At least the room I had been led into was undoubtedly the same one Count Nando had used as his bedroom during his lifetime.
And after the Count's death, it had undoubtedly become the widow's secret pleasure den.

The sweltering heat from the gas-powered furnace's stifling atmosphere mingled with the heavy scent of her makeup and the pungent odor of her skin that had already begun permeating the air.

However, I remained unfazed.
After placing my overcoat and hat atop the grand piano positioned directly opposite the entrance, still wearing my black thin women's silk gloves, I took a seat facing her who remained equally composed.

The two exchanged brief bows in their first greeting while simultaneously beginning to exchange razor-edged dialogue at accelerated speed, as if by prior arrangement. While mutually observing each other's shifting expressions...

“Thank you for your telephone call.”
“I must apologize for all this trouble I’ve caused.”
“I shall return your letter.”

“Ha… Indeed…”

“So... regarding that newspaper manuscript—have you brought it with you...”

"My deepest apologies.
"The manuscript I spoke of was a lie."
“The truth is, it’s all in my head.”
"I figured it would amount to the same thing whether I wrote it down as a manuscript or not..."

“Well… So you’re aware of more besides that?”

“Aside from your esteemed relationship with the C国 Ambassador who recently returned to his home country, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not aware of anything beyond that, however.”
“Though I must say this is quite rude, after parting with the late Count, you seem to have embarked on a highly ironic lifestyle.”
“On one hand, as president of the Women’s Moral Society, you graciously gathered unto yourself the admiration of women across Japan—while on the other, through every means imaginable, you devoted yourself to studying the hidden facets of all manner of gentlemen.”
“Of course, all those you selected as subjects for your research were limited to foreigners well-versed in chivalry and distinguished gentlemen accustomed to covert actions—which explains why the contents of such studies have never once leaked until today... Though I must say, I truly admire your sagacity.”

“Ohohoho. I suppose I’m what you’d call late capitalism’s terminal woman… Though… you’ve done your research thoroughly.”

I felt relief at her unexpectedly swift capitulation. Simultaneously, I couldn’t deny recognizing my own “face’s” efficacy in this line of work.

“...You see... I’m but a parasite of this late capitalist society.”

“Well now… but… is that all you have to declare?”

“…Could you purchase more?”

“Yes… any amount… Though wouldn’t paying in dribs and drabs prove more troublesome for you?”

“…You’re quite right… Then bundling it all together—what amount would that be…”

“To have you cease your newspaper…”

“Ha ha ha.”
“Did you know?”
“Well then, I’ll lower the price a bit.”
“Let’s see... Since I’m currently printing about two thousand copies of issue two hundred fifty-seven, purchasing them all would require requesting around ten thousand yen.”
“For me, this would mean losing income of about two hundred yen per month.”
“However, since you’re fully aware of everything, how about I make a significant concession—say half price at five thousand yen?”

“Will that suffice?”

“That will suffice.”

The widow took out a handbag from under the table and began counting bills.
While watching this, I was formulating plans in my mind.
To publish a newspaper under a new name starting from the first issue, a thousand yen would be more than sufficient.
Maybe I’ll launch a cultural newspaper next and harass those quack hospitals and shady shows... Or perhaps change tack entirely—start some cheap modern apartments while keeping up this writing gig... Hmm...

In time, the widow finished counting the bills.

“Um... There’s approximately six thousand two hundred yen here—though it’s dreadfully presumptuous of me to include this extra amount—but I had prepared it...”

“That’s... excessive...”

“Not at all—though terribly forward of me—this constitutes my humble gesture...”

“Thank you—I shall strictly honor our agreement.”

I found myself compelled to bow my head.
At this point, I could no longer deny the reasons behind Count Nando's Widow's formidable reputation.

Why was it that my mind—that instinctively couldn't resist probing into the psychological state of those who show such generosity in these situations—had become paralyzed at this very moment? Had I been poisoned by the widow's magic power without even realizing it? Or had I been overwhelmed by my opponent's intelligence?...I wasn't the type to get flustered over conceding a mere thousand yen or so...

...Be that as it may...

I haphazardly divided the thick bundles of mixed bills and thrust them into my inner pockets on both sides, feeling somewhat relieved. Without ceremony, I took the thin cigarette's gold tip and lit it. I had clearly sensed she wasn't some bumbling opponent who'd harm me now...

Meanwhile, the widow had brewed tea. She too picked up a slender cigarette.

"...Now then... might I inquire... about what you mentioned earlier..."

“Ah… Let’s talk.”
“This is my concession, mind you.”
“Though my concession might be the greater one... Ha ha ha...”

“My apologies for that.”
“Please…”

“Well, it’s nothing particularly extraordinary. Mr. Glucks from C Country—your old acquaintance whom I just mentioned—happened to show me something interesting shortly before returning to his post. In a manner of speaking, it’s your misfortune.”

“…My misfortune…”

“That’s correct. You didn’t know Mr. Glucks happens to be what they call a world-famous Mystery Hunter, did you? You see... That Glucks gave me some choice material. Since I’d introduced him to a rather exclusive club, he handed it over by way of thanks. Doesn’t this stir any recognition?”

“...Well now.”
“That hardly suffices—”
“Just a moment...”

“Is that so.”
“In that case, let me elaborate further.”
“According to Mr. Glucks’ account—or so he claims—there should be one or two women in every country harboring morbid proclivities like yours.”
“And he maintains that the progression paths through which those proclivities intensify all follow similar patterns.”
“Of course, even among such specimens, you possess the most remarkable characteristics—and Mr. Glucks asserts you’ve now descended to the final stage of these grotesque inclinations.”

“...The ‘final stage’...?”

“That’s correct. The evidence Mr. Glucks showed me when declaring ‘This proves it’ consisted of a handful of nail clippings wrapped in blank paper.”

“...Nail clippings...?...”

“Precisely. Clippings from boys wearing various costumes. Enough for twelve or thirteen individuals... Do you still feign ignorance?”

“My... What possible connection could such things have to me...”

As this exchange continued, the widow’s expression acquired an unsettling quality. Deliberately arranging her cosmetics-perfected yet ringless fingers across the table in theatrical display, she let her gaze drift into some unfathomable distance.

I chased that gaze.
She laughed coldly...

"It's rather troublesome how you keep feigning ignorance."

The widow looked directly at my face.

“...I... am not feigning ignorance in the slightest...”

“Well then, shall I explain it for you? Even someone like me has gone through considerable trouble to reach your level, you know. It takes one to know one,” I said in a reproachful tone. The truth was, I hadn’t understood at all until this moment what those nail clippings signified…

And sure enough, there was a reaction.
The widow—who had been staring at my face as if to bore holes through it—had her cheeks rapidly flush a deep crimson while her eyes began to sparkle with unparalleled beauty.

“Hohohoho.”
“I see.”
“You heard it from that housekeeper, didn’t you?”
“There’s no need for you to explain.”
“I’ll confess everything for you, so just wait.”

The widow’s manner of speech suddenly took on a thick Kansai accent.
At the same time, remaining seated in her chair, she smoothly extended her pale-white left hand and retrieved a liquor bottle filled with blue liquid and a glass from the bookshelf behind her.

“...How about you have one?... Ohoho... Ah no—then I’ll have mine alone.”
“How rude of me… but you still don’t understand my disposition, do you?”
“It can’t be helped. Alrighty then?… Do listen well, will you?”

The widow, having grown suddenly eloquent, gulped down the blue liquid poured into a deep glass.
As she let out a long breath, a fiercely fragrant green scent struck my face.

However, I stared at the widow’s face without so much as blinking.
Through her suddenly altered demeanor, while anticipating the contents of her confession...

“Truly... It’s exactly as you’ve surmised.”
“I collected the nails from the boys I killed with my own hands and stored them away in that desk drawer over there.”
“They say Western noblewomen use them as talismans during their soirées, you see.”
“Mr. Glucks must have stolen one of those packages while I was asleep.”
“To keep his connection with me from being severed.”
“Hohoho.”

She once more let out a ‘fuu’ of blue-tinged breath directly into my face.

I stiffened, my heart pounding thump-thump-thump...

"...Ever since parting with my husband, I'm sometimes overcome by unbearable melancholy."
"That might be what you call my hysteria, but each time it struck, I would often dress as a man and venture out to observe various performances."
"When I put on a hunting cap, wear Lloyd's tinted glasses, and don a knickerbocker suit, my entire appearance changes completely, you see."
"I've even passed by you at the Imperial Theater's talkie premiere... You hadn't noticed, had you?"

I nodded honestly.

"...You see... Then when I'd find handsome, delinquent-looking boys on the streets, bathing them, shaving their heads, dressing them in kimono and bringing them here became so thrilling I could hardly stand it... Though mind you, I only meant to take their nails when I first started bringing them."
"Before long the boys would start clinging to me and refuse to leave—such a nuisance—so I made them swallow calmotin... Then sent them off to a better place from that old well in the basement."
"The old well in this basement is quite deep and can be tightly sealed, with its ventilation shaft running straight up through that high chimney."
"I designed it myself, you see."
"No one could ever figure it out."
"...But you finally figured it out... Hohoho... Since it's been going on for quite some time, the number must be considerable... Including that housekeeper you know... Hohohohoho..."

I became acutely aware of the blood rapidly draining from my face.
While drenched in cold sweat from unbearable excitement and terror, I found myself unable to move a single muscle.

In stark contrast to this, her beauty intensified with every word she uttered.
Having finished speaking while appearing thoroughly self-satisfied, she stood up and thrust both pale hands between the bed's cushions to rummage about, eventually dragging out a massive damask-bound album with a prolonged scraping sound.
She hefted it over with both hands as if bearing a great weight, gingerly placing it atop my stone-stiff knees before proceeding to open the cover herself.

I honestly confessed.
As she placed the heavy album upon me, I noticed both kneecaps trembling violently.
When I tried to open the album, my fingers shook uncontrollably and refused to obey.
I finally became aware that the terrifying deranged serial killer—whom I had only heard about in stories—now stood right before my eyes... and discovered myself seduced by this murderer yet utterly powerless to act...

The widow stood abruptly beside me in that state, smiling bewitchingly down at me.
As if mocking my cowardice... as if pressing me into absolute submission...

I think I refastened my gloves' buttons with trembling fingers while enveloped in that sinister aura.
...For no reason at all... I think I fearfully spread open the thick silk-bound album.

It was a collection of illustrations depicting the tyrannies of King Zhou of Shang and King Jie of Xia, painted by historical art master Umebayashi Kyūsai.
Chinese-style beauties—lovely girls and handsome boys—were shown enduring every cruel punishment: flogged, strangled, roasted over flames, burned alive, boiled in cauldrons, torn apart, or fed to wild beasts in scenes of extreme misery rendered in vivid color.
With each page turn came suffocating dread... yet an irresistible compulsion to keep turning...

“Hohoho.”
“How commendable of you…”
“It was this album that taught me such proclivities.”
“To speak plainly—it was my departed lord husband.”
“…On his deathbed, my husband granted me full license for all feminine pleasures he’d forbidden in life.”
“So profoundly did he cherish me… Thus whenever I reenact those diversions in this chamber, I cannot but feel his spirit watching from some unseen quarter… smiling down in benediction.”

“...Uuun...” I groaned.
At the same time, I felt as though the towering mountain of glassware piled high in my mind suddenly began to collapse with a clattering crash.

“...You see... You must feel relieved… Hohohohoho. Now that I’ve confessed this much, it should suffice.”

The widow's voice resounded down as if from a divine height.

I shuddered violently.

I tightly closed my eyes.

I collapsed over the album.
After that, I could not coherently recount what I did.
I remember being so drunk that my head was spinning.

I remember how everything had gone exactly as the widow said.

Amidst all that, I stubbornly clung to one drunken act of defiance—refusing to remove the black gloves fitted on both hands no matter what—so I hadn’t forgotten how she mercilessly mocked me as a coward or such.

But in the end, I was finally made to remove those gloves.

Then, when the widow handed me what appeared unmistakably to be a foreign-made silver dagger with a cross-shaped hilt, I still clearly remember my own voice laughing boisterously as I pointed that keen blade tip toward the chandelier above my head.

“Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Are you telling me to kill myself with this?”

I stood rigidly in the center of the room, licking my lips over and over. That slovenly figure overlapped with the form of the widow lying on the bed, vividly reflected in the large mirror at the back of the room.

“That’s not it.”
“I bid you kill me.”

“...Hahaha... Do you wish to die?”

“...Yes... I wish to die.”

“...Why...”
“...Because I’m bankrupt, you see.”
“...Huh... Is that true?”
“What I gave you was my final fortune.”
“Tonight ends all my pleasures.”

“……Lies… All lies…”

“It’s no lie. I had meant from the very beginning to be killed by your hand in the end. By having you lay bare all my secrets through your pen and conduct memorial rites for my sinful life—that alone was what I had been looking forward to all this time.”

“...Ahahahaha... Ahahahaha...”

“No.
“I’m serious.
I’ve been waiting breathlessly, thinking your hand would touch my shoulder any moment now.”

“...Hmm...”

I let my head loll heavily to one side，still gripping the dagger in my hand.
I try desperately to think logically，but the indigo carpet beneath my feet and scattered dishes across its surface keep swaying，tilting in every direction—utterly impossible to gather thoughts.

I look back at my reflection through the chandelier’s glare.
A death-white drunken face laughs，mouth gaping wide.

“Aha! Hahahahaha!... Alright... I’ll kill you...”

At that moment, I brandished the dagger in a reverse grip and staggered toward the widow lying supine on the bed.