Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

When we left the Miyanoshita Hotel, a faint moon hung in the sky, but Hakone’s capricious autumn weather brought fog rolling in within five minutes.
When we entered the gate of Kasahara’s villa, a dawn-like sky light was reflected on the glass surfaces of the casement windows ahead, casting a somber, gloomy tone.
The air must have suddenly chilled, for the fog particles grew larger, and before we knew it, our clothes had become thoroughly damp.

As I stumbled over the twisting, upraised roots of the red needle firs while heading toward the entrance, I saw Kasahara’s wife Akiko and Shigeno Mitsuo standing facing each other under the faintly leaking light of an outdoor lamp through the thicket.

They stood about two feet apart, facing each other—but this wasn’t merely standing still; it felt like a charged stillness concealing suppressed intensity.
There was an air of tense urgency.

This was bad.

By Izawa's age, even being made to witness others' affairs offered no particular enlightenment.
As he burned with impatience—thinking they should just get whatever they needed done over with quickly—Shigeno's hand gradually extended and touched Akiko's shoulder with indescribable tenderness.

It's begun.

Izawa clicked his tongue and pressed a hand to his forehead.

Wishing—if possible—to prevent things from becoming too lurid even as he willed it so, Akiko's hand now rose instead, caressing Shigeno's chest area as she whispered something.

To Izawa’s ears came at last: “You too…”

In the blurred swirl of fog, he sensed movement in the two shadows.
Likely fearing some new development while this apprehension held him, the wind rose and swept the mist away to reveal their lovers’ stage once more—yet only damp undergrowth swayed in the fog’s remnants, the figures already vanished from the scene.

When I called from the hotel around noon and was told Kasahara was golfing in Sengokuhara, I had timed my visit accordingly—but seeing his wife engaged in such behavior, I could only assume Kasahara hadn’t returned yet.

A light came on in the second-floor window of the wing-like annex extending from the long glass doors.
In the large room with Lalique-style windows, a pale light tinged with red seeped near the hem of the curtains.
The light came from a side lamp placed on the nightstand of a low floor lamp, so realizing that must be Kasahara’s wife’s bedroom, I was vaguely looking up while thinking such things when someone suddenly grabbed me firmly by the collar from behind.

There was no time to speak.
Keeping a grip on his collar, the assailant dragged him along, pressed him against the trunk of a red needle fir, then—as if thinking only of beating him senseless for now—began wildly striking at his head while panting.

Izawa covered his face with both hands and went limp, letting himself be manhandled, but the assailant showed no sign of stopping. Judging by the formless way he thrashed about, he might have been drunk. It would be better to make him stop now.

“That’s enough,” I said. “Stop there.”

As I turned and shoved him back—though I hadn’t intended such force—my hand struck his chest hard enough to send him sprawling backward, landing flat on his rear before flipping completely over.

“Thief!”

The man screamed.

The kitchen door opened, and someone came running this way.
A burly young man who looked like a student suddenly twisted Izawa’s hand and held it,
“This bastard,” he said, thrusting hard into the center of the back.

This was the most painful blow of the night. His tongue curled up and his breath caught; before he knew it, Izawa had crouched down right there.

"Crawling into a place like this… Hey, turn on the light!"

The man who had fallen on his butt exclaimed furiously.
It was Kasahara’s voice.

“Mr. Kasahara, it’s Izawa.”

Kasahara, wearing a large-checked coat, twitched his charming drooping eyebrows shaped like the character ‘八’ and looked back at Izawa’s face with a startled childlike gaze.

“Mr. Izawa… This is most…”

“You got me.”

Kasahara clutched his head with both hands,

“Well—what an outrageous brawl in the dark... To think Kesa Tarō of Miyajima’s Silent Act was you—I’m astonished... What with this fog, it’s terribly dangerous.”
“When I parked my car in front of the imperial villa and was trudging along slowly, I saw someone standing under a tree… I’m such a coward—when I get scared and flustered, I end up doing these undignified things unbecoming of my age. It’s really quite troublesome.”

The more earnest he became, the more comical he appeared.
With his overly kind face plastered in a sociable smile and after tediously offering excuses,

“Even if there was some reason, there was no need to be so rough... Just where did you hit him?”

he harshly scolded the student standing there apologetically.

Kasahara, clearly embarrassed, had deftly glossed things over, but judging from his earlier formless thrashing, he had likely mistaken Izawa for someone he despised.
Izawa could not fail to comprehend the nuances of that situation.

“I deeply regret causing such a commotion. I’m staying at the Fujiya Hotel, but hearing you were here, I came to pay my respects.”

“Well, well, welcome... I had indeed been wanting to meet you again, as it’s been so long. My wife seems bored out of her mind, so she’ll probably be delighted... Anyway...”

With that, Kasahara took the lead and hurried off with short steps. When they went around the path between the shrubberies, a maid-like figure had come out to greet them at the recessed entrance beyond the terrace.

“And my wife?”

“There has been no change, sir.”

“There was a light in the second-floor bedroom. Is she in good spirits?”

“It seems the mistress has no appetite, so dinner has been cleared away.”

Kasahara nodded grimly and said to Izawa,

"My apologies... My wife has been confined to her room."
"It doesn’t seem like anything serious, but for some reason it’s proving rather difficult to manage."

With that, while letting out a forced, hollow laugh, he led him into a side room off the dining area.

He was casually laughing it off, but what lay in Kasahara’s heart was likely not so simple.
Kasahara’s face was an honest one where the emotions typical of a good-natured man lay completely exposed, so he couldn’t have hidden them even if he tried.
When Izawa noticed something glinting at the corner of Kasahara’s eye in the light from the wall lamp, he instinctively looked away.

Was he angry? Was he grieving? There seemed to be something worth weeping over.
It had nothing to do with him, but facing Kasahara like this had suddenly become burdensome.

Kasahara Chūbee belonged to the Ōmi merchant family that purchased cotton in the Middle East and Africa, their households connected through regional ties dating back three generations. However, Kasahara himself and Izawa had only been acquainted for four or five years—chronologically speaking, Kasahara’s wife Akiko (once a film star under the stage name Wakakusa Midori) and Shigeno Mitsuo, who had worked at the same studio as Akiko, shared far older connections.

Shigeno and Wakakusa Midori had once cohabited in Matsunoo, Shibuya. After she left the film industry and married Kasahara, their interactions seemed publicly sanctioned—he frequented the Azabu residence and served as Kasahara’s golf partner during idle periods.

“What kind of illness does your wife have?”

“Well, you see, for about half a year now, she’s become extremely prone to fatigue—even a slightly lengthy conversation leaves her limp with exhaustion.”
“In the end, it must be a severe case of neurasthenia.”
“Since keeping the room dark and staying in bed seems to be best for her, and it’s not an illness severe enough to warrant concern, we avoid approaching her as much as possible and leave her be.”
“With the autumn foliage gone and snow arriving early here, we really ought to return to Tokyo soon—but she insists she doesn’t want to move… If she were going to worsen, I’d at least have something worth worrying about, but as it stands, she just lies listlessly in her bedroom all day. There’s no vigor in it—no purpose at all.”

While he was saying such things, the maid entered.

“Hmm, what is it?”

“I beg your pardon for the intrusion, but once you’ve finished your business, the mistress instructed me to say that you should come see her.”

Kasahara nodded in response,

“She is currently preparing, so kindly wait a moment.”

After offering a greeting one might hear in a tea ceremony waiting room, the maid-like servant exited through the side chamber.

Whether he was always treated this way or not, Kasahara showed no sign of surprise, his eyes taking on the eager look of a child anticipating something delightful,

“Her room is on the second floor—but as for me going up those stairs, it’s been about three months now.”

he said something incomprehensible.

"I must thank you for coming today—in more ways than one. For some time now, I haven't once acted on my own initiative here."

It couldn't mean she simply lay listless in her bedroom. The figure standing face-to-face with Shigeno in the fog had undoubtedly been Akiko—if true, this could only mean Kasahara's perception of his wife contained some fatal blind spot. A defect that would remain uncorrected unless Kasahara himself became aware of it.

“If that’s how it is, I’ll refrain. Since it would be inconvenient if you were to tire yourself out later.”

“She says she wants to tire herself out. Because someone so selfish would never actually fulfill any duties.”

When the maid from earlier entered, Kasahara rose from his chair.
“Is this really all right…? Mr. Izawa, she remains in bed, but since she’s undoubtedly ill, please don’t take offense.”
Even as he spoke, he never stopped grinning.

II

When they ascended the gentle staircase extending from the wide corridor, a maid was waiting before the door and ushered the two men into the room.

The wall facing the garden was a Lalique-style glass wall made entirely of windows, with heavy red velvet curtains hanging from the high ceiling down to the floor.
Next to a square divan made of stacked mattresses stood a large nightstand, upon which sat a floor lamp with a cardboard shade.
What Izawa had looked up at from the garden was, in other words, this very lamp—but that aside, the entire room felt overly contrived, as if he were inside a stage set.

“Mr. Izawa, do come in.”

“Oh, it’s been a while.”

As Kasahara had foretold, Akiko had wrapped her shoulders and chest in a large triangularly folded shawl, buried her upper body among several cushions propped against the wall, and lay listlessly with both legs stretched out under a pure white thin blanket.
The moment he glanced at her, Izawa intuitively sensed that this listless appearance, much like the room’s style, was likely contrived.

“How are you?”

Kasahara approached Akiko with his good-natured smile, bent over her face, and kissed her cheek.
Akiko,

“There you are,” she murmured, offering her other cheek.
It was a domestic kiss of the sort Western couples exchange at home, yet executed with such practiced ease and devoid of affectation that it felt unnervingly natural.

“From what I can see, you look quite well.”

“Of course that’s how it seems, isn’t it?
“It’s not like I’m on death’s door yet.”

Having dealt with him harshly, she turned her beautiful small face—showing signs of emaciation—toward Izawa and said in a nasal, sing-song voice, “Mr. Izawa, look at me—at how I’m dressed… No matter what, I don’t look happy, do I? This is my life.”

Kasahara had Izawa sit on the sofa flanked by a table and, while smoothing his balding forehead,

"You must already be aware of this, but my household is a rather peculiar one."
"I live as I please with my assets, and my wife lives as she pleases with hers."
"My household, my wife’s household... each maintaining its own style within a single house."
"What we eat differs, and so do our meal times."
"I imagine there are few examples where liberalism in its worst sense has achieved such splendid results within the framework of a household."

“Mr. Izawa, you needn’t take anything Kasahara says seriously.”
“You’ll find no one else spouting such nonsense.”

Akiko said airily.
Kasahara maintained a serene expression,

“You seem out of sorts.”
“Since Mr. Izawa is here, why not telephone the lodge in Gora and call Shigeno over?”
“If you want to do that, I’ve no objection.”

“Shigeno spent the entire afternoon keeping you company for golf, didn’t he?”
“He’s neither your servant nor slave—why must you order him about for our convenience?”

“As you wish… Speaking of Shigeno, he was peculiar today.”
“At the third green, he simply couldn’t manage the approach shot.”
“Perhaps he’s unwell.”

“I wonder what’s wrong with him.”
“I haven’t seen him in ages, so I wouldn’t know.”

Two maids working together brought out various Western liquor bottles, decanters, and tumblers as if moving a small bar and arranged them on the table.

“That’s quite a collection.”
“Kirsch, Delamain, Chianti... and this is genuine pre-Pernod absinthe.”
“There’s something rare here.”

Akiko, gathering the long hem of her eggplant-navy chemise patterned with white thistles, inserted herself between the two men.

“Mr. Izawa, you’re part of the absinthe crowd too, aren’t you? This Kasahara old man certainly is. A nightcap—that’s what he calls it. Says his only joy in life is drinking this and sleeping like a hog... Mr. Izawa, shall I demonstrate my technique for you?”

She poured absinthe into a footed glass until it was one-third full, balanced a knife across the rim to place a sugar cube on it, then slowly trickled water from the decanter so it dissolved gradually.

For now, nothing seemed capable of spoiling Kasahara’s good mood as Akiko watched cheerfully—the golden-green absinthe settled at the glass’s bottom transforming into milky white with each water pour, its mother-of-pearl iridescence shimmering into being.

Akiko raised the glass to eye level, angled the cut glass to catch the light and examine the liquor’s hue, then—

“This should do, I suppose.”
“Now do try it properly.”

With that she slid the glass toward Izawa.

Kasahara seemed to be awaiting his turn, but Akiko settled into the facing chair with feigned obliviousness.

“Mrs., what about mine?”

“You doze off immediately when you drink, don’t you? You should have yours a bit later.”

Kasahara watched Izawa’s hands with a jovial expression while remarking,

“That stuff acts like a narcotic on me—it always makes me blunder through things. Absinthe is certainly a crafty devil.”

As he reached toward the liquor bottle while making excuses, Akiko snatched it away in one swift motion.

“You should have them bring your own.”
“The one with the setup.”

“That may be true, but you needn’t expose such matters before Mr. Izawa.”

With an embarrassed look, he called the maid and had her retrieve the absinthe bottle from his room.

When the maid brought what she had been instructed to retrieve, Kasahara pulled the liquor bottle and decanter closer to himself, attending to them himself with practiced ease, and launched into a lecture about various Western liquors.

“Old man, you’re being noisy. Why are you talking so much tonight?”

“It moves on its own. Shut your mouth.”

“If you insist so much, I’ll close it for you.”

Akiko roughly poured absinthe, carelessly diluted it with water, and thrust the nearly undiluted drink into Kasahara’s mouth.

“Drink this and hurry up and collapse. It’s time for bed now.”

“I’m not sleepy, but I’ll go to bed for your sake.”

After downing the poured absinthe,

“Mr. Izawa, since I’m apparently in the way, I’ll settle myself over there and take a nap... My wife seems to be in good form tonight, so if you’ve no pressing matters, please make yourself at home.”

Kasahara staggered to the bench by the wall and began dozing off, but soon dropped his head onto the armrest and started snoring irregularly.

“Look, he’s already fallen asleep.”

Akiko looked down contemptuously at Kasahara’s pitiful sleeping face—his features slack with exhaustion—then soundlessly moved to the chair beside Izawa.

“My shadow’s growing faint, don’t you think? Soon it’ll vanish completely. How lonely.”

“You claim it’s an illness, but aren’t you remarkably vigorous? You don’t appear remotely close to dying.”

“There’s a mountain of things I need to tell you. This must be tiresome for you, but I absolutely must have your ear.”

“Tonight I’ve seen nothing but strange things—it’s left me feeling rather weighed down. I’ll come back properly in a couple of days and listen at leisure.”
“What are you angry about? Did I say something to upset you?”

“Is this ‘mechanism in the liquor bottle’ about sleeping drugs? I’d heard rumors that Kasahara’s wife kept her husband sedated and did as she pleased from night till morning—it seems they were true. I don’t know what you’re plotting, but stop toying with that decent man already. This isn’t amusing.”

“That’s precisely one of the matters I wish to discuss—the truth of what Kasahara really was……”

Akiko smirked scornfully, then said the following.

“When we first married, I grew weary of the old man’s husbandly duties and even played pranks like lacing his bedtime wine with Adorm, but eventually found such tricks too bothersome and stopped.”
“Then Kasahara started making demands himself... You understand what I mean, don’t you?”
“He’s running a double scheme—hiding how he’s become completely useless from his youthful excesses while painting me as the villain to hoard sympathy for himself... Seems he’s been spreading tales everywhere about being some pitiful cuckold suffering cruel treatment from his unfaithful wife.”
“They say he sometimes gets so overwhelmed he bursts into tears... Though I’ve started glimpsing his true nature, he just keeps flashing that vacant grin and stays utterly inscrutable.”
“When I imagine what he’s plotting now, it makes my blood run cold.”

III

From the night of October 13th, despite the autumn foliage still clinging to the trees, snow began to fall.
Around eight in the morning came a brief snow break lasting about an hour where sunlight broke through, but soon the heavy snowfall resumed with renewed intensity.
In Hakone—where winter had arrived eleven days earlier than usual—the guests who had been staying at Kowakidani and Ashino-yu found themselves shivering as they relocated to Tonosawa and Yumoto.

On the morning of the 14th, during the snow break, Shigeno Mitsuo died in a traffic accident.
While descending by car from Gora to Miyanoshita, he apparently veered off the road and plunged straight into the valley below.

Izawa heard about it at the hotel front desk.
When he promptly called Kasahara’s villa, they replied that the master had left for Tokyo last night and that the mistress had gone down to Odawara.

Around 2:00 p.m., there was a call from the Odawara Police Station.

“I am the police chief. Are you Izawa Jirō?”
“I must ask you to come here despite the trouble… Yes, concerning Mr. Kasahara’s wife.”
“I wish to meet you personally to provide a detailed explanation.”

When he went to the Odawara Police Station and gave his name, an officer in a high-collared uniform rose from his chair.

"I’m from the accident investigation unit of Traffic Division Section 2."
"Are you Mr. Izawa?"
"Thank you for your trouble."

“Please come this way.”

A varnished wooden partition served both as a coat rack and room divider, having partitioned off an area of about six square meters in the back of the large room. As Izawa sat with an uneasy expression in what could be called a meeting area furnished only with a bare round table and chairs, the same accident investigator entered with the police chief.

“This is the police chief.”
“We apologize for summoning you from so far away.”

As he said this, he handed over his business card.

“Excuse me for asking—what would you say your relationship is with Mr. Kasahara Chūbee?”

“Same business… An old association dating back to my grandfather’s time.”

“What about the wife?”

“We’re friends, I suppose… Is the wife still here? Is there some sort of difficulty?”

“Regarding Mr. Kasahara’s wife,”

The police chief made a troubled face.

"She remains here. We would like her to be retrieved, but she absolutely refuses to return."

“What does this mean?”

“She says she’s about to be killed and asks for protection, you see.”

“I can’t quite grasp this… Who exactly would want to kill her?”

“The wife claims that since Shigeno Mitsuo was murdered, it’s now her turn next.”
“Given this near certainty, she’s demanding we provide protective custody immediately.”

“I heard Shigeno died in a traffic accident, but was there any factual basis for claiming he was murdered?”

“No, none whatsoever.”

“I’ll explain.”

The accident investigator from Traffic Division Section 2 took over for the police chief.

"The curve between Gora and Miyanoshita where the accident occurred is a dangerous spot where three unfavorable conditions—gradient, twists, and visibility—have aligned perfectly. In that location alone, there have already been over five incidents in the past two years."

"I went to the scene and looked at the data—it was under circumstances where that outcome was inevitable."

“What do you mean by ‘inevitable’?”

“Mr. Shigeno descended a 1/15 gradient at 70-80 kph, then made a sharp left turn of about 40 degrees at the first curve—but it was too shallow, causing the car’s left front wheel to go over the edge into the valley… Panicking, he tried to swing the wheel hard left but couldn’t complete the turn, so the left rear wheel went into a snowdrift at the cliff’s edge. From there, it slid backward with a dragging sound and plunged straight down to the valley floor in one motion—that was the situation.”

“The car?”

“The vehicle was a new 1956 Austin with hydraulic four-wheel brakes—as you’re aware—and excellent stability, so I don’t believe mechanical failure was to blame. If it had been a used Deluxe or Phaeton, there might have been issues.”

“That’s true.”

“There are no signs of a rear-end collision or any evidence of contact from being tailgated. He went over following the same course everyone takes there… What I mean is that accidents at such locations all have an unmistakable character—in other words, every case is exactly alike, as if stamped from the same mold. So if there were even a single movement deviating from… well, a standard… we’d immediately recognize something was off, but there’s no such data at all. I simply can’t believe there was any external manipulation involved. If there had been a perpetrator, they would have had to plunge into the valley along with the car… In short, we find no conceivable basis for the facts as Mrs. Kasahara describes them.”

“I understand.”

“If I may ask—regarding Mr. Shigeno’s driving—”

“He had owned a car for years, and his driving was reliable.”

“Had Mr. Shigeno ever driven after drinking?”

“To my knowledge, there were no such instances.”

“Mr. Shigeno left Gora after eight in the morning, timing his departure for when the snow stopped and sunlight broke through.”
“The snow accumulation measured about ten centimeters at the time—hardly enough to impede passage.”
“In my professional opinion—and forgive the impertinence—might Mr. Shigeno have been driving while intoxicated?”
“The tire tracks show deviations from standard accident patterns.”
“Given how thoroughly disordered the evidence appears, I felt compelled to consider even this discourteous possibility.”

“Shigeno had no past habit of heavy drinking from eight in the morning… So tell me, Chief—does Kasahara’s wife have any evidence to support such claims?”

The Police Chief shook his head with a laugh.

“No, nothing… She’ll inevitably be killed by someone.”
“But I can’t name that person… Mrs. Kasahara claims that since Shigeno Mitsuo was killed, it’s now her turn.”
“If Shigeno was killed, why must Mr. Kasahara’s wife be killed next? Have you noticed anything regarding that connection between them?”
“For reference, I just wanted to ask—”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Mrs. Kasahara was a film actress called Wakakusa Midori who worked at the same studio as Shigeno Mitsuo—I understand you were acquainted with both of them since that time?”

The conversation suddenly took a difficult turn.

Given that I was considering Shigeno and myself in tandem, the person Akiko feared must undoubtedly be Kasahara Chūbee. If I were to explain the strangely intertwined relationship between the three of us, it might naturally lead to mutual understanding—but it wasn’t something I was eager to volunteer.

“They are my friends, but if we happen to meet in places like Ginza, we’ll have tea or drinks together—that’s the extent of our interaction. I know nothing deeper.”
“This is the truth.”

The Police Chief nodded with a bitter smile, his expression seeming to pierce through Izawa’s flustered state of mind.

“This isn’t a courtroom—spare us words like ‘truth.’”
“Since Mrs. Kasahara has named you her protector in place of the police, I merely inquired about your relationship… As stated earlier, we can’t comprehend the anxiety she claims to feel… We’ll call her here—do ensure you bring her.”
“Given her apparent agitation, handle that accordingly.”

The police chief called an administrative-duty officer and whispered something; soon after, Akiko emerged from between the partitions—pale with agitation, lips trembling—clutching a reindeer-patterned black handbag against her black-clad figure as she entered.

“Mr. Izawa, I’m sorry… I never meant to trouble you, but the police said they couldn’t handle it.”

She went over to the police chief and gave a perfunctory bow.

“The police seem convinced it was an accident, but I know it was a cleverly planned murder.”
“Since they say it’s my turn next, you can’t blame me for being afraid.”
“Since you’re telling me to leave, I’ll go—but if I’m killed, you’ll surely have an unpleasant time.”

The Police Chief, appearing thoroughly accustomed to this sort of thing, turned away and would not engage.

When they got into the car that had been kept waiting, Akiko appeared utterly exhausted as she slumped down onto her seat.

“Where can we go to feel safe?”

Akiko raised her face, her eyes taking on a fierce intensity,

“Are even you making light of this?”
“Do you think I’m joking?”
“Let’s stop with the foolish talk today… Just go wherever you feel like, as long as it’s not Hakone.”

She said in a flat tone.

We decided to head for Yugawara first, and I told the driver the name of an inn—but watching Akiko’s intensely serious expression, I began to feel this wasn’t merely hysteria, and a sudden uneasiness came over me.

“The police didn’t seem to say anything.”

“What could I possibly have to say to such people?”

“If you ask them to protect you without saying a word, they must be at their wits’ end.”

“I told them. If Shigeno had come down from Gora during a snow break, there was someone who knew exactly which curve he’d take, how he’d lose control, and the precise way he’d plunge into the valley… But since even spelling it out like that doesn’t get through to them, I’ve nothing more to say.”

“That alone isn’t enough for me to understand.”
“What are you talking about?”

“If there’d been work involved, that would be different—but he’s in his off-season now. That layabout driving down at eight in the morning during snowfall isn’t something that happens every day. You ought to realize someone must’ve lured him out.”

“That could be the case.”

“It wasn’t just a possibility—it was a fact. A little past eight o’clock, the girl who usually contacts me called, saying, ‘Mr. Shigeno has left by car now, so he should arrive there soon.’ ‘It might sound bad, but hearing that lively voice put me at ease,’ she said… ‘I’m not sick, and I certainly don’t remember calling Shigeno or anything.’”

“Who could it be?”

“It’s a mistake to think car accidents only happen on foggy days or when roads freeze—they can occur even on clear, sunny days… Anyone involved with films would realize this immediately, but you might not understand… Do you know the term ‘photophobia’?”

“I don’t know.”

“A state of extreme sensitivity to brightness… I had it too, but Shigeno was affected by the lights and developed something called electric ophthalmia—he nearly went blind.”
“He’d mostly recovered, but if strong light hit him unexpectedly, his vision would go dark—that’s why he always carried sunglasses made with Crookes special glass.”

“So that’s how it was.”
“I’d never seen him wear such a thing, though.”

“Shigeno was such a poseur—he apparently tried to keep it hidden—but the other day at Sengokuhara Golf Links, when he was making an approach shot into the western sun, his photophobia suddenly flared up, and he made a terrible mistake. That’s how Kasahara caught on, you see.”

“Is that your imagination?”

“Whether you call it imagination or delusion doesn’t matter… The sequence of events goes like this.”
“Probably, you were seen—I think—but there was that time on a foggy night when Shigeno and I had a standing conversation at the entrance, right?”
“Shigeno had lost his Crookes sunglasses at the golf links, so he came to me worried to borrow a pair… I should’ve had my Ultra-vin ones, but I couldn’t find them no matter how I searched—so I couldn’t lend him any.”

“Hmm… If that’s true, it’s quite a frightening story, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it was simple enough. Hide Shigeno’s sunglasses, time it for when sunlight broke through the snow, then just make that phone call to draw him out.”

The reasoning held together superficially, but whether that scatterbrained Kasahara could execute such a scheme—it seemed nearly impossible to believe.

Akiko gazed out the side window at the suddenly winterized landscape tinged rust-brown and murmured.

“It doesn’t matter anymore now, but Shigeno’s sunglasses must be tossed aside somewhere in Kasahara’s room at Miyanoshita. I feel like I can see them right now.”