Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Death of Mrs. Fukami

I

A newspaper article reporting that Tadayoko Fukami, wife of the industrialist Fukami family, had committed suicide by throwing herself into the sea from the Atami coast one night in late January caused a public stir.

Tadayoko was thirty-seven years old this year, but she was a beautiful woman who looked much younger than her actual age—so much so that people remarked on it—and everyone knew of her nearly devoted work in various women’s organizations and relief efforts for the poor.
Mr. Fukami, the central figure of this story, was also known in the business world as a man of rare character—he possessed considerable wealth, had two children (a boy and a girl), and maintained an exceptionally harmonious family life.
What could she have lacked, or what circumstances might have driven her to suddenly meet such a violent death? This became an inexplicable mystery that shocked society.
Consequently, various rumors circulated regarding this matter, but each was merely a rumor in the literal sense—there was hardly any that could be considered credible.
There were suspicions that it might have been a murder disguised as suicide, but based on the surrounding circumstances, it was confirmed that it was indeed not a homicide.

A little over half a month after that newspaper article appeared, I met Mr. Nishijima at a certain location.
He had worked at branches of a certain trading company in Moji and Dairen since his youth and had returned to Tokyo after the earthquake.
That Mr. Nishijima told such a ghost-story-like tale about the recent incident involving Mrs. Fukami.

That was, I believe, the year before the Russo-Japanese War. At that time, I was working at the Moji branch and boarded a Kobe-bound up train on a sweltering late August morning. Due to company business, I had stayed overnight in Hiroshima and departed from Hiroshima Station early that day. Let me clarify—back then I was still a greenhorn fresh out of school, not yet deemed worthy to travel respectably as a second-class passenger, and so I found myself squeezed into third class.

This was during an era when railways had not yet been nationalized, and the stretch between Kobe and Shimonoseki belonged to the Sanyo Railway Company’s operations. This railway was known for paying the utmost attention to passenger comfort, so even its third-class accommodations were by no means unpleasant. Particularly, something like the thirty-five-sen premium lunchbox—filled with side dishes so luxurious that they seemed extravagant for low-salaried men like us who had recently graduated from school—was such that whenever I traveled on this railway, I made it a particular pleasure to buy and eat one. For these reasons, satisfied with being a third-class passenger and swaying along while anticipating the delicious lunchbox I would soon eat, I grew somewhat drowsy from having stayed up late the previous night and the day’s heat.

I must have dozed off for nearly an hour. Startled awake by clamorous voices, I found an incident unfolding in my train car. The conductor had grabbed a passenger and was interrogating him. All other passengers turned their eyes toward the commotion. Some stood up to peer over seats. The female passengers turned pale and cowered.

Alarmed by the growing disturbance, I gradually pieced together what had happened—the train was already nearing F Station when three or four passengers began preparing to disembark. One man tried lowering his luggage from the overhead rack but lost his grip due to the train's swaying, sending a half-lowered wrapped bundle crashing down. Though it missed other passengers, the impact loosened its knot when it struck the floor, spilling out three or four cans and five large ears of corn. This alone would have been unremarkable had a blue snake not raised its triangular head from among the corncobs, startling everyone into leaping back. The women screamed in panic.

The conductor also rushed to the commotion and began interrogating the passenger who had brought a living creature—particularly a snake—into the train. That the passenger was from a farming family could mostly be inferred by looking at his clothing. He was a forty-five or six-year-old man who looked utterly simple and honest, his sunburned cheeks flushing even redder as he stammeringly explained that he knew absolutely nothing about this unexpected incident.

“Show me your ticket,” said the conductor as he snatched the ticket from his hand and examined it.
“You boarded at K Station, I see.”

“Yes,” the man replied with an extremely apologetic demeanor.

He was a resident near K town who had relatives living about a ri away from F town; having harvested corn from his field and come out to K town to buy canned crab, he now intended to visit those relatives with these items as gifts.
Of course, he had no reason to bring a snake with him.
He said that such small snakes also lived in abundance in the relatives’ village.

When rural people visit relatives in the countryside, there’s no reason they would go out of their way to bring something like a snake as a gift. Since it was a snake no more than a foot long, anyone could easily imagine it had likely slipped in along with the corn. Particularly for causing such an unexpected commotion, his meek and deeply apologetic attitude softened the crowd’s emotions.

“So you didn’t know it had slipped in from the field either.”
“Well, nothing to be done then. Throw it outside quickly.”

“Yes, yes,” said the man, bowing apologetically.

“Please hurry,” urged the conductor. “We’ll be arriving at the station shortly.”

Being a farmer, he seemed unfazed by the snake; he casually grabbed it by the tail and tossed it out the window. The people in the car collectively sighed in relief.

“I sincerely apologize for this,” said the man, bowing again to everyone. “How that thing crawled in is truly baffling. I’ll be more careful from now on. Please forgive me.”

As he spoke, the train arrived at F Station. The man hurriedly disembarked while repeating his apologies, and in his place boarded a pair—a young man who appeared to be a student and a girl—who settled into the vacant seat across from me. I thought about buying the usual lunchbox there, but having resolved to wait until Okayama Station, I found the train soon began to move.

“Well now, that was quite the spectacle,” said a passenger who looked like a Tokyo merchant, laughing.

“When it comes to snakes, even small ones give you an unpleasant feeling,” responded someone sitting nearby.

“When that cloth-wrapped bundle tumbled down and the snake emerged from among the cornstalks, I truly shuddered,” added a woman seated up front.

The snake rumors buzzed through the carriage for a time.
That man actually seemed to know nothing.
Because that man was apologizing so profusely, there were even those who ended up feeling sorry for him in the end.

The newly boarded man and girl appeared to be listening intently to the conversation, but soon the man asked me in a low voice.

“What happened with the snake?”

At this point, it became necessary to provide a brief explanation about this man and girl.
The man was nineteen or twenty years old, wearing a high school regulation cap and uniform.
The girl, about fifteen or sixteen and dressed like a schoolgirl, wore a maroon hakama.
At a glance from their clothing and belongings, it was immediately apparent that they had returned home for summer vacation and were now heading back to the capital.
That they were siblings became clear the moment one saw their faces, but it was particularly the sister—a fair-skinned girl with gentle brows and perfectly aligned teeth—who caught my attention.

When asked, I recounted the incident of the blue snake, and both the brother and the sister changed their expressions.

“And then, what happened to that snake?”

“He threw it out the window before reaching the station.”

“Before arriving at the station…”
“Was it quite some time before?” the brother asked again.

“No—we arrived at the station immediately after he threw it out.”

The brother listened silently.
The younger sister's complexion grew increasingly ashen.
Realizing my carelessness in having recounted the snake incident in such detail before the young girl, I was about to cut off the conversation when her brother obstinately pressed further.

"That snake was blue, wasn't it?"
"Was it particularly large?"

“No, it was about a foot long, I suppose,” I replied lightly. And then, as if to avoid the conversation, I averted my eyes to the window outside.

I had only looked away for two or three minutes at most, but in that brief time, the brother and sister must have come to some agreement, for they began taking down their luggage from the overhead rack. Since they seemed to be preparing to disembark for some reason, I found this somewhat puzzling when the train soon arrived at the next station. They had already risen from their seats even before that, appearing to wait impatiently for the train to stop, but as soon as it did, the brother immediately nodded to me.

“I must apologize for my rudeness.”

The younger sister also silently nodded in acknowledgment, and the two hurriedly disembarked.
Their excessively flustered demeanor once again caught my attention. When I watched their retreating figures from the window—there being few passengers boarding or alighting at this small station—I could clearly see the siblings’ backs as they nearly broke into a run exiting through the ticket gate.
Of course, it was not impossible that they had disembarked midway due to some circumstance; however, as I have already elaborated, the excessively hurried manner of the pair seemed to suggest some underlying reason.
And it was suspected that this might have some connection to that snake incident.
It seemed that not only I but also the other passengers had found this suspicious—for the Tokyo merchant said to me with a laugh:

“That girl must really hate snakes. When you told her about it, she turned deathly pale. It seems she talked her brother into leaving against his will.”

“So they got off because of that?”

“Since there was supposedly a snake in this carriage, she must have suddenly found it abhorrent.”
“That’s just how people with phobias are.”

Thinking they could have simply moved to another compartment rather than going through the trouble of disembarking, I looked outside again only to find no trace of the young siblings—nothing but evening cicadas screeching in the heat from a large cherry tree before the station.

When the train began moving again, the conductor from earlier reappeared.
The merchant, evidently a talkative sort, immediately struck up another conversation upon seeing the conductor’s face.

“Well, that sure gave us a scare earlier—can’t have snakes slithering out in the train like that, it’s just too much.”

“It’s truly troubling. But when you think about it, it’s a bit mysterious too.”

“What’s so mysterious about…”

The train wasn’t particularly crowded due both to the lingering summer heat at its peak and it being roughly a week too early for students returning home to go back to the capital. In fact, after those siblings had left, their seats had become vacant, so the conductor sat down there.

“What do you mean by mysterious…”
“I’ve been working on this railway since the spring of the year before last—nearly three years by now—and every summer brings two or three snake incidents, sometimes as many as four or five.”

“Are there a lot of snakes around here?” asked the merchant.

“I haven’t heard any talk of them being particularly numerous around here…” said the conductor, tilting his head slightly.
“That’s also mysterious…”
“These snake disturbances always occur between Hiroshima and F Station.”
“And then, just like today, while the passengers themselves remain completely unaware, snakes somehow end up crawling into their luggage.”
“This probably makes it the fifth time this year already.”
“Since it’s my duty, I did question that person formally,” he said, “but deep down I thought it was another case.”

“Hmm. That’s strange—utterly strange,” said the merchant, scrunching his face exaggeratedly and shaking his head vigorously. “So then, there must be some underlying reason. It’s strange that it’s limited to between Hiroshima and F Station.”

“What’s still more mysterious is the fact that it’s always limited to eastbound trains.”

“It’s getting more and more mysterious. Don’t you think so?” the merchant said, turning to look at me.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? So it’s only on eastbound trains…” I nodded in agreement.

“Ah, there’s more,” the conductor continued with growing enthusiasm. “The person who brings the snake always boards from K Station. They’re discovered when approaching F Station. Thinking today would surely follow the pattern, I checked the ticket again and confirmed it was indeed someone who had boarded at K Station.”

As the merchant and I silently exchanged looks, the conductor spoke again.

“There are cases where they’re discovered through accidental incidents like today’s, but it’s thought that among many, some likely go undiscovered.”
“So then, a great number of snakes end up tagging along with passengers coming from K Town and boarding toward F Station.”

“Right, right,” the merchant nodded with a slightly uneasy look. “I just can’t figure it out. Maybe there’s some karmic connection?”

“It’s truly strange,” the conductor said with an air of hidden significance. “After all, these snake disturbances only happen with people coming from K Town.”

“Where could that snake be intending to go?” wondered the merchant.

“Well, I couldn’t say.”

“The truth is we don’t know,” declared the merchant as if seeing through everything, “but it seems they plan to go to F Town and curse someone.”
“They must hold a grudge against someone in F Town—no doubt swarming aboard in droves.”
“Ghost stories, ghost stories… This whole business feels ill-omened.”

The faces of those siblings from earlier floated into my mind’s eye.

The merchant seemed to have noticed this too and spoke up again.

"In that case, it's a bit strange how those siblings turned pale when they heard about the snake—since those two boarded from F Station..."

“What kind of people were they?” asked the conductor.

The merchant described their facial features and attire, and when he mentioned that they had suddenly disembarked midway, the conductor listened intently; however, apparently unable to determine who they were, he soon bowed to us and left.

II

As planned, I bought and ate a boxed lunch in Okayama. Then I arrived in Kobe that evening. There I completed my company business, stayed overnight, and boarded the morning train the next day back to Hiroshima. There was no need to explain the business details here, but due to those very obligations, I found myself required to return to Kobe again. After enduring a sweltering night in Hiroshima, the following morning I once more boarded the Kobe-bound train. During this severe lingering heatwave, shuttling between the same locations proved quite trying, though unavoidable. Moreover, regarding this eastbound train journey, I couldn't help feeling a certain anticipation.

I had thought there might be someone boarding this train from K Town who could again be accompanied by a snake, but that expectation proved entirely misplaced. There were those who boarded from K Town and others who alighted at F Station, but all remained peaceful without causing any disturbance whatsoever. As I secretly nursed my disappointment while gazing blankly out the window, fourteen or fifteen passengers emerged one after another through F Station's ticket gate. When I spotted those student siblings among them, I felt my heart suddenly leap. Then, just as I hoped they would board my car again today, the two of them entered as if drawn by an invisible thread. Thinking this was a lucky break, I watched on—but unfortunately, with many empty seats available in the car, they settled into seats far removed from mine.

Even so, the two of them noticed me and silently bowed from afar. I also silently bowed back. However, since I couldn’t very well move my seat closer to them in an overly familiar manner, I had no choice but to watch them from a distance, much to my regret.

Seeing that they had boarded from here again today, it seemed that two days prior they had alighted at the next station, transferred to a westbound train to return to F Town, spent all of yesterday at home, and then come out again this morning. Their clothing and luggage were exactly as they had been the previous day. I continued to observe carefully and noticed that both the brother and sister looked even paler than before. The sister’s face appeared noticeably pale.

I secretly monitored their movements while entertaining various fanciful notions—perhaps they were been plagued by snakes swarming aboard from K Town—but found nothing suspicious about them.
The sister remained silent, looking down.
The brother too stayed wordless, gazing outside the train.

At Okayama I bought a boxed lunch as had become my custom.
The siblings purchased theirs as well.
Beyond this, nothing about their behavior left any particular impression on my memory.
Today too I disembarked at Kobe.
The siblings alighted there likewise.
They had likely transferred to a Shinbashi-bound train.
What followed afterward naturally lay beyond my ken.

The following year saw the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War, plunging the Moji branch office where I worked into frenzied activity. When the conflict concluded, an extraordinary era of prosperity dawned.

In April 1907, I was dispatched to Tokyo on company business and ended up being stationed at the headquarters for about three months.

After all, I was returning to Tokyo after a long absence.
It was April, the height of cherry blossom season, and Ueno was hosting the National Industrial Exhibition.
Groups of sightseers from the countryside streamed into the capital.
Amidst the bustle that made it seem as though all the springtime splendor in the land had gathered in Tokyo, I too was spending delightful days.

However, I couldn't spend all my time enjoying myself.
Apart from going to the office once every day without fail—since I needed to visit relatives, seniors, and friends in Tokyo to make up for my usual lack of contact—I made sure to appear here and there whenever I found time between work and leisure.
During that period, I frequently visited Professor Enami.

Professor Enami was a Doctor of Laws who had extended me various kindnesses during my university days.
His residence stood near Nezu Shrine in Hongō, and I took pleasure in seeing how the grand cherry tree shading its gate still bloomed as abundantly white as ever.
I remember my first visit being on the first Sunday of April; both Professor Enami and his wife appeared in vigorous health when I was ushered into the ten-mat reception room on the second floor.
There lay a rug spread over Japanese tatami mats, with chairs and tables arranged across it.

Soon, a young woman brought tea.
Mrs. Enami brought the sweets bowl herself. The young woman left immediately, but Mrs. Enami poured tea for Professor Enami and me.

“That person isn’t your family’s daughter, is she?” I asked.

“She isn’t our daughter,” Mrs. Enami answered with a laugh.
“Our daughter has caught a slight cold and has been lying down for two or three days now.”
“That person is called Tadayoko-san; we’re looking after her from another household.”

“Tadayoko-san……”
“Is she perhaps from Hiroshima Prefecture?”
“From F Town...”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Enami, exchanging a glance with Professor Enami.
“You’re quite well-informed.”

“So it was true after all.”
“I had thought she looked familiar.”

“Have you met her somewhere before?” Mrs. Enami asked again with a laugh.

“Well…
“In the train on the Sanyo Line…”
“At that time, she was with someone who appeared to be her brother.”

I briefly recounted the events from previous years.
However, fearing it might cause some unintended offense, I tactfully avoided mentioning anything about the snake incident.

"Hmm, there's no doubt Tadayoko-san was with her brother..." Professor Enami teased me in a grave tone.
"And who were you riding with?"
"If you don't bribe Tadayoko-san or something, she'll spill some outrageous secret."

Both Mrs. Enami and I burst out laughing.

Tadayoko was the daughter of a wealthy farmer named Miyoshi from the vicinity of F Town who had come to Tokyo with her brother Tōru and attended a girls' school.
Professor Enami had no particular connection to the Miyoshi family but had taken custody of Tadayoko alone at an acquaintance's request and was overseeing her.
The professor's household also contained a daughter of the same age as Tadayoko who attended the same girls' school, making it natural for them to look after her as well.
Her brother Tōru had rented a room at a local gardener's house and commuted to school from there.
I came to understand all this through Mrs. Enami's explanation.
Tadayoko was nineteen that year, as beautiful as she appeared, with a gentle disposition and excellent academic performance - Professor Enami and his wife seemed to speak of her in tones suggesting she was truly worth caring for.

After Mrs. Enami went downstairs, Professor Enami and I sat facing each other and talked for about two hours.
Though Professor Enami had been told to stay for lunch, as I had other places to visit around town, I said I would come bother them again another time and went downstairs—where Mrs. Enami emerged bringing Tadayoko with her.

“Are you leaving already? Then, allow me to properly introduce Ms. Tadayoko here.”

I didn’t know whether she actually remembered my face, but we exchanged formal greetings and parted ways nonetheless. Tadayoko, who could still have been called a girl in previous years, had now grown into a young woman of marriageable age and appeared even more beautiful. Her white, lustrous face no longer bore the dark pallor I had seen in those earlier days. Stepping out onto the spring-breeze-swept street, I walked feeling a peculiar sort of pleasure.

The second time I visited Professor Enami was at the end of April, and since it was a weekday, Ms. Tadayoko, who was attending school, was not present. I was told that Professor Enami’s daughter had also fully recovered from her illness and had gone off to school together.

My third visit was on a Sunday in mid-May; when I alighted from the Ueno-bound train around seven in the evening, as the exposition was holding a night opening, the Hirokoji area was as bright as day with illuminations and gas lamps. It was so crowded that free movement was impossible.

I left the bustling scene behind and hurried from Ikenohata toward Nezu. At that time, the train line to Dōzaka had not yet been opened, so Nezu’s streets were a dark, lonely town. Along the roadside were wide vacant lots, and the shadows of sparse house lights sank low at the base of Hongōdai. Musing at how Ueno and this place could differ so starkly despite their short distance apart, I followed the twilight-dimmed path until, nearing the turn at the base of Dangozaka amid the roadside shadows, a woman’s shrill scream suddenly pierced the air. Gripping my cane tighter, I raced toward the sound—only to collide headlong with a man sprinting in my direction. Narrowly avoiding a collision, he slipped past and disappeared into the darkness.

There was no moon, but the stars were bright. At a slight distance, the eaves lantern of a tobacco shop was dimly lit. Using that light to peer through, at the roadside bordering a vacant lot that stretched into grassland, the shadows of two women came into view.

“What happened here?” I called out, but the women did not answer immediately.

Having apparently heard their screams and rushed over, the light from the police officer’s lantern approached close behind me. The women were the professor’s daughter and Tadayoko, with Tadayoko collapsing limply as the professor’s daughter held her firmly. Seeing this, I was startled anew.

In response to the police officer’s questioning, the young lady answered. The two had gone shopping on Nezu Street and were returning when, as they had nearly reached that spot, a man emerged from the darkness of a vacant lot and threw something at Tadayoko’s neck. The police officer pressed further.

“What did he throw?”

“It’s a snake,” Tadayoko answered in a low voice.

When they heard “snake,” both the policeman and the young lady frowned, but I felt an even stronger surge of emotion. Tadayoko and the snake—the scene from that train years ago suddenly floated up before my eyes. The policeman shone his lantern around, and there in the grass, sure enough, a single blue snake lay sprawled with its pale belly exposed.

“Hmm, it’s a snake.”

The detective examined it closely once more, then suddenly burst out laughing.

“Haha, this is a toy. It’s a fake.”

“Isn’t it a real snake?”

As I peered closer, the detective, laughing, took the snake and thrust it before my eyes. Admittedly, it was skillfully made, but since it was indeed a fake rat snake, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Haha, it’s a toy.”
“Ms. Tadayoko, there’s no need to be alarmed.”
“This here’s a toy snake.”

Recently, with the commencement of nighttime openings at the exposition, there had been frequent instances of fellows lying in wait in dark places to play malicious pranks on women returning late at night.
“This must be another one of those cases,” said the detective.
Once we realized it was not a serious matter after all, we exchanged farewells with the detective and parted ways.

Since I was on my way to Professor Enami’s house anyway, I escorted the two women there, but Tadayoko did not utter a single word until we passed through the professor’s gate.

“Since it was nearby and we thought it was still early in the evening, we let our guard down—sending out only the young ones was our mistake.”

And Mrs. Enami was regretting it.

Whether it was a toy or someone’s prank, I found myself wondering if whoever had thrown the snake at Tadayoko from among those two women standing there had done so deliberately or by accident. Perhaps it was because Tadayoko was the more beautiful of the two, I considered. It struck me as somewhat strange that she had so readily perceived it as a snake in that impenetrable darkness where no forms were visible. That evening passed without further incident, and after conversing with Professor Enami for a little over an hour, I took my leave.

My fourth visit came on a morning in early June. As I passed through the Professor’s gate, two or three caterpillars fell from a large cherry leaf.
Following the usual routine, I was shown upstairs, but according to Mrs. Enami, while her daughter had gone to school, Tadayoko lay bedridden with illness—and concerning this matter, the Professor had gone to the police.

“Why did he go to the police?”

“That’s how it is,” Mrs. Enami explained with a shadowed expression.
“As you know, around mid-last month, Ms. Tadayoko and my daughter went shopping to Nezu, and on their way back, someone threw a snake at Ms. Tadayoko.”
“It turned out to be a toy snake, but this time someone threw a real one.”
“At last month’s end, when Ms. Tadayoko and my daughter were studying at the desk in the downstairs eight-tatami room, someone tossed a rat snake through the casement window right at Ms. Tadayoko’s face... Amidst the screaming commotion, the culprit fled—apparently having broken through the side hedge to sneak in.”
“According to my daughter, his retreating figure looked like that of a young student.”
“That alone would have been bad enough, but afterward they kept sending threatening letters to Ms. Tadayoko—things like ‘Come to Nezu Shrine’s front gate by eight in the evening or I’ll torment you with snakes forever—mark my words.’”
“We overlooked it once or twice, but since it kept happening so often, we decided filing a police report would be prudent—that’s why my husband has been at the station since earlier.”
“It’s likely delinquents’ handiwork, but it’s utterly distressing.”

“That’s outrageous.”
“So is Ms. Tadayoko resting?”

“She says she’s been feeling unwell and has been absent from school for the past two or three days.”

Of course, it was probably the work of a delinquent youth, but I wondered if that youth might be from K Town in Hiroshima Prefecture.
And then, I inadvertently let it slip.

“It seems Ms. Tadayoko is being plagued by a snake.”

“Why is that?”

As Mrs. Enami pressed me with growing intensity, I finally disclosed that train incident, whereupon her expression darkened further.

“My word, such a thing happened? Since this might serve as useful knowledge later, please do tell my husband about it properly.”

“No—if I tell the Professor, he’ll laugh at me.”

Just then, Professor Enami returned home, and regarding that delinquent youth, it seemed the police already had a general idea of who it might be.
Since Mrs. Enami was persistently urging me, though I thought it would ultimately be futile, I once again reported the train incident to the Professor—and sure enough, he merely laughed coldly.

“There’s no point in you telling me that.”
“You’d have better luck going to tell some novelist about it.”

Neither Mrs. Enami nor I could find any words to add.

III

Five or six days later, when a newspaper article appeared stating that the delinquent youth who had harassed Ms. Tadayoko had been arrested, I visited the Professor’s house that very evening, only to find he was out, having attended someone’s farewell party for an overseas trip.
When I met with Mrs. Enami and pressed her for details about the newspaper article, the first thing she said was this:

“I must say, I was quite startled.
“The delinquent youth who targeted Ms. Tadayoko was apparently born in K Town, Hiroshima Prefecture after all.”

“Is that so?” I replied, my eyes lighting up.
“So did he know Ms. Tadayoko’s background?”

“It seems he doesn’t know about that,” Mrs. Enami said. “Since he habitually does such things—a delinquent already under police surveillance—he knew nothing about whether Ms. Tadayoko was from F Town or was a daughter of the Miyoshi family, having apparently targeted her solely because he found her appearance attractive. However, isn’t it strange that he happens to be from K Town?” She furrowed her brows.

“It’s strange,” I said, unable to shake off this sense of strangeness that had come over me.

“Don’t you think so?” Mrs. Enami pressed again.
“My husband being who he is won’t take anything I say seriously, but it’s been weighing on me—I tried asking Ms. Tadayoko about various matters, yet she insists she knows nothing.”
“But according to your account, didn’t Ms. Tadayoko and her brother hear about the snake on the train and abruptly get off midway to return home?”
“If that’s true, they must have had some inkling about it…”

“Since forcing an inquiry into what they were hiding would not be good—we left it as it was for now—but ever since then I’ve begun feeling uneasy about keeping Ms.Tadayoko in our home,” Mrs.Enami whispered.As Mrs.Enami had discerned,Tadayoko seemed to persistently insist she knew nothing despite being aware of some secret,but what exactly that secret was ultimately lay beyond our imagination.

“I did consider asking Ms. Tadayoko’s brother when he came,” Mrs. Enami pondered, “but that also seemed rather odd.”

“It would be better if you refrained from that,” I cautioned.
“In time, it may naturally become clear.”

“That’s true… Unlike Ms. Tadayoko, if I were to carelessly ask Mr. Tōru such things and it were to reach my husband’s ears, I would be scolded again.”

Tadayoko’s story was cut off there.

Since it seemed Professor Enami would be returning late, I talked with Mrs. Enami for about thirty minutes and then left.

With my company business settled and as I was scheduled to return to the Moji branch office at the beginning of July, I went to bid farewell to Professor Enami, but unfortunately he was out again that evening.
It was a cloudy evening, the rainy season not yet fully over.
When I asked where the Professor had gone on such a night, Mrs. Enami answered in a low voice.

“He was summoned to Mr. Kirisawa’s residence and went there.”

“Mr. Kirisawa…”

“You must be aware of it as well.”

“I’m only aware of the name,” I said.

Mr. Kirisawa was a well-known industrialist whose second son was enrolled in the university’s humanities department.
That there appeared to be an informal understanding for him to become the Professor’s daughter’s future husband was something I had vaguely known.
Given these circumstances—and out of consideration for what might be perceived as ulterior motives on the Professor and his wife’s part—it seemed Mr. Kirisawa had deliberately avoided housing a young woman like Tadayoko at his own residence as a lodger, instead choosing to entrust her to the Professor’s household.
This much I had vaguely surmised myself, yet I had never once encountered either this Mr. Kirisawa or his second son up to that point.

Given these circumstances, even Professor Enami—who normally disliked going out—visiting Mr. Kirisawa on such a night was nothing particularly suspicious.
However, Mrs. Enami’s complexion was far from cheerful as she spoke of this.

“There’s something strange about this.”

“What do you mean? Has something happened?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Enami nodded. “It’s about Ms. Tadayoko again…”

“Did someone throw another snake at her?”

“No, not that sort of incident… With schools about to close for summer vacation, Brother Tōru will be returning home. Ms. Tadayoko usually accompanies him every year, but this summer she suddenly declared she won’t go back—she insists on visiting a seaside place instead, like Atami or Bōsō. Their parents are waiting back home, so her brother keeps urging her to return, but she absolutely refuses.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really understand that,” Mrs. Enami said.
“However much she herself says she wants to go, one can’t just send young girls off recklessly to seaside resorts and such places.”
“Someone suitable would have to accompany her.”
“If Brother were to go along, that would be different,” she said, “but Brother insists on returning home.”
“The sister says it’s detestable.”
“Yet we can’t reasonably accompany her ourselves either, leaving us truly at a loss—so my husband went to Mr. Kirisawa’s tonight under the pretense of discussing this matter, but what outcome could possibly come of it?”

It occurred to me that Tadayoko’s aversion to returning home might stem from a fear of encountering another snake disturbance aboard a Sanyo Line train. When I whispered this thought to Mrs. Enami, she appeared to share the same view.

“To tell the truth, I also thought it might be the case and subtly asked Ms. Tadayoko about it,” Mrs. Enami said, “but she herself doesn’t mention anything of the sort.”
“She might be hiding it, but…”
“If you’re of that mind as well, shall I try speaking to my husband again?”

“Please don’t,” I interjected.
“That won’t work.”
“There’s absolutely no way the Professor would accept it.”
“After all, that’s exactly how it went last time.”

“That may be so, but…” Mrs. Enami appeared deeply troubled.
“After all, we can’t very well force her to return when she herself absolutely detests it.”

“How is Ms. Tadayoko doing?”

“She’s still in the lower eight-tatami room…”
“She is arranging desks together with her daughter.”

“Doesn’t she appear particularly different?”

“There’s nothing else particularly different…”

Just as Mrs. Enami began to say this, the sound of footsteps ascending the staircase echoed. Before one could process this thought, a young man’s voice rang out from beyond the sliding door.

“Mrs. Enami, I sincerely apologize for interrupting while you have guests, but...”

“Oh—Brother Tōru.
“When did you arrive?” Mrs. Enami turned and asked.
“Not at all.
“Please come in.”

The sliding door opened to reveal a pale-faced young man under the electric light who appeared to be a student. The moment I saw him, I immediately recognized him as Tadayoko's brother Tōru Miyoshi, though he seemed to have already forgotten me. He seemed particularly agitated that night—without so much as a glance in my direction, he remained standing rigidly as he addressed Mrs. Enami.

"Mrs. Enami. I'm taking my sister back on tomorrow morning's train."

“Tomorrow morning…”
“Has Ms. Tadayoko agreed as well?”

“Whether she agrees or not, I’m taking her back immediately,” he snapped at Mrs. Enami, his voice sharp.

“Oh, please have a seat,” Mrs. Enami urged without resistance, offering a chair.
“Why have you suddenly decided to return? In fact, regarding that matter, my husband has gone to Mr. Kirisawa’s tonight, but…”
“No matter what Professor Enami says, no matter what Mr. Kirisawa says, I will take Tadayoko back home,” he declared flatly.
The increasing pallor of his complexion caught my attention.

“Even so, please wait just a moment.”
“My husband will be returning shortly,” Mrs. Enami said soothingly.
Then, as if to change the subject, she introduced me to him again, but he still did not seem to remember me.

I said with a laugh.
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before, you know.
On the Sanyo Line train…”

“On the Sanyo Line train…”

“At the time of the snake commotion…”

Having said this, I observed his expression; he stared fixedly at my face as if glaring, but eventually, as if finally recalling something, his expression softened slightly.

“Ah—I remember now.”
“I must apologize for my rudeness at that time.”
“I had no idea you were someone who visited the Professor’s home here either.”
“Ah, I was a bit impatient tonight as well, so I must apologize for my rudeness.”

He kept apologizing for his rudeness.
I was young, but he was even younger.
Though he showed signs of unease from temporary agitation, I recognized that he was ultimately a likable young man.
Whether he became reserved around me or his nerves gradually settled, he sat down on the chair with a somewhat composed demeanor.

After Mrs. Enami stood up to make more tea, I quietly asked him.

“From what I have just heard, are you taking your sister back home?”

“Well, yes,” he answered, lightly wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
“This has become quite a problem.”

He did not elaborate further, and being not closely acquainted with him, I could not press deeper to uncover his secret. At the same time, sensing my prolonged presence might interfere with his discussion with Mrs. Enami, I left him there alone and descended to the first floor, where I encountered Mrs. Enami at the foot of the stairs.

“I’ll take my leave for tonight.”

“I see,” Mrs. Enami said with a pitying look.

“No, I’ll still be here for two or three days, so I’ll come again another time.”

“In that case, please do come again…”

Escorted by Mrs. Enami, I was putting on my shoes at the entrance when the young lady also emerged, but Tadayoko never appeared.

When I stepped out the gate, a fine rain was falling softly again.
As I mentioned before, the area around Nezu Gongen was quiet at that time.
Especially on dark rainy nights during the monsoon season, there were almost no passersby at all, and the croaking of frogs near Gongen Pond sounded forlorn.

As I walked about ten meters through that dark, lonely space, a man emerged from the shadow of the fence and approached me.

“You’ve just come from the Enamis’ house, haven’t you?”

Because it was dark, I couldn’t make out his features or appearance, but given my suspicion that someone lurking here at this hour might be that delinquent youth, I answered without letting my guard down.

“Yes. May I ask if you have some business?”

“A young man went in alone a little while ago, didn’t he?”

Realizing this likely referred to Tōru, I answered that it was indeed so, whereupon the man led me under the eaveside lamp of a house along the road and produced a business card to show me.
He was a detective constable at the XX Police Station.

“That young man is Tōru Miyoshi, the student, correct?” the detective said in a low voice.
“That’s correct.”

“What kind of relationship does he have with Professor Enami?”

Since the man was from the police, I honestly told him everything I knew, at which the detective fell silent for a moment in thought.

“So then, the student named Tōru is Tadayoko Miyoshi’s biological older brother.”
“That’s strange.”
“Actually, since that student has shown delinquent behavior, I followed him here tonight—”
“As for the snake thrown into Professor Enami’s window recently... it appears to have been that man’s doing...”

“That’s wrong,” I blurted out. “Didn’t you say someone threw a snake at Ms. Tadayoko’s face that time? However delinquent he might be, he wouldn’t play such a prank on his own sister now. I’ve heard the actual culprit was already arrested by the police…”

“Well, you see…” said the detective quietly. “The recently arrested culprit—a man named Sakura—did throw a toy snake at Ms. Tadayoko on Nezu Avenue this past May. He confessed to that much, but we’ve yet to identify who threw the live snake into Professor Enami’s window. Given the prior incident, we initially concluded it was his doing too, but he absolutely denies involvement in the later case. Further investigation revealed it wasn’t him at all—there appears to be another prankster of similar ilk. As evidence, even while Sakura was detained, someone threw snakes at women on the streets…”

“So you’re saying it’s Tōru Miyoshi?”

“It does seem that way… But as you said—while strangers are one thing—to play such a prank on his own sister… It does seem a bit strange, doesn’t it?”

The detective was thinking.
I was made to think.
The two of them stood silently in the rain for a while.

IV

In the midst of this, I suddenly remembered something.

"However, as you must know, there have been threats sent to Ms. Tadayoko demanding she come to Nezu Gongen's gate - saying they'll torment her with snakes forever if she refuses."
"Could that also be her brother's doing?"
"What reason would Tōru Miyoshi have to threaten his own sister like that?"
"And if it were her brother's handwriting, Ms.adayoko would naturally recognize it - surely Professor Enami's household knows it too..."

“Well, about that…” the detective countered. “I don’t understand why Tōru Miyoshi would threaten his sister, but he might have had someone else write the letters for him. Plenty of young friends would take on such things half as a joke. But the real question is why Tōru Miyoshi would threaten his own sister like this. Do you have any idea at all?”

Of course, I had no idea either. Moreover, thinking it might provide some clue for the detective, I recounted the night’s incident. Having heard every detail—Tadayoko’s reluctance to return home during this summer break, her brother Tōru’s insistence on forcibly taking her back on tomorrow morning’s train—the detective fell into thought once more.

“Well, thank you for everything.”
“Then let’s leave things as they are tonight and reconsider this thoroughly.”

Upon learning that the other party was his biological sister, the detective seemed to lose his investigative interest; he bowed politely and took his leave.
I thought it was somewhat negligent that the police hadn’t known until now that Tōru and Tadayoko were siblings.

Now that things had come to this, there was no telling how the incident might further entangle itself and potentially cause trouble for the professor.
I had intended to briefly stop by the company the next morning and then immediately head to Nezu, but upon arriving at work, I was inevitably caught up in some tasks and did not become free to leave until around eleven o'clock in the morning.
Feeling somehow impatient today, I took a rickshaw and rushed to Nezu only to find the professor had already left for school.
Since I had anticipated that from the beginning, I was ushered upstairs and met the wife.

“How did things turn out after that last night?” I asked first.

“About thirty minutes after you left, my husband returned.”

“Was Tōru waiting there all that time?”

“He was waiting,” Mrs. Enami nodded.
“That’s what’s strange.”
“As you know full well, Tōru had been in such a furious state that he seemed ready to drag Ms. Tadayoko back home tomorrow by force.”
“But when my husband returned having settled this arrangement with Mr. Kirisawa, he told him to consider it decided.”
“When my husband said, ‘If you object, go tell Mr. Kirisawa yourself,’ Tōru suddenly quieted down and left without raising any proper complaint.”

According to Mrs. Enami’s further explanation, after consulting with Mr. Kirisawa, it had been decided that Tadayoko would postpone returning home during this summer break and instead relocate to Mr. Kirisawa’s villa in Kamakura along with the professor’s daughter.

While this was indeed a reasonable resolution, I found it somewhat strange that Brother Tōru—who had been so insistent—voiced no objections and simply accepted it as it was.

“So, what will Brother Tōru do?”

“Brother Tōru plans to return by himself,” said Mrs. Enami.
“He likely boarded this morning’s train.”

I recounted to Mrs. Enami in detail the previous night’s events—how it appeared Brother Tōru had both thrown a live snake at Tadayoko and sent her threatening letters—at which Mrs. Enami’s complexion darkened.

“Oh, is that so.”
“I can’t say such a thing is impossible.”

Contrary to my expectation that she would be shocked, Mrs. Enami’s tone seemed to partially acknowledge the fact. Feeling surprised, I silently gazed at her face until she began speaking with a sigh.

“Since it’s come to this, I suppose I must tell you.”
“That Mr. Tōru—he’s earnest, studious, achieves excellent grades, and truly blameless in every way—yet for some reason harbors an intense hatred toward his own sister.”

“Are they half-siblings?” I asked.

“No, they share the same mother—they’re true siblings…”
“Yet despite that, he usually gets along well with her and seems to dote on his sister quite a bit—but at times, well, I suppose you could call it something like a fit—he’ll suddenly come to hate her for no particular reason at all, grabbing Ms. Tadayoko’s hair to drag her around, hitting and kicking her.”
“He himself often regrets it afterward, but once that hatred arises, he can no longer restrain himself and, half-crazed, ends up acting violently.”
“That’s why even in our household, we’re careful—when Brother Tōru comes to visit his sister, we keep a close watch in secret.”
“However, we never even imagined he would go so far as to throw a snake, and since the handwriting in the threatening letters was completely different, we reported it to the police as someone else’s doing, but…”
“If even the detective says so, it might indeed have been Brother Tōru’s doing after all.”
“It was just as well we didn’t let them return together.”
“Although I can hardly believe it would come to that, if he were to suddenly become violent on the train, it would be disastrous.”
“Brother Tōru wasn’t so bad at first either, but as each year passes, his bad habits grow worse, so now the girls in our household are worried that Ms. Tadayoko might end up killed by her brother.”

I too had lost all understanding of what was happening.
Since I was neither a doctor nor a psychologist, I couldn’t make any definitive assessment about the bizarre mental state of Tōru Miyoshi.
According to the detective’s account, he had apparently thrown live snakes at other women too.
Of course, whether it was truly his doing remained unclear; but if so, he was likely in some sort of deranged state.
If he refrained from harming others and directed his violence solely at his sister, whether that too should be considered ordinary derangement was beyond my understanding.

“So if Tōru has been repeatedly sending threatening letters and summoning his sister to Nezu Shrine gate, what on earth does he intend to accomplish?”

“Well…” Mrs. Enami also pondered.
“If Ms. Tadayoko had heedlessly gone out, he would probably have made some pretext and subjected her to a terrible ordeal right there in the street.”
“As I mentioned earlier—even though they’re usually such close siblings—why do you suppose he occasionally comes to hate his sister?”
“It may sound strange to say this, but I can’t help feeling some kind of curse has attached itself to them. Ever since hearing about what happened on the train, this thought has taken hold of me and won’t let go.”

Mrs. Enami said seriously.

Some kind of curse, some kind of divine retribution—to such an extent that I couldn’t laugh it off, I found myself shrouded in a dark mood at that time. A dreadful silence persisted between the two of us for some time.

“What does Professor think about that?”

It was perfectly clear that the Professor, being so single-mindedly rational, would not concern himself with such matters, but even so, in this situation, when I asked just to be sure, Mrs. Enami smiled sadly.

“As you are well aware, my husband…”

The Professor had visited Mr. Kirisawa the previous evening, and though I wanted to ascertain what discussion had transpired between them, Mrs. Enami said she didn’t know the details. Being inherently a man of few words, he customarily refrained from conversing with Mrs. Enami or his daughter beyond essential household matters—I could easily imagine he wouldn’t speak profoundly about this current issue either.

However, seeing how Tōru—who had been so agitated—meekly yielded to the Professor’s single remark (“If you have any objections, take them to Mr. Kirisawa”), it seemed likely that Mr. Kirisawa was privy to some secret concerning the siblings, leaving Tōru unable to hold his head up in defiance against him.
Mrs. Enami had also voiced similar views.
In short, there was some secret there, and those who knew it were Brother Tōru, his sister Tadayoko, and Mr. Kirisawa—though there may have been others as well—but at the very least, these three undoubtedly knew of it.
Regardless of whether it was considered an issue or not, the Professor probably knew of it.
At this point, the most direct approach would be to hear it from Professor Enami himself, but given the circumstances previously mentioned, that would ultimately prove difficult.

“Even so, it ended without incident—well, that’s a relief.”

For the time being, I had no choice but to say such things.
Mrs. Enami nodded.

“Yes, that’s right.
If it’s the villa in Kamakura, since all of Mr. Kirisawa’s family will be going there as well, there’s no need to worry even if we have Ms. Tadayoko stay.”

Mrs. Enami urged me to stay for lunch, but I declined on account of being busy with departure preparations and took my leave. Afterward, though I wished to visit him once more, various obligations ultimately led me to leave Tokyo without meeting the Professor again. Naturally, I had written of these circumstances in a letter dispatched to him beforehand, yet when contemplating that I might not see him for some time, I found myself filled with an oddly lingering regret.

I departed from Shinbashi Station accompanied by two or three friends seeing me off. Needless to say, Tokyo Station did not yet exist in those days.

With nothing particular to discuss during the train ride, I got off once in Kobe and stopped by the company’s branch office.
And then, around seven o'clock the following morning, I transferred to the Sanyo Line from Kobe Station.
As usual, it was a third-class carriage.

Having overslept slightly, I rushed to the station just before departure and tumbled into the carriage to find it quite crowded with passengers.
Nevertheless spotting an empty seat in the corner, I hurriedly settled into it—whereupon the neighboring passenger suddenly lifted their face and looked back.
At that very moment, I must confess I felt an indescribable sort of shudder.
That passenger was none other than Tōru Miyoshi.

According to Mrs. Enami’s account, he should have boarded the train two or three days prior; whether he had been delayed or had disembarked somewhere along the way, in any case, he now ended up seated next to me here by chance.

“Oh! You were also on board?”

I stammered slightly while greeting him, and he too smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. His face looked utterly changed from the previous night, appearing remarkably cheerful.

“It’s gotten hot all of a sudden,” he said in a familiar tone.

“Yes. It’s gotten hot with this sudden turn in the weather. Though this should finally clear up the rainy season,” I began speaking calmly as I gradually regained my composure.

He had indeed left Tokyo two or three days prior but explained he’d disembarked midway to visit relatives in Kyoto, recounting stories of his sightseeing there. By nature he seemed gentle yet neither reticent nor gloomy, continuing his cheerful talk with youthful laughter. However one looked at him, he appeared the very picture of an amiable young man. That this person could be deranged or cursed—such notions remained utterly inconceivable to me.

“What happened to your sister?” I asked with an innocent look.

“My sister will remain in Tokyo and proceed to Kamakura,” he replied.

He likely remained unaware that a detective’s dark shadow had been trailing him.
I pressed further, attempting to fully unravel their connection to Mr. Kirisawa, but met with no success.
To all such inquiries, he appeared deliberately evasive in his responses.
This only served to heighten my macabre fascination, yet between the crowded train compartment and our brief three-hour journey, I ultimately failed in my purpose.
When we reached F Station shortly past ten o’clock, he bid me farewell and departed.

When I saw off his retreating figure exiting through the ticket gate, there stood a young man who appeared to be a farmhand waiting there; he took Tōru's leather bag and left together with him.
Of course, not a trace of anything resembling snakes could be found in the vicinity.
When I later reflected upon it, this had been my final farewell with the young man named Tōru Miyoshi.

Seven years had passed since then. During that time, I left the Moji branch office and was transferred to the Dairen branch office. I also got married during those years. We had a child. Company business kept me busy. Caught up in various matters, I had been neglecting to visit Professor Enami, but in November of Taisho 3 (1914), having returned to Kobe on company business, I took the opportunity to make a trip to Tokyo and stepped through the gate of the professor’s house for the first time in ages.

Professor Enami’s house remained unchanged in its form, but before anyone knew it, a streetcar line had been opened along Nezu’s main thoroughfare, transforming the surroundings completely.
This made the house’s dilapidation stand out even more starkly, while the familiar cherry tree shook off dead leaves in the wintry wind.
As I stood at the entrance brushing aside this shower of dead leaves, an unfamiliar maid came to receive me, but upon hearing my name, Mrs. Enami appeared immediately.
The young lady followed right behind her.

“My, my, what a rare visit!”

Welcomed with nostalgic warmth, I was shown upstairs as usual.

I had already known for some time that Mr. Kirisawa's second son had become the young lady's husband and that the young couple had been blessed with a son.
Though belatedly offering my congratulations and apologizing for my long absence made for a conversation that showed no sign of ending, in any case, being able to confirm in person that both Professor Enami and Mrs. Enami were safe left me feeling somewhat relieved.

"In about another hour, Professor Enami will return from school, so you must definitely wait today," Mrs. Enami said.
Of course, that was my intention as well, so I settled in and began various conversations.
Rumors of Manchuria after the Russo-Japanese War also came up.
Before long, Mrs. Enami began to say such things.

“Though Manchuria and Taiwan differ completely in both land and climate, when you go to an unknown country, you do encounter things you’d never imagine.”
“You must be aware of this as well, Mr. Tōru Miyoshi…”
“That man met with a terrible fate.”

Old memories suddenly flooded back to me.

“Tōru Miyoshi…”
“That would be Ms. Tadayoko’s brother, correct?”
“Did something happen to him?”

“After graduating from university, he was assigned to Taiwan, but last June, he suddenly passed away.”

“Did he contract malaria or something?”

“No—he was bitten by a venomous habu snake….”

“Bitten by a habu….”

With a feeling of being haunted by something, I stared at Mrs. Enami’s face.
If one were to dismiss it as mere misfortune or a freak accident, that would be the end of it—but the fact that he had his life taken by a venomous snake, rather than succumbing to malaria, being shot by indigenous people, or being attacked by a water buffalo, haunted my soul like some karmic connection.
The old memory of the blue snake was recalled once more.

“That person was apparently being tailed by the police during his student days—what became of that matter?”

“The snake-throwing incident,” Mrs. Enami said.
“That seems to have been left unresolved.”

“Wasn’t it said that they threw them not only at Ms. Tadayoko but at other women as well?”

“Since no conclusive evidence could be found as to whether that was also Mr. Tōru’s doing or not, the police apparently couldn’t take action.”
“So under those circumstances, he managed to graduate without incident, but then when he went to Taiwan, that’s when it all happened…”
“It was almost as if he went to Taiwan to die.”

I was well aware that astonishing coincidences frequently occurred in this world.
That Tōru Miyoshi had been bitten by a venomous snake in Taiwan was ultimately a coincidental event—perhaps a kind of sinister coincidence.
Therefore, connecting the Miyoshi siblings to snakes—that might have been my delusion.
Moreover, this delusion seemed to have taken root not only in my heart but also in Mrs. Enami’s, and before long, she began to speak as follows.

"As I mentioned before, I cannot help feeling there's some curse upon the Miyoshi household."
"That Mr. Tōru went to Taiwan and was killed by a snake..."
"When he graduated, there were postings available in Hokkaido and Taiwan - Mr. Kirisawa had advised that Hokkaido would be preferable, but he insisted on going to Taiwan..."
"Had he gone to Hokkaido, such a thing would never have occurred..."
"However you look at it, there seems to be some karmic bond at work."

“Now that you mention it, that’s absolutely true,” I replied with a sigh.
“And how did things turn out for Ms. Tadayoko?”

“Ms. Tadayoko is safe.”
“That person must be happy.”

According to Mrs. Enami’s account, Tadayoko had married into the household of her current husband, Mr. Fukami, through Mr. Kirisawa’s mediation soon after graduating from school.
Mr. Fukami was an adopted son, and since his biological family’s residence in K Town, Hiroshima Prefecture was publicly known, it stood to reason that all involved parties were aware of this fact.
The snakes of K Town journeying to F Town—having heard from me about that train incident, Mrs. Enami was said to have felt some reluctance regarding Mr. Fukami’s origins in K Town, but Professor Enami dismissed such concerns from the outset.
The Miyoshi family had raised no objections.
Her brother Tōru had not opposed it either.
Still, Mrs. Enami had given Tadayoko an implicit warning.

“This differs from other matters, so if there’s anything that doesn’t sit right with you, please say so without hesitation.”

“No, if it pleases everyone, I too would like to go through with it.”

In fact, she herself seemed rather eager, and the marriage talks proceeded without complication.
After her marriage, Tadayoko appeared happy—seeming abundantly blessed both spiritually and materially—so Mrs. Enami had reportedly grown somewhat reassured.

Having heard this account, my chest too felt a bit lighter.

“Then if there truly was some curse—assuming such a thing existed at all—it may have been confined solely to Tōru, with Ms. Tadayoko merely suffering its collateral effects,” I said with a laugh.

“That may be the case,” Mrs. Enami smiled.
“Still, there’s this story.”
“Though in our Taisho era, saying such things might make people laugh…”

Mrs. Enami began to speak again.
The Kirisawa family and the Miyoshi family had been acquainted since long ago, and as we might imagine, Mr. Kirisawa had vaguely known the Miyoshis' secret yet had never divulged it to anyone until this day.
However, when their second son Jirō became a university graduate with a literature degree, then married the professor's daughter to join the Enami household, the secret was leaked from Jirō's lips to Mrs. Enami.

Of course, Jirō did not know the details, but in the distant past during the Ashikaga period, the Miyoshi family were local warlords in that region, and due to some circumstances, launched a night attack on the Morito family—warlords residing in the K region—and annihilated their entire household.
Afterward, the surviving members and remnants of the Morito family—changing their methods and tactics over approximately fifty years until the early Tokugawa period—persistently plotted their revenge, but the vigilant Miyoshi family countered each scheme one by one, ultimately eradicating them completely.
They even utterly destroyed the women and children.
Ever since then, a strange curse had haunted the Miyoshi family, and it was said that generations of the family were plagued by snakes.

After the Battle of Sekigahara, the Miyoshi family ceased being samurai and became ordinary farmers, but since the curse still did not vanish, the family head during the Genroku era decided to build a shrine on their estate to enshrine the cursed snake.
Since the Morito family perished on March 20th, it became customary for the entire family to make offerings and visit the shrine every twentieth day of the month.
Perhaps because of this, the mysterious curse associated with the house also ceased its manifestations for a long time; however, after the Meiji era, such superstitions were eradicated.
The old shrine was also demolished by the previous master.

What Jirō-kun knew was nothing more than that legend; there may still have been other circumstances.
In any case, from the late Meiji era when such superstition-tinged legends had been nearly forgotten by all, the various strange phenomena (?) I mentioned earlier began to reappear.
Of course, the Miyoshi family concealed it, but they were frequently visited by mysterious snakes and seemed to experience some sort of trouble and fear.
In contrast, while Mr. Kirisawa had initially dismissed it with a laugh, it was said he would lately sometimes tilt his head and mutter things like, “It’s truly mysterious.”
Therefore, whether it was intentional or coincidental that Mr. Kirisawa came to arrange Tadayoko’s marriage to Mr. Fukami—a man from K Town—remains unclear.
Jirō-kun

“Father might have meant this as atonement for some sin,” he was said to have laughed, but whether Mr. Fukami was truly a descendant of that Morito family remained, of course, unknown.

Around the time this story concluded, Professor Enami’s rickshaw seemed to have stopped at the gate, so we hurried out to greet him.

And then another ten years passed like a dream.

A decade is said to be like an era, and during that time there were various transformations in both society and one's personal life, but above all, my saddest memory was losing Professor Enami in the autumn of Taisho 11.
Professor Enami, who did not drink alcohol, suddenly collapsed in his study due to a cerebral hemorrhage.
I received the telegram in Dalian, but being so far away, I could do nothing more than send a condolence telegram and was unable to attend his funeral.

Next came the Great Kantō Earthquake in September of the following year.
Many of my acquaintances were also affected by that calamity.
The Tokyo headquarters was also burned down.
At that time as well, my first concern was for the whereabouts of the late professor’s family; but upon learning that the Nezu area was entirely unharmed and further receiving word that Mrs. Enami, her daughter, and son-in-law were all safe, I finally felt able to breathe a sigh of relief.

However, Mr. Kirisawa happened to be at his villa in Kamakura at that time, and consequently met a gruesome death by crushing.
Though I had no direct dealings with Mr. Kirisawa and had never previously made his acquaintance, not only was young Jirō married to the professor’s daughter, but I had also frequently heard his name mentioned in connection with the Miyoshi family incident—so I could not help feeling a certain impulse in response to his death.

In the year after the earthquake—that is, from the summer of 1924—I was assigned to the Tokyo headquarters and returned from Dalian. And so, having settled in Hongodai not too far from Nezu, I began visiting the professor’s former residence about once a month without fail, becoming a listener to Mrs. Enami’s stories of the past.

The corpse of Mrs. Tadayoko Fukami was discovered on the coast of Atami in January of the following year.

As mentioned before, Tadayoko—whose family life appeared perfectly harmonious and who seemed greatly blessed both spiritually and materially—having suddenly become the heroine of such a tragedy was nothing short of astonishing. It was no wonder that all sorts of speculative theories arose regarding this.

There were even rumors that she might have gone mad, but Mrs. Enami denied this to me.

“Ms. Tadayoko came by car on January 10th to offer her New Year’s greetings. At that time, she mentioned there was talk of her going to Atami around the 20th—since this might involve an extended stay, she said she probably wouldn’t be able to see us for a while before leaving. When I think back on it now, it seems she came to bid farewell in her own reserved way. Considering that, it wasn’t sudden madness—she must have been prepared all along. Unfortunately, as both Jirō and my daughter happened to be out that day, she said how regrettable it was that she couldn’t see everyone.”

Mrs. Enami further revealed such things to me.

“I’m only telling you this because it’s you,” she said, “but when Ms. Tadayoko’s corpse was retrieved from the sea and the police conducted their examination, they found a small snake tattoo on her left upper arm—everyone apparently found it strange.”
“Since there was a tattoo on the arm of a distinguished industrialist’s wife, anyone would naturally find it surprising.”
“Of course, Mr. Fukami himself made requests to the police, so nothing about the tattoo was ever disclosed—those who know the secret are probably limited to just us.”
“The newspapers didn’t seem to notice either.”

“When did Ms. Tadayoko get such a tattoo?” I asked, equally surprised.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Enami replied.
“She definitely had no tattoo while under my roof, so it must have been after marrying Mr. Fukami—but whether he had it done or she secretly did it herself remains a complete mystery.”
“Mr. Fukami himself says nothing about it.”
“Given that Mr. Fukami hails from K Town, and Ms. Tadayoko—who married him—died so inexplicably with that snake tattoo on her arm... well, many memories resurface.”
“Ms. Tadayoko’s family home in her hometown had lost both parents, inherited by the eldest son—Brother Tōru’s sibling who died in Taiwan—but when we wired him about her death, he replied that circumstances prevented him from coming to Tokyo and entrusted everything to us.”