Pathway to Japanese Literature

This summer, due to unavoidable circumstances, I killed your mother at the Mitsuishi villa on the shores of Lake Ashi in Hakone and turned myself in at the Tokyo Prosecutor’s Office that very day.

As a result of the trial, I was acquitted on grounds of mental incompetence with a verdict of no indictment, but within less than a month thereafter, I unwittingly found myself facing another criminal charge.
This is what is commonly called an order crime, and since even in the worst case it would result in about two years' imprisonment, it would be proper this time as well to promptly surrender and seek mitigation of punishment; however, now that I have an intense attachment to freedom and cannot endure spending even a single day languishing within prison walls, I have resolved to disappear.

In time you too will understand this - my forty-year life had been like the needle of an Illunsauer-made 'Chronometer' wandering within old morality and feudal ideology's confines, persisting in a frivolous shallow existence that loved nothing beyond itself, considered nothing beyond itself, and fretted solely over maintaining appearances.
Having recently encountered an immeasurable woman's sincerity and realized how utterly false my past had been, I resolved to forge new ground; but being weak-willed and irresolute, I concluded that while remaining in society - perpetually vexed by conventions - I could never attain truth within myself. Thus I determined to sever all ties, become an unregistered quasi-dead man, and spend my remaining days as a three-realms mendicant living purely by heartfelt inclinations, untainted by worldly bonds.

Whether you call it disappearance or quasi-death, matters won't be settled simply for someone of my status. After unforeseen complications arose that I couldn't let burden you, I made arrangements regarding that affair to ensure death certification could be obtained at an opportune time. I deemed this method ideal for satirizing my half-lived existence as a puppet of vulgar opinions and avenging myself upon the petty disposition that drowned me in misfortune. Moreover, through this arrangement you may inherit the family estate without enduring the seven-year disappearance period, while I obtain the convenience of being swiftly erased from society's memory.

Through a handwritten document，I appointed Matsuo Harumichi as guardian and entrusted my cousin Furujirō with the role of supervisor.
Since both are honest and kind individuals，I believed you would reach adulthood without mishap under their protection.
To abandon you in your infancy，not yet two years old，was emotionally unbearable，but this too could not be helped.
Within the new life of me and my lover，I would not permit anyone to interfere.
However，I did not bring you into this world in order to abandon you.
You were born through your mother’s love and hope.
All those circumstances arose afterward.
As a father’s courtesy to his child，I have documented here in detail the circumstances that led to this situation.

I was born in January of Keiō 2 within Nagasaka Matsuyama Castle as the heir of Okudaira Masataka.
After the abolition of feudal domains and establishment of prefectures system came into effect following Meiji Restoration reforms initiated by Emperor Mutsuhito’s government on August 29th ,1871 ,which dismantled Japan’s traditional han system replacing them with modern prefectures thereby centralizing political power under imperial rule while stripping regional daimyō lords their hereditary privileges including land ownership rights over territories they once governed autonomously during Edo period thereby forcing former samurai families like ours into urban transition ,we were relocated from Nagasaka Matsuyama Castle where generations had resided since Sengoku era warlord days ,to our clan’s designated upper-class mansion located at Ichigaya district within newly established Tokyo Prefecture where amidst rigid adherence fading yet still enforced Tokugawa-era ceremonial protocols dictating every aspect aristocratic conduct from tea preparation methods seating arrangements during audiences even permissible vocabulary when addressing superiors,I spent formative years being rigorously groomed according antiquated codes honor now rendered obsolete by modernizing nation.

Your grandfather joined the Bunkyū 1 diplomatic mission to Europe, where during his stay in England he associated with great aristocrats and became enamored with their customs; it would seem he conceived an ambition to mold me into a British-style haughty-and-indomitable nobleman, for from the spring when I turned seven he had me study English and Western etiquette under Denison.
My father himself served as overseer of my studies, forcing me to remain at my desk until midnight every night and threatening me with swords and spears at the slightest sign of negligence; thus my boyhood passed in such anguish and torment that I nearly perished.
By nature I lacked any disposition for rigorous diligence; nothing in this world was more detestable to me than being chained to a desk. Yet to avoid my father’s wrath, I feigned scholarly zeal, merely plastering over the present moment.
This dishonest disposition of superficially stitching together appearances and hastily patching things into coherence had already taken root during this period.

My father was an arrogant, extreme aristocrat who would rail against the new government and new nobility whenever he opened his mouth, priding himself on being called the staunchest among former daimyō. In the spring of Meiji 18 (1885), he was confined at Kaji Bridge Prison on charges of government defamation for distributing a pamphlet titled *Government of the Lowly* to former daimyō; after his release, afflicted with inflammatory gout that had developed during his detention, he grew increasingly irritable and began behaving in an almost savage manner—whenever anyone admonished him, he would violently quarrel with them and ultimately prohibit all such visitors.

That autumn, one day Father summoned me to his bedchamber and declared in a thoroughly bitter tone,

“You shall go to England—study whatever you like there—but you must not put it to use.”

Father abruptly declared.

“If you have the inclination, you may remain there your entire life.
“Even if I die, there’s no need for you to return.”
“Worrying about your future to the point of being unable to close my eyes in death? Such things simply don’t exist for me.”

No sooner had he spoken than he whirled around to face away.

Father had dreamed of aristocratic governance and intended to make me its great pillar, but upon realizing its improbability, he must have conceived this reckless course of action.
I too did not love Father, and liberation from his stifling dominion was more welcome than anything; thus I immediately began preparing for my overseas journey, and in December of that year boarded the British ship Merei departing Yokohama, hastily leaving Japan.

In January of the following year I arrived in Britain—first entering Westminster Grammar School, then transferring to the law department of University College London.
Even when indulging in leisure, I merely thought one needed enrollment in such institutions for it to carry any weight—though I had not the slightest intention of studying.
In Britain, with neither meddlesome father nor relatives present, and no need to affect propriety, I spread my wings wide among disreputable nobles' scions, leading a dissolute life without restraint.

You will likely see photographs eventually, but I possess an unyielding countenance much like Father’s. Beneath bushy eyebrows lay eyes that gleamed gloomily with suspicion; a nose arrogantly hooked like a hawk’s beak; thin lips drawn tight in cruel impassivity. I had known since childhood that this fierce visage and gloomy demeanor made others detest me and recoil in discomfort. In truth, Father, Mother, and Grandmother openly loathed me, treating me with cold-hearted cruelty. As far as my memory reaches, never once was I addressed with affectionate words; thus I concluded I would never be loved by anyone in this lifetime and resigned myself to ephemeral despair with gloomy resolve. Yet even so—how desperately must I have yearned to be loved by others! Had I encountered such a person, I swore day and night in my heart that I would lay down my life for their sake without hesitation. This was when I was twelve or thirteen years old.

Afterward, there were several instances where I came to love others; but with my heart having lost confidence and shriveled, before seeking proof of love from others, I would first consider the fleeting nature of disappointment when let down, deliberately feign unfriendliness, and withdraw of my own accord.
After going abroad, I grew increasingly repressed and suspicious, adopting ever more violent behavior; thus there were those who feared and detested me, but none who loved me—men who flattered for gain existed, yet not a single true friend to whom I could bare my heart.
While possessing abundant wealth and honor, I led a desolate, lonely life like dead ashes.

My debauchery too was ultimately born of cowardice—terrified of seeking pure love only to face disappointment, whereas with prostitutes bought by coin, expecting nothing from the start meant no anger when deceived; for me this proved more reassuring, merely using them to disguise my unfulfilled heart.
I, having twice as much yearning for love as others, indulged in dissipation twice as fiercely; my licentiousness reached such extremes that even I wanted to cover my eyes.
While claiming to expect nothing, I undoubtedly pursued truth within the hearts of prostitutes with frantic day-and-night desperation.

In such a manner, I spent fourteen years accomplishing nothing.
A few years prior, after my father died and life in Britain had grown tiresome, I moved to Paris that winter and took residence in a place called Passy; yet before long, I found myself forced to duel a French army officer over some woman.
Had I been alone at that gathering, I would have groveled for forgiveness—but with embassy secretary Suzuki seated across the table, my innate vanity made me accept the challenge boldly despite having no will to survive it.

The duel took place the next day at Ronshan.
First, my opponent fired; at that moment, cowardly terror seized me and I involuntarily tilted my head rightward—the bullet consequently shattered my right temple and auricle before lodging between neck and shoulder.
Had I kept my head straight, it would have merely grazed my temple; this could be called cowardice's retribution.

Carried from the scene to hospital where immediate hemostatic treatment preserved my life by a thread, I emerged with a truly monstrous visage.
A glossy bald scar—dull crimson-black—bulged from my right eye's corner across the temple region, sparse hairs sprouting like weeds.
My right eye hung grotesquely upturned from sutured lacerations; the auricle gone, replaced by a desiccated scallop-shaped growth clinging there in pitiful pretense.
As an inveterate narcissist obsessed daily with refining my appearance, this disfigurement became unbearable torment.
Who could tally how many mirrors I smashed within half a year's span?

Indeed, as people came to fear and loathe my grotesque countenance while I perceived their varied mockeries, even that fragile sense of self which had sustained my sorrows and comforted my desolation collapsed utterly; not only romance, but any expectation of human affection vanished entirely, until detesting the sight of my own face, I confined myself indoors each day.
Not only that, but since then—plagued by delusions and reduced to such an anxious state that I saw hallucinations even in broad daylight—I resolved against my true intentions to temporarily return home, boarding a ship from Marseille at November's end.
During the voyage, my condition temporarily improved, but the Indian Ocean's sweltering heat brought on a delirious state; upon entering Yokohama harbor, I was treated like a madman—limbs bound and sent to a mental hospital.
Because the initial treatment had been inadequate, it was promptly decided to perform a reincision; I was transferred to a university hospital where I underwent surgery.

At that time, the prevailing ideological currents of society had taken on a liberalist tendency, and their momentum was not to be underestimated.
In rebellion against this trend, I resolved to demonstrate where aristocratic authority truly resided; during my convalescence, I drafted an essay titled "Draft Treatise on the Aristocratic Class as National Bulwark" and spitefully submitted it to the Jiji Shinpō newspaper. To my surprise, it garnered far greater acclaim than anticipated—even my duel became sensationalized, with my wound being proclaimed as a symbol of martial valor demonstrating how I had fought for Japan's honor.
Who knows—this facial scar commemorates my failed attempt at meddling with another man’s woman, while that supposedly powerful essay was nothing more than a wholesale borrowing of Lord Salisbury’s treatise.
Emboldened, I plagiarized and modified British essays, publishing them one after another in newspapers—each caused an extraordinary stir, and I, this very embodiment of cowardice and ignorance, saw my reputation grow daily as an unyielding aristocratic commentator.

After the surgery, my migraines greatly improved; however, as they would invariably recur every year during late spring and early summer, in the early summer of the thirty-fifth year, having heard it was effective for brain diseases, I went for hot spring therapy to Sokokura in Hakone.

It was precisely late June. As I leaned against the window and gazed out, the trees at the ravine’s bottom lay thick with lush new foliage; several small waterfalls cascaded down the sheer cliff face before me, their roaring waters resounding below.
I felt a refreshing sensation at the base of my skull and was gazing intently when a girl came crossing the wooden bridge spanning the narrowed part of the cliff.

She wore a yellow Hachijō silk lined kimono with an overcoat and had a large rose hair ornament in her hair.
Her attire seemed slightly too formal and refined for a hot spring resort; as I was gazing, captivated, the girl raised her face—the moment our eyes met, she blushed, bent at the waist, offered a bow, and promptly retreated into the inn’s inner garden.

She appeared eighteen or nineteen years old—her complexion strikingly pale yet tinged with peach-blossom pink, eyebrows slightly thick and drawn close together, lending her an air of keen intelligence. Her lips were tightly pursed; her large eyes—thickly lashed and spanning her high nose—seemed on the verge of spilling over with their dark pupils. Not the vacant-eyed beauty of Tamenaga’s romances, hers was an elegant loveliness imbued with subtle dignity—in no way inferior to a cultured European lady.

There exists in this world what one calls Love at First Sight.
Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet too demonstrates instances where love is established through a single glance.
The emotion I felt upon seeing that girl seemed to precisely correspond to that.
To say I fell in love would be insufficient.
To be honest, from that very moment I became possessed.
Though this owed much to the girl’s unparalleled beauty, when I saw her greet me with familiarity—showing neither fear nor revulsion—I was overwhelmed by ineffable delight, and a faint hope sprouted in my desiccated, despairing heart; thus through these combined circumstances, she became all the more impossible to forget.

Since then, her image did not leave my sight.
Her likeness remained unforgettable even between dreams and waking hours; I could not suppress this longing to behold her form once more.
Though utterly disgraceful for a man of middle age, I spent entire days leaning against the window, gazing fixedly at the bridge.

Four days passed, but the girl did not appear.
Because my heart was clouded with gloom, the scenery of Sokokura that had once delighted my eyes now seemed utterly insipid, and the sheer cliff looming before me pressed down upon my mind with unbearable oppressiveness.

Thinking to take a short stroll, I left the inn without attendants, passed through Kowakidani to Rokudo Jigoku, and from there ascended toward Lake Ashi.

The weather was clear and cloudless; the deep blue lake lay as clear as an ancient mirror, upon whose surface the emerald peaks of Hakone Sannkoku cast their inverted reflection.
Having exercised for the first time in ages, I felt my mind and spirit invigorated; as I sat down on a lakeside rock and gazed toward Ukishima, a boat came rowing across the lake.
The one in white Western attire, with her hair hanging down and a long pale pink ribbon fluttering as she continued rowing vigorously, was unmistakably that girl.

I stared blankly at the scene before my own eyes, unable to believe what I was seeing, when the boat gradually began approaching this way. Trembling violently, I was about to flee when the girl noticed my presence and politely bowed, then suddenly swung the prow around to bring the boat ashore.
And then, with a steady gaze that held no hesitation, she scrutinized my face and adorably tilted her head,

“Won’t you come aboard?”

she coaxed affectionately.

How pure an emotion filled her demeanor, how graceful a sentiment overflowed within her—it defies all attempts at description. She was lively yet never overbearing; innocent and endearing, seeming intent on sharing her joy with me.

I felt my heart leap with elation, yet burned with shame at having my true feelings perceived,

“Thank you.”

Having uttered this, I remained rooted to my seat.

The anguish in my heart was so intense that I was nearly beside myself with anxiety, fretting that my brusque manner might anger the girl and cause her to row away.

The girl stared wide-eyed, utterly guileless,

“Oh, don’t be so reluctant! Do come aboard—it’s truly ever so delightful!”

While saying this, she extended a slender hand adorned with dimpled smiles toward me.

I was on the verge of tears but,

“Very well—if you insist that much.”

I boarded the boat with an air of reluctance.

The girl twisted her body to make me sit facing her,

“I’ll keep rowing a bit longer, so when you tire, do take over for me, won’t you?”

she said as she began deftly handling the oars.
A bitter smile escaped me,

“Hmm. So you boarded me intending to make me row, did you?”

When I said this, the girl nodded adorably,

“Why, exactly—that was precisely my intention. I want to go all the way to Hotokegasaki, but I simply can’t row that far myself,” she declared airily.

While deftly handling the oars, the girl chattered ceaselessly about her father, her mother, and her girls’ school affairs. As she launched into a meticulous account of how thrilling the recent tennis tournament had been, she naturally ceased rowing and began acting out the match through animated bodily gestures.

Lively yet never losing her refinement, when up close her virtues were manifested all the more brilliantly, appearing nearly radiant to my eyes.
As if entranced in a dream, I gazed ecstatically at her face and listened unthinkingly to her voice.
The girl looked at my face with a knowing smile,

"My Lord is a count, I hear."
"I hear My Lord has been abroad for years and is a great scholar."

I was a man who had aspects of base cowardice and arrogance, and since my noble lineage was a tremendous source of pride, this question delighted me exceedingly; yet I responded with deliberate crudeness,

“Hmm, correct—the son of an antiquated daimyo, eh? Who told you that?”

When I asked, the girl replied,

“Why, everyone at the inn’s talking about it—I can’t help but hear such things.”

she answered, then abruptly opened her mouth:
"My Lord, how did you come by that injury on your face?"
she inquired.

Nothing was more unpleasant to me than having my face spoken of. Involuntarily, I knit my brows sternly—
"Why? Why do you ask such a thing?"
I pressed in an accusatory tone, yet the girl maintained an air of obliviousness to my harshness—
"At the inn, they say it must be an injury you received in the war. They say it's quite something for a lord to go off to war and get struck by a bullet."
—and scrutinized my face anew. Driven by childlike curiosity and simply wanting to know the truth, she stared at my face while eagerly awaiting a reply. I stood utterly at a loss for how to respond—

“Exactly so—it was an enemy artillery shell during the attack on Weihaiwei Fortress.”
“Is it ugly? Or perhaps utterly dreadful?”

When I tried to brush it off as a joke, the girl assumed an earnest expression and,

“What could be dreadful about it? You look gallant—noble even.”

she nodded with an air of thoughtful consideration.

The girl didn’t think anything particular of my face.
For me, this was truly an unexpected boon; it felt as though the gloomy thoughts that had long coiled within my heart were suddenly clearing away.
Never in my life have I felt so boundless as in that moment.
Had I been a candid man, I might have taken the girl’s hand and embraced her—but given my accursed temperament, I instead adopted a venomous tone and said:

“Quite the kind thing to say.
Hmph… you’re quite the charmer.”

I said something perverse.

How innocently she must have been raised, that even someone as stagnant as myself didn’t seem to vex her—from then on, she came to visit my room nearly every day.
She would call out from the courtyard to invite me for walks; we would play games.
Gradually growing intimate, we began taking meals in my room.
The world I had until now perceived as nothing but lethargic suddenly became fascinating; my mind grew keen with pleasures I had never imagined encountering, until I began to consider taking this girl into my household as my wife.

The girl was Tō, the second daughter of a Yokohama raw silk broker, then eighteen years old and in her fourth year at Sakurai Girls' School.
Setting aside my own vanity, the fact remained that as one bearing the title of count, certain decorums must be observed—one could not simply act on fleeting desires. Yet among these ready-made new nobles existed those who dressed geisha-turned women in formal court robes and installed them as principal wives with brazen audacity.
Compared to such vulgarity, my approach maintained far greater logical consistency.
Tō’s father being a man of antiquated merchant disposition—one who kept his gaze lowered in my presence—it stood to reason that demonstrating my influence would brook no refusal.
This matter settled, I burned to confirm whether Tō truly loved me before proposing marriage—the question searing at my throat—yet feared nothing more than the humiliation of potential rejection. Thus I deemed it safest to make her my wife without allowing refusal, neither revealing my true feelings nor abandoning my deliberately aloof manner toward her.

In June of Year 36, a grand wedding ceremony was held, and Tō became my wife.
This is your mother.
To commemorate our marriage, I built a new villa at the lakeside in Hakone Mitsuishi where I first met Tō and named it Shōshōtei.
Initially intending to name it Aiai-tei, I even had a plaque inscribed in seal script carved, but abandoned the idea upon fearing others would mock it.

In the rush of completing the new villa, we departed for Hakone and spent about two months there with no outsiders intruding. After becoming my wife, Tō began displaying even more vivacious mannerisms, devising innocent games and frolicking about like a child from dawn till dusk.
I had never once had intercourse with a virgin.
Since all those I had been involved with in the past were merely prostitutes and courtesans, I had no inkling whatsoever of how truthful and deeply affectionate a true lady could be, making it utterly impossible for me to discern the depths of her heart.
In hindsight, Tō's behavior had been an innocent attempt to enliven my gloomy disposition if only slightly, but I interpreted it as vulgar conduct befitting her lowly upbringing. Fearing what any of our noble peers might say were they to witness such scenes, I resolved to strictly discipline her into becoming a woman worthy of being a nobleman's wife. Upon returning to our Ichigaya main residence, I had her study English and Western etiquette under Miss Palmer from the Imperial Household Ministry's Ceremonial Department, along with piano and equestrianism—personally overseeing every aspect of this reformation.

Since Tō had a single-minded tendency to fixate on matters, she appeared resolved to become a noblewoman who would not be outshone even in high society. Dissatisfied with allotted hours, she would devote entire nights to her writing desk daily—so much so that the once vivid crimson of her cheeks gradually paled, her customary vivacity faded into extreme taciturnity, and I began occasionally finding her sitting dejectedly before the desk, heaving sighs.
In other words, she had become precisely the woman I had commissioned.

I doted on Tō so intensely that I could scarcely bear to be apart from her for even a moment—yet plagued by that inescapable suspicion of mine, I found myself unable to dismiss the doubt that this woman too had married me out of longing for prestige and power. Compounded by my innate servile disposition, which made any overt display of affection feel somehow shameful, I resorted to wielding my authority through crude and unrestrained behavior, even raising my hand to strike her at times without cause.
Moreover, I was naturally a man of vigorous sexual appetite, but not wishing to incur Tō’s contempt, I made a show of ascetic purity—limiting our conjugal nights to once or twice a month, and even then treating them as some distasteful obligation to be hastily dispatched.

At that time, Russo-Japanese tensions had grown exceedingly urgent; with events like the September meeting between Russian Minister Rosen and Plenipotentiary Komura, I judged war inevitable. Seeking to once again seize the zeitgeist for false prestige, I aligned myself with Kōno's Anti-Russian Comrades Association, took the lead in advocating war within aristocratic circles, and rushed about these insincere endeavors so incessantly that I lacked even a moment's leisure to settle myself at home.

In November of that year, Tō became pregnant.
While desiring Tō's intellectual and emotional maturity, I simultaneously harbored hopes of preserving her youth and beauty indefinitely. Fearing her affections would shift to any child born, I invoked Johann Mendel's genetic laws—then the latest scientific theory—to decree that no heir could be produced until your education was complete. Deaf to her tearful entreaties, I strictly ordered an abortion. Yet this plan failed spectacularly; the various means employed to terminate the pregnancy only weakened Tō's body, culminating in July of the following year with her delivering a nine-month premature son. This is you.

Tō's health had deteriorated, afflicted by malignant anemia and prone to frequent dizzy spells and fainting throughout the day. Thus at September's end, I sent her to our Hakone villa for convalescence accompanied by a nurse and three or four maidservants. However, since the war's outbreak, I had established the Relief Association office at the Kazoku Kaikan and devoted myself entirely to its administration. Consequently, I naturally neglected to visit Tō, managing only two brief trips by June of Year 38.

On June 10th, while returning from visiting an acquaintance in Odawara on Relief Association business, I suddenly decided to go to Hakone and hired a rickshaw at Sanmai Bridge.

Urging haste along the way, I arrived at the rear of the villa around eight o'clock. Proceeding along the stepping stones from the lakeside brushwood gate toward the main house, I found the Japanese-style room facing the garden brightly lit by a lamp, with numerous voices audible through its shoji screens.

Peering through the shrubbery, I saw Hibata—a female writer of my prior acquaintance—Yuge from the Niroku Shinpo newspaper, and Kitamura the poet among a large gathering shouting crude calls as they played a flower-matching game. Amid scattered flower pots and sake bottles ravaged by their revelry, crammed within that narrow space, five vulgar-faced men and women lay sprawled about like discarded dolls.

When my gaze found Tō, she sat with her hair hastily tied in a bun, her haori carelessly draped over her shoulders. She leaned against a veranda pillar in an indecorous pose—one knee raised as if poised to kick out her shin—cradling a moon lute while singing some popular ballad.

So absorbed was I in watching this utterly unexpected scene that a student with a fox-like face suddenly sat up.

“Gentlemen, have you read Futabatei’s ‘Yonin Kyōsandan’ published in Bungeikai?”

said something along those lines.
Someone nearby waved a hand and,

“Enough criticism—the sake’s turning vinegary!”

As soon as these words were uttered, the student in question shrugged his shoulders and sneered,

“Don’t leap to conclusions—by warping Futabatei’s very premise, our Hakone Communal Group could produce a gesaku piece."
"As for myself—lying here contemplating—when it comes to who matches that bold Kirjāka character, why, none other than Ms. Hibata herself."
“Bravo, bravo—disrobing a man barehanded! And as for Lord Kitamura here—”

Hibata turned toward them while still clutching flower cards in her left hand,

"Oh, Mr. Okayaki Koji is saying something strange again—don't make fools of people."

While casting a sidelong glance toward Tō on the veranda,

"Unlike someone over there who maintains a composed face while secretly indulging.
"How rude! I'll have you know I'm still a virgin."

Uttering something suggestive, she wrapped her free hand around Kitamura's waist,

"Mr. Kitamura, don't just let me do all the talking—why not show your true colors and give me something to fret over?"

With that, she performed some peculiar gesture.

The group whooped with cries of "Yahoo!" and "Cheers!", their clamor growing ever louder.
The figure in maroon hakama styled after female students—"Ugh! Unbearable! Simply unbearable!"—rubbed at her limbs and rose up,

"Being subjected to nothing but these vulgar displays, I'll work myself into a proper state!"

She went over to the fox-faced student from earlier,

“Let’s take a short walk. Come on, let’s go wander around already!”

She took his hand and yanked him up.

The fox-faced student rose obediently and declared, “The wind stirs golden waves with distant voices; boatman, how can you endure tonight’s passions? Hey, if we go outside now, something dreadful awaits—you understand?”

As they spoke these words and descended into the garden approaching hand in hand, I retreated fearfully to the lakeside. The fox-faced student slipped his hand around the female student’s waist from behind, embraced her shoulder, and they vanished into the back forest like tangled threads.

I crouched in a thicket of blooming jade hydrangeas, holding my breath.
The more I dwelled on their brazen misconduct, the more I resolved to burst in and berate them—yet revealing my fury before such rabble would have been undignified. Reconsidering, I determined to settle matters after the group dispersed, planning to while away the interim at the residence of Takagi of Ukishima, that lawyer. But upon learning Takagi had gone to play go with an acquaintance in Sainokawara, I found myself compelled to pass the hours drinking wretched sake at Kinparō, a lakeside restaurant.

Assuming the rabble had likely dispersed as it neared eleven o'clock, I abruptly entered the main house from the garden—only to find them in even greater uproar than before, in a frenzy clamoring about "the monk of rain". Realizing this would never resolve itself no matter how long I waited, I stepped up from the veranda into the room to find the group’s panicked state pitiful to behold—trembling so violently they couldn’t rise from their knees, cowering on the spot as though struck by lightning. Gradually, the servants too came running out from the back, but seemingly believing I had come without warning or attendants to investigate their misconduct, they remained prostrated in the hallway without lifting their faces.

Looking around, Tō didn’t seem to be in the tatami room either, and as for me, I couldn’t very well keep standing there forever with my arms folded.
As I slid open the fusuma panel and moved toward where Tō’s sitting room lay, Hibata suddenly grabbed the hem of my haori jacket,

“Your Excellency, where are you going?”

While posing this inane question, she crawled forward on her knees.

“Her Ladyship mentioned feeling unwell and has just now retired.”

When I grunted a noncommittal reply and made to leave again, Hibata circled around before me and stood blocking my path like a child playing keep-away, arms spread wide.

“What is that about? It seems she’s terribly unwell.”

Her words came out so jumbled that I realized something must be amiss in the back rooms; shoving Hibata aside, I charged inward.

Behind me came Hibata’s scream—“Ah—!”
However mistaken my actions might seem, I’d never normally behave so indecorously before such rabble—yet the pent-up frustration and resentment that had simmered since earlier now erupted alongside the haze of cheap liquor, rendering me utterly incapable of restraining my emotions.
I stormed down the hallway to Tō’s bedroom and seized the door handle, only to hear frantic clattering from within as someone fumbled with the lock—as vivid as if I could grasp the sound itself.
Then came the telltale creak of the garden-facing glass window opening—no time left for hesitation. Snatching up the oak flower stand from the corridor, I began battering through the door panel.
Someone clutched at me from behind trying to drag me away.
That wretch should’ve thanked his stars I only smashed his skull with the flower stand.

In a violent frenzy, I smashed through the door and entered the room to find a six-panel folding screen encircling a brightly lit table lamp within, two cylindrical pillows atop the futon, with even a sake warmer and small bowls placed by the bedside. It appeared the other party had fled through the window, for white tabi socks and a tobacco pouch that had hung at someone's waist lay upon the tatami near the window. Lifting my foot, I kicked over the screen to find Tō sitting behind it with doll-like pallor, utterly resigned. The front of her underrobe had slipped open, turning sheer up to the area above her breasts; lamplight slanted across the rounded swell, casting an exquisite shadow.

The emotion that arose within me—should I call it lust, jealousy, or ecstasy? To say it was an equal mixture of all three might not be far off.
But this lasted only an instant—a savage fury surged through my chest, and I rushed to Tō’s side before kicking her shoulder with all my might.
Tō screamed “Ah!” and collapsed onto her back, making no effort to cover the exposed calf revealed by her disheveled hem, lying motionless with her eyes closed as if dead.

After that incident, I cannot recall a single detail of what commotion I caused.
The sole memory that faintly remains is being hauled toward the parlor by a crowd supporting my arms and shoulders.
When consciousness returned, I found myself laid out alone at the exact center of that vacant parlor, trembling violently as cold sweat drenched my body.

The hour neared first watch; with no sound but night winds sweeping across the lake waters, darkness settled in profound stillness.
I wondered what had become of Tō and clapped my hands sharply—yet none came forth.
Venturing to the servants' quarters revealed nurse and maid huddled like lifeless lumps in shadowed corners.

When I demanded news of Her Ladyship's whereabouts, their repeated denials left matters unresolved.

Resolved to conclude this affair regardless, I combed every chamber of the estate yet found no trace.
Thinking she might lurk near you—my child—I peered into that separate wing called nursery quarters only to find emptiness there too.
Returning defeated to the parlor with arms folded tight against my chest, what filled me was neither wrath nor grief nor jealousy—only this single burning question of how dignity might yet be salvaged.

Outrageous conduct though it was—so chaotic its beginning blurred with end—for one society extols as unbending pillar of principle and unyielding rectitude like myself, such inconvenience surpassed mere misfortune.
With scandal-mongers like Yuge present among that gathering's dregs, tomorrow's evening rags would surely trumpet this in vulgar reportage—yet worse still was imagining my name mauled by hacks' pens through every gutter sheet until reputation lay blackened beyond redemption—this vision alone set fury coursing through my marrow till bones rattled.

Since I couldn't possibly withdraw while sniveling with lingering attachment and enduring vulgar ridicule, filing adultery charges would likely become my retaliatory measure—though this too reeks of ignobility. To stand in a public courtroom under everyone's gaze and declare "Indeed, this man stole my wife" would be layering shame upon shame.

I had fallen into an impasse where neither advance nor retreat was possible, thrashing about helplessly, when I realized this miserable outcome stemmed from having shown restraint at that critical juncture. How bitterly I regret not surrendering to violent passion—had I slashed or stabbed her then, even without killing outright, it would have established some pretext and spared me from becoming society's eternal laughingstock.

When I thought of having failed to act, my emotions surged until I could think of nothing beyond a single course of action. In other words, it wasn't too late even now. It meant I should just go ahead and do it. Even executing her by my own hand felt antiquated and absurd, but there remained no other means to preserve my honor. As I dwelled on such thoughts, my self-serving ingenuity flourished until my resolve inclined irrevocably toward action.

To tell the truth, my true feelings were directed elsewhere at that time.
When I witnessed the scene of adultery, I surely must have been provoked—yet as for Tō committing such an outrage, I am aware that half the blame lies with me who pushed her toward that end.
Having been accustomed to disappointment since childhood, and having never truly expected Tō’s affection from the start, I merely concluded that this outcome was inevitable—I felt no anger, much less any hatred intense enough to drive me to murder.
Had there been absolute security in the knowledge that I alone perceived this situation and no one else knew of it, I likely would have settled for admonishing her misconduct.

When viewed this way, one could see what a cowardly, cruel, and moreover selfish man I was.
For the sake of reputation and preserving my personal dignity, I intended to kill a wife I did not even hate.
People often kill others even for a single penny; their deeds may be cruel, but I doubt they are as despicable as my case.
My passions had cooled and my heart had already returned to cold reason; though such a state of mind made it difficult to carry out the deed, I was in dire straits and had no choice but to steel myself—it was just as I resolved to act that I sensed someone approaching the garden.

When I raised my head, Tō stood forlornly in the shadows beneath a pine tree overgrown with Hakone bamboo grass.

“Hey.”

When I called out, Tō opened her eyes wide enough to burst and silently stared at my face.

Before fainting, she often made such an expression.
Thinking it would be difficult to kill someone who had fainted and collapsed, I took precautions to prevent her from losing consciousness—

“Tō, come here.”

When I shouted, Tō staggered up into the parlor and pressed both palms against the tatami before bowing her head.

"You've returned after all—I suppose you came back steeled with whatever resolve such a return demands."

As I spoke these words, Tō cast a fleeting glance toward your sleeping quarters in the children's wing before lowering her face into a faint nod.

By the time I reached Takagi’s house on Ukishima, dawn was beginning to break palely; soaked up to the knees with dew, my legs had gone numb.
I pressed the entrance bell, but no one came.
I circled from the garden to the veranda and pounded on the storm shutters with my geta with all my might,

“Who the hell?!”

A voice snapped irritably; Takagi opened the storm shutters and peered out, but upon seeing my ghastly appearance—or perhaps because of it—he let out an “Ah!” and nearly bolted back into the room.

When I entered the parlor and sat cross-legged, Takagi's face twitched as he bowed deferentially, his eyes darting upward repeatedly.

Abruptly,

“Because Tō acted outrageously, I executed her.”

I said.

Takagi gasped sharply, his jaw trembling, then widened his eyes.

“When you say ‘outrageous,’ what sort of—” he asked foolishly.

“Because I caught them in the act of adultery, I killed her.”

“And the other party?”

“How should I know such a thing? I’m going to surrender myself at the Tokyo Prosecutor’s Office now, so defend me and get me acquitted.”

Takagi placed his hands on his knees and bowed his head in thought, but after a while wore an utterly perplexed expression.

“Sir, I cannot possibly do it.”

he answered.

Takagi was the son of a former domain samurai who had obtained his lawyer’s license at the University of Pennsylvania; though still young, he was competent—not one to be bested by judges when contesting verdicts in court—yet his conservative disposition caused him to repeatedly shrink back and fail at critical junctures.
Having long regarded this tendency with frustration, it grated on my nerves,

“What rubbish! Is there anything beyond your capabilities?”

When I snapped this, Takagi clutched his head in both hands,

“But sir—for one such as myself, this constitutes an exceptionally challenging case.
“I discern no viable strategy for success.”

"That’s precisely why I want to discuss it."
"Or is there some reason you can’t take this on?"

Takagi raised his face,

"What? There’s no such thing!"

he crossed his arms and pondered, but—

“Very well.”
“Though my efforts may prove inadequate, I shall endeavor to rise to the occasion.”
“If these facts hold true, it would be utterly astonishing—for a wife who had received such gracious favor to act in such an ungrateful manner—so if we concentrate our efforts to pursue that angle—”

“Exactly. As for Tō, you may revile her however you see fit without reservation.”
“If evidence proves insufficient, I don’t mind colluding to fabricate facts.”
“But would that alone suffice to secure my acquittal?”

“Well, that alone would prove rather impossible.”
“Unless we establish some legally negating circumstance—”

“Splendid—you’ll manage those arrangements for me.”

“Even if Your Excellency says that, it cannot be managed so easily.”
“Setting that aside for now, let me first ascertain the circumstances—in what manner did Your Excellency carry out the killing?”
“I strangled her.”

“There’s no chance she could revive, is there? If she were to come back after Your Excellency’s self-surrender, it would make for an absurd spectacle.”

“I grabbed her collar and kept choking her—until blood flowed from her ears and eyes. There was no possibility of revival.”

“Why didn’t you use a sword or pistol?”

“None were at hand.”

“Ah—in your frenzy, you had no time to fetch such weapons, neh? That’s perfectly acceptable.”

“Now, now—I didn’t fly into any rage.”
“I was perfectly composed.”
“Even had I wanted to draw a weapon, there were no swords or pistols at the villa.”

“It matters not at all.”
“And what did you do with the corpse?”

“I put her on a boat, attached weights, and dumped her in the lake.”

“Why did you do such a thing?”
“Why didn’t you leave it at the scene?”

“It grated on my nerves unbearably, so I threw her into the lake.”

“Around where?”

“Off Butsugasaki.”

“That area happens to be the deepest part of Lake Ashi—even in midsummer it measures no less than fifty fathoms—yet Your Excellency, fully aware of this fact, chose to dispose of it there?”

“Exactly.”
“So? Is that inconvenient? Does it pose a problem?”

“Ha! Then the conditions for it being a crime of passion become questionable.”
“It won’t do for you to have done such a thing knowingly.”
“Shall we say you found it defiling to leave it at the villa, so you dragged it to the lakeside and pushed it off in a frenzy?”
“Unless we proceed in that manner.”

I flung my legs across the tatami,

“Even if I transported it by boat and dumped it, there shouldn’t be any real problem—you said there’s exemption from liability, so that makes me innocent, right? Let me remind you—I’m a certified madman. When I returned from abroad, I truly went mad right in the middle of the Indian Ocean, I tell you. I’m a madman—I bear no responsibility for anything I’ve done. I did it all in a frenzy—if the details don’t line up, isn’t that all the better?”

When I said this, Takagi hung his head and gave a wry smile.

On June 12th, he submitted a retirement notice to the Peerage Bureau and immediately proceeded to file a self-surrender at the Tokyo Prosecutors Office.
That very day, he was to be confined in the unconvicted prisoners' ward of Kajibashi Prison, but at the first trial session, Takagi's request for a psychiatric evaluation resulted in him being assessed as having recovered from residual insanity, and on October 1st, during the second trial session, he was declared not guilty by reason of incapacity, leading to his release from prison on the third of the same month.

When I emerged to look around, the reception was indeed favorable.
Public opinion regarding this incident converged on the conclusion that, having long known of my wife’s adulterous misconduct yet endured it in silence, my once-cured mental illness had recurred, leading me to commit murder impulsively—and that it was entirely the wife’s fault for driving me to madness once more and compelling me to commit homicide.
All my relatives without exception were my sympathizers—some even sending letters of congratulation—so I could not help but feel gratified. On the fifth of that month, I invited one hundred and fifty relatives and associates to Ōnakamura in Yanagibashi for a grand celebration of my release from prison, which again became quite the talk of the town.
I was indeed fortunate, but a prison remains a prison after all, and my health had suffered somewhat during my incarceration.
My spirit was utterly weighed down.
Therefore, intending to convalesce for a while, I went to the villa in Hakone.

Since I had given prior notice, the garden shrubs had been tended to and flowers arranged in the alcove with attentive care, yet I could not dispel the memories of that day.
Frost had formed on the Hakone bamboo grass where Tō had stood dejectedly, rustling faintly with each gust of wind.
When I went to look in Tō's room, there were two or three stems of winter chrysanthemums placed in the celadon vase atop the desk.
They must be changed daily.
The water was still fresh.
There were things that insisted on dredging up memories, and it was not pleasant.

Each morning the frost grew heavier, and just as Mount Kamiyama’s peak turned faintly white, all the maple leaves across its slopes came fluttering down, exposing the jagged mountain bones overnight.
I was coming down with a cold and sullenly gazing at the garden with a charcoal hand warmer at my back when numerous voices approached from afar, calling out to each other near the entrance.
As I was wondering what had happened, a servant named Jinzō came running in and planted both hands on the stone step.
I stepped out onto the engawa,

“What’s all this racket? Tell them to be quiet.”

When I snapped, Jinzō, still gasping for breath,

“This morning, Shigeyoshi from Umeya went to raise eel traps at the mouth of the Fukara River when he found a Buddha-like figure lying face up among the reed roots. Trembling with fear as we examined it—that turned out to be Her Ladyship’s remains in such a pitiful state—so everyone carried them here, and they’re now in the waiting room.”

“Who gave you permission to bring in a corpse? Don’t act so presumptuously.”

“So are you ordering us to just throw it on the shore and leave it there?”

With eyes like an angry dog’s, he looked up at me.

“Stand back.”
“There can’t be just one or two drowning themselves yearly in these waters.”
“Half a year’s passed—how could you possibly determine it’s Her Ladyship?”
“Go tell them all to cease this panic.”

“With deepest respect—though it grieves me to contradict—any eye would find it unmistakable.”

He stood unmoving.

The emotions stirred within me—I knew not what name to give them.
In truth, I did not kill Tō.
At that time, my resolve had not dulled in the slightest.
I mounted Tō's chest and kept tightening my grip on her neck.
If I were to say why I couldn't kill her, it was because in strangling her—because my hands had touched Tō's flesh—the act itself proved flawed.
It was clumsy.

Tō bent her toes like a crab’s, narrowed her eyes to slits within their barely open lids, and clung tightly to me while opening her mouth to gasp “Ah, ah...” Her face was suffused with a blood-red hue like after bathing, and the roots of her hair glistened seductively, damp with sweat. I was applying force while,

“How about it—are you suffering?”
“What? Now.”
“Endure it.”

When I said this, Tō leaned her face toward me, shook her head, and smiled sweetly. Her small vermilion lips were trembling as if seeking my kiss. I felt an indescribable base passion welling up within me and hastily recoiled from Tō’s body.

If I had possessed even a shred of the honesty required to go through with it, half my life would not have been steeped in such misery.
My heart had grown jaded and lukewarm, rendering me utterly unfit for killing another human being.
I stood with my arms folded, wearing a bitter expression,

“I’ll spare your life, but you mustn’t think you’re alive.”
“You are dead from this day forth. Go to Rengetsuan in Mishima and live out your life as a nun.”
“You must not give your name, nor ever leave that place.”

I delivered this pronouncement, dragged Tō from the garden to the lakeshore, put her aboard a boat, and began rowing toward the Fukara River.
My intention had been to make her cross Kojiri Pass and abandon her from Fukara Village to Mishima.

A burnished crescent moon shone serenely upon the lake surface, while the wind blew through reeds, setting their long leaves aquiver.
All around was silent; the only sound was that of oars.
Tō sat at the bow of the boat, head bowed, not uttering a word.
I too said nothing.
There was too much to say, yet I felt as though nothing could be uttered.

After rowing for about forty minutes, I arrived at the mouth of the Fukara River.
I helped Tō out of the boat and pushed the money, still in the wallet, into her pocket.
Tō bowed, then efficiently tucked up the hem of her kimono and entered the narrow path winding through the bamboo grass field.
While rowing the boat back, I turned to look and saw Tō standing on a small rise, gazing in this direction.

When I went to see the waiting room beside the entrance, I found a corpse covered with white cloth placed upon a door plank, around which household servants and villagers sat rigidly formal—but when they saw my face, the village policeman lifted the white cloth with reverent gestures.

The corpse had a pallid, dull color reminiscent of whale blubber or an alcohol-preserved fetal specimen; mere five or six strands of hair remaining above ears crept into eyeless sockets while lush green algae sprouted from ear canals.
Flesh along flank was gone entirely revealing organs like fish milt deep between ribs; end of rope coiled around torso protruded from beneath buttocks like tail.

Apparently someone had informed him, for Takagi came rushing over with a pallid face; but the moment he saw it, he let out a strange groan and looked on the verge of tears,

“Ah, I did something truly terrible.”

he said, pressing his hands together in prayer.

As I seethed with an absurd, infuriating sense of helplessness—unable to move hand or foot—the policeman, perhaps mistaking my sullen expression for profound grief, began earnestly delivering a eulogy,

“Given its prolonged submersion in water, the remains’ appearance has significantly altered—however, this must undeniably be your wife’s remains. Though the coroner shall arrive shortly, I must humbly request Your Excellency to first discover some identifying feature and grant us your official recognition.”

Then Takagi, in a reproachful tone,

"What nonsense! There's nothing here requiring confirmation!"
"If this isn't Her Ladyship's remains, then whose corpse would you presume this to be?"

he turned pale and vehemently persisted.

I thought to rebuke Takagi, but found no words worthy of rebuke.
Rather than be burdened with this unsightly corpse—some wretched beggar's final state—it would prove more merciful to publicly declare the truth, casting aside this farcical mourning with contempt,

"Hold on—I didn't kill Tō.
Tō is at Mishima's nunnery."

I thought how liberating it would feel to dismiss them by saying that.

Certainly, that would be satisfying—but were I to say that and dismiss them, mere mercy would not suffice.
On the grounds that I had made false statements to expedite and conclude the trial, I would have to be charged with an order crime and confined to gaol.
This stands as one of the law’s most laughable oversights: that I, having been acquitted through falsely testifying to murder, would instead be found guilty were I now to truthfully declare I committed no killing.

This crime is an order crime, not what one would call a grave offense.
Though a mere two years' penal servitude would suffice—hardly any real inconvenience—the moment I were to explain the circumstances, my base cowardly nature and shallow pretentious vanity would have to be scrutinized down to their very dregs and laid utterly bare beneath the sun.
Since that above all else was something I could not possibly endure, if I wished to avoid it, I would have to persist in impersonating a murderer and testify that this was indeed the corpse of the very person I had killed.
The drowned person must have been quite put out, but I ended up acknowledging that this was indeed the corpse of my wife—strangled by my own hands and cast into the lake by me.
The policeman and all present were extremely satisfied.

I returned to the inner room and sat with a sullen face, but suddenly—due to a doubt that sprouted in my heart—I felt as though my chest had been pierced through.
Is that unsightly mass of flesh truly not Tō’s corpse?
The corpse was said to have been recovered near the Fukara River, but this doubt—that Tō might have thrown herself there after my boat had disappeared from view—pierced through me.
Tō had an obedient side but also a disposition to fixate intensely—she was perfectly capable of such an act.
Since I did not kill Tō, until now the sight of the corpse had stirred no emotions in me—but if it were to mean that Tō might have thrown herself in, that would be an entirely different matter.

I abruptly rose and went to the anteroom, heedless of prying eyes as I threw back the white shroud. The corpse's flesh had putrefied grotesquely—devoured by aquatic creatures, scraped raw against rocks—presenting a spectacle too hideous to endure scrutiny. Yet having lain in the frigid waters of an oligotrophic lake, certain portions retained their original form intact. The flesh spanning neck to shoulder bore witness to what must have been an opulently beautiful physique in life. The chest too remained as evidence; surely those had once been plump, voluptuous breasts. The lingering traces of that figure persisted unmistakably. The longer I stared, the more this rotting mass seemed to mirror Tō's body until my mind began unraveling at the edges. Remembering the small cavity between her lower incisor and canine, I leaned forward trembling—and there it gaped, that achingly familiar hollow. My legs gave way beneath me.

Is this the body of Tō that was once so beautiful? Where once there had been eyes like obsidian now gaped dark sockets; from where ears like cherry blossom shells had nestled, algae sprouted blue buds. Those slender arms that once held me and offered me a pillow—now all flesh had rotted away, reduced to nothing but a single white arm bone bleached by water.

Confronted with a cruelty beyond anything I thought possible in this world, I felt my chest being torn asunder. Though my own hands dealt no blow, I had plucked what should have been a long-blooming flower of purity—all to preserve my own façade—and cast it into hell’s maw. Even had I sat before a corpse of my own making, I could not have felt such shame. That hellmouth had disgorged what it once swallowed and deliberately laid it before me in wretchedness—this could only mean to thrust irrefutable evidence before my eyes and make me recall each cruel, despicable sin. Thus every wound upon this corpse—every stain, every decay—had to stand as emblems of sin wrought by my own cowardice, baseness, vanity, and self-regard.

Before long, the coroner and garrison doctor arrived and conducted a routine examination.
When they finished and were about to place Tō's body into the coffin, a lump of flesh peeled away from her shin and fell onto the wooden planks with a plop.
I covered my face with my sleeve and cried.

While I had believed Tō to be alive, I felt no particular emotion—but upon realizing she no longer existed in this world, that we could never meet again, an indescribable surge between regret and pity welled up uncontrollably.
I first met Tō at this lakeside, and at this lakeside I was to bid farewell to Tō.
That first day—Tō's stories and gestures in the boat; the various guileless games after our marriage; forgotten details—all came flooding back to memory, each instance drawing tears from me.

The coffin was laid in the hall.
That was the room where Tō had played the organ alone.
Before the coffin were placed autumn roses Tō had loved and a Hakata doll.
When I thought back, she was a wife both adorable and pure.
How kind, truthful, and deeply loving Tō had been—only through her death did I come to fully grasp this, and precisely for that reason could not resign myself.
Now I realized—Tō had been the sole woman in this world who ever truly loved me.
I too had loved Tō with all my heart—it was merely my immature nature that had stifled its full expression.
Even were I to say “Now is the time,” Tō had already died.
By the time I recognized my own foolishness, Tō was no longer in this world.

Sitting before the coffin, watching the incense smoke dimly drift and waver, I felt such sorrow at what seemed our final parting in this life that I could scarcely bear it.
I thought to go where no one could see me and cry to my heart's content, so I passed through the garden's continuation and entered the forest at the back.

On both sides of the path, cedars, oaks, and cypresses had grown so thickly that they nearly blotted out the sun's light.
The woodpecker's cry resonated through the woods with an unearthly timbre, making me feel as though I wandered deep within primordial mountains.
As I trudged gloomily along the darkening path at dusk's edge, crushing fallen leaves beneath my feet, tears abruptly surged into my breast.
Pressing my forehead against a cedar's trunk as I wept, I heard something like a snapping branch nearby.

Tō stood transfixed in the twilight's gloom, her pallid face framed by sleeves drawn tightly across her chest.
Wondering whether sorrow had unhinged my mind or some hallucination gripped me, I stared dimly at this shadow-figure.
She wore a deep purple okōso hood and matching azuma coat, her gaze still fixed unwaveringly upon me.
Yet proof of her spectral nature showed in how her facial contours wavered and dissolved at the edges.
Whatever this apparition might be, an unbearable nostalgia overwhelmed me—

“Tō”

When I called out, Tō rushed over while hiccup-sobbing like a child, clung to my neck with breath-stopping force, and wailed openly.

The moment I thought "Tō hadn't died after all," I panicked—if someone were to see Tō alive now, that would spell disaster.
This area was still near the forest entrance where village children often came to gather dead branches, so I stroked Tō’s back while—

“Don’t speak loudly—we can’t have anyone coming.”

When I said this, Tō abruptly stopped crying and stared fixedly at my face with her large, tear-filled eyes,

"My Lord, I came here intending to kill you and die myself—so reputation or such things no longer matter."
"Oh please, let’s die together."

While saying this, she drew out a dagger still in its sheath from her obi and showed it.

Were there in this world someone eloquent and clever, skilled in winning people over—even should they expend ten thousand words—they could not have shaken my soul as profoundly as Tō’s single utterance.
I abruptly comprehended at this moment that I had truly been loved by Tō.
With my pen, I cannot depict the emotions of this moment.
Even if I had possessed the literary genius of Byron or Goethe, I think it would have been equally impossible.

I wept from overwhelming joy.
Tō had apparently been wiping away my tears repeatedly with her handkerchief.
Like a child clutching some precious plaything, I embraced Tō with desperate force,

“It was good you came back. I wanted to see you—I was crying there just now!”

They say I kept repeating these same words endlessly. Tō still laughs and mimics this even today.

The two went entwined together to a hut deep in the forest, where they had intercourse.
It was a makeshift shack using standing trees as pillars with a plank roof propped over them, its entrance an earthen floor where four or five old tatami mats were spread around a sunken hearth.
This had served as shelter for mountain guards caught in rainstorms, but now nobody came by anymore.

The two clung together while chattering without cease.
How profoundly Tō had loved me; how she had endured those desolate days believing herself despised; how agonizing those solitary days had been.

“So instead of you, I had that person come.”
“I told that person.”
“I told him that since I imagined he was Okudaira and was doing that with you, he should get into character as My Lord and imitate you as skillfully as possible.”
“We only did it when he managed to become you properly.”
“So it was wrong? I did defile my virtue after all, you know.”

She looked up at my face with guileless innocence,

“I don’t think so, you know.”
“Why, you ask? Because I was with you the whole time, you know.”

“So then—who was your partner?”

Tō snorted through her nose,

“I’d resolved to take this secret to my grave… but now I’ll tell you.”
“It was Takagi.”

“So it was indeed as I suspected.”

“You knew?”

“When the corpse surfaced from the lake, he turned pale and rushed over, clasping his hands and chanting sutras—behavior utterly unlike his usual self—so I went ‘Aha!’ and realized.
Since then, I heard Takagi had driven out both the villa caretaker and maids, living in seclusion all alone in that spacious villa—though most likely he was just there fretting by himself.
That coward’s so weak-willed—if he keeps at this, he’ll end up hanging himself one day.
Takagi studied until he passed bloody stools to get me acquitted, so a sin of that degree had long since vanished.
I’m not angry about anything anymore.
“Not toward you—nor toward Takagi.””

I took off every piece of underclothing I possessed and put them on Tō, then hurried back to the villa at full speed. When I tried to leave carrying two thick coats to serve as Tō’s nightclothes and a hand warmer, I noticed stacked in the corner of the tatami room were boxed meals meant for wake attendees, so I took three along the way and returned to the hut. The second time, I successfully stole a cushion and a teapot filled with tea, but along the way, the hot tea spilled out inside my coat and burned me. I returned to the villa again around when the sutra chanting began, but with my heart pounding so, I nearly erupted during the incense offering and was hard-pressed.

The next day, I went to Tokyo with Takagi and safely completed the burial. At the funeral of a person of unknown origin from who knows where, Takagi cried nonstop from beginning to end. When I asked why he was crying so much, he said that lately, due to melancholia, he had wanted to cry for no reason at all, so to leave him be.

Items gradually accumulated inside the hut. Though there might be instances of heaping pickled radish on chipped teacups, they were no longer so deprived of daily necessities. I had killed my wife and taken a lover, so to speak—but between us here now remained neither lies nor pretenses. When I visited at the promised time, Tō came flying out of the hut and clung to me while—

“Oh! You actually came! How wonderful!”

she whispered with the novel ardor of a lover who had been waiting impatiently.
That was unbearably delightful to me.
After laying out the meager provisions I’d procured in town on the dusty old tatami mats, we would eat together, then pull our coats over ourselves and sleep for about an hour.

One day, I said to Tō.

“I find this life unbearably enjoyable—I want to continue it until I die—but if we stay here and you being alive is seen, troubles like imprisonment will arise. I think we should abandon home and wealth entirely and live freely in some remote corner of Japan.”

When I said this, Tō clapped her hands and immediately expressed agreement.
I took Tō’s hand,
“But if we take money out, it’ll be discovered—so we’ll flee with literally nothing but the clothes on our backs. We’ll have to live this impoverished life until we die. Is that acceptable?”

Tō said, "That sounds wonderful! Let's do it," then stood up and performed a triumphant dance, appearing ready to leave right away.

The next morning, when I went to the hut at the usual time, Tō came running out and said she had met Takagi at the forest entrance the previous evening.
I involuntarily furrowed my brows,

"That was reckless—and did you speak with him?"

"No—when he saw me, his eyes bulged out like this," she said, demonstrating with her fingers stretching her eyelids wide, "he staggered backward and fled crawling away."
"He must have thought I was a ghost, so it's fine."
"After all, he's the one who witnessed me being laid beneath the grave."

“Well… I can’t quite put it into words.”
“However, if it’s Takagi, I’m confident I can silence him.”
“I’ll be right back.”

After about two hours, I returned to the hut and said to Tō.

“Hey—Takagi was hanging by the neck!”
“He was dangling from the ceiling beam.”

Tō silently stared back at my face.
She likely didn’t think I’d gone and strangled Takagi to silence him, yet she wore an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.
Still, she said nothing particular.
I stepped onto the tatami and toyed with Tō’s hand as I spoke—

“Seeing Takagi dead made me reconsider.”
“Rather than half-measures like disappearing, I’ll have myself declared dead.”
“To put it plainly—I’ll make Takagi vanish while staging my suicide. We’ll hang his corpse deep in the woods as my stand-in.”
“That way, we’ll cleanly sever every last tie to this wretched world.”

Around eleven at night, I rowed out to the back of Takagi's house by boat, loaded his corpse aboard, and returned. Tō waited on the shore, and together we carried it. She took the legs while I carried the head as we moved deeper into the forest. The corpse proved infuriatingly heavy and difficult to grip. Though moonlight filtered through, the densely clustered leaves prevented it from reaching the underbrush. Navigating the dark woods—where thorns and wild grapevines tangled together—made transporting our unwieldy burden no simple task. When I stumbled, Tō stumbled too. Poor Takagi likely sustained numerous scratches in the process. Still we pressed onward, urging ourselves with whispered repetitions of "Just a bit further," until we could go no deeper. Over an hour passed in this manner. Before us lay an impassable thicket of oak trees. Deeming this spot suitable, I fashioned a noose with the rope, fitted it around Takagi's neck, then climbed a zelkova tree with the other end. After looping the rope around a sturdy branch and pulling taut, Tō gripped Takagi's legs and pushed upward while chanting "Heave-ho" in low tones.

Looking up from below, Takagi hung there, the temples where his white hair had abruptly increased shone silver, his face wearing a resigned yet peculiarly deliberate expression. Since the struggle had been so intense, I felt a satisfaction as if I had completed some magnificent work of art. With hands tucked in my sleeves, I stood gazing vacantly at him for some time.