Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Clinic

Doctor: "This is truly puzzling."
"There's nothing wrong anywhere, but does it still hurt?"

Patient: "The pain is terrible, Doctor! Can't you see this grimace?!"

Doctor: "I thought that was just your normal expression."
"Let me check again."
"This spot here—if you keep pressing like that, it won't help. Move your hand..."
"Does this hurt?"
"Hurts?"
"What kind of pain is it?"

Patient: "Oh come on! It's not something you can just describe!"
"After all, I don't even know what struck me!"
"I can't tell if it's coming from outside or inside!"

“I see,” said the Doctor. “So it started hurting suddenly and sharply? There wasn’t anyone nearby at all? You weren’t grabbed by someone?”

“Doctor, please spare me your jokes,” replied the Patient. “If someone had grabbed me, I’d have noticed that much! Besides, it doesn’t feel anything as gentle as fingers. Like this—like being gouged with a blade, stabbed with an awl—it’s simply indescribable...”

The Doctor observed there were no signs of a blade or awl having been used. “Then it must be psychosomatic.”

“If it’s neurological, what exactly does that mean? Isn’t that your specialty?”

“Well, it’s not that it’s outside my specialty, but it’s tricky. Shall we try applying some electricity?”

“Please don’t talk like that—it makes me nervous! I’ll take electricity or whatever else you’ve got, as long as it’s not poison… Ah! I-it hurts! J-just remembering that moment brings it back! When it first happened, my vision went dark and I collapsed right by the roadside.”

“Were you walking along the road?”

"I mentioned that earlier, didn't I? About making rounds collecting festival donations…"

"I did hear that," said the Doctor, "but give me more details." He leaned forward, stethoscope dangling. "So you went house to house through the neighborhood—hmm—and then?"

Patient: “Then, you know—there’s that house three doors down on the left side of Tanuki Yokocho—the Natori residence—right? ‘Natori Ujitaka’ being the reverse of ‘Takauji.’ You know the one. He’s a middle school teacher. I went to that house and called out from the front gate—‘Hey, how about a donation for today?’”

Doctor: “That house—I actually made a house call there once before. Rimless glasses—there’s a rather pretty wife there.”

Patient: “I tell you, that wife came out all haughtily composed.
‘My husband isn’t here presently, so I’m afraid I cannot say...’”

Doctor: “Ah, so you expected them to contribute a hefty sum then.”

Patient: “I laid it out plain, see?
‘Why, it’s just a ceremonial offering—whatever amount suits your fancy will do.’
Then she comes back with—‘When one speaks of offerings... shouldn’t that be something we bring to you...?’”

Doctor: “That’s some spot-on mimicry.
Yes, precisely so.”

Patient: “No—even calling it an offering misses the mark. This is for the neighborhood festival, see? I just want the local lads to have a proper taste of sanctified sake...
‘In that case, I’d need to discuss it with my husband...’
‘Now Madam, I’m not asking for royal alms here.
For a household of your standing, there must be accounts your good husband’s entrusted to you.’”

Doctor: “You actually said that?”

Patient: “I certainly did say it.
‘Now if you’d just economize a bit on face powder from that household budget, couldn’t you fulfill ordinary social obligations?’
‘If this were some pushy peddler or beggar, that’d be different.’
‘This here’s our neighborhood’s once-a-year lively festival—and mind you, it’s all thanks to having the great Inari Daimyojin’s shrine! Now Madam, don’t play dumb—with that impressive gate facade of yours, c’mon now, show us some of that splendid generosity...’”

“The part about the gate’s facade was spot on, wasn’t it? Even someone like me—when told that, no, or rather, even without being told—can’t help but notice the size of a gate.”

Patient: “Then she reluctantly handed over. From the frog-mouth pouch in her obi—a single five-sen white copper coin. ...Clink... Without thinking, I pulled back my hand.—‘Oh my, is it too little?’ The nerve of her asking that, right? ‘Even at our house,’ I told her, ‘the children’s allowance is this much.’”

Doctor: “So, did she add more then?”

Patient: She startled and tossed out a 50-sen coin.
"That was amusing, wasn't it?"
"But it'd be odd to thank her now."
To hide his embarrassment, he scrubbed at his nose and bolted from the entrance.
When he looked properly—well, that gate wasn't so grand after all.
Rattle... crack...
Outside, I bumped into some fellow circling round the opposite side.—“Hey, get a load of this! Fancy place, eh?”
“Just when I was about to show off my first fifty-sen coin—that's when it happened, Doctor...”
"It hurts!"

Doctor: So then, your vision went dark and you ended up sitting by the roadside, right?
Patient: My shoulder, Doctor... Thought I'd been done in right then...

Doctor: "Is it still hurting?"

Patient: "Seems like it's started up again."

“There's no swelling.”
“There’s no depression.”

The patient was strange—this wasn’t just his imagination.

Doctor: “Such things do happen.”
“Let’s apply a medicated plaster and observe it for one night.”
“Now then, go over there and...”

Nurse: “Doctor!”
Doctor: “What is it?”
Nurse: “Um, there’s a call from Mr. Nemoto—it seems the retired gentleman has suddenly started experiencing pain in the soles of his feet.”
“He says he can’t endure it any longer and would like you to examine him immediately.”
Doctor: “The soles of his feet hurt…? In what manner?”
Nurse: “Well, I didn’t ask about that part, but he doesn’t have a fever.”
Doctor: “Right—was the bicycle cleaned?”
“And what about that other patient who’s waiting?”

“Ah, they’ve been complaining about their cheek hurting since earlier and can’t keep still—they’re walking around outside.”

“Call them in.”
“Then apply Ichthyol to this patient’s left shoulder with a warm compress.”
“No—maybe a cold compress would work better?”
“Ah well—either will do.”

“Doctor, what do you suppose is happening with this...? My teeth are fine, but the muscles in my cheek are hurting something fierce.”

“Well now, just have a seat... And your name…?”

“Please save my name for later. I’m forty-two years old. I’ve never had any illnesses above the neck.”

“Let me take a look... And your occupation?”

“With my mouth open like this, it’s a business I can’t speak of...”

“Well then, please…”

“I’m a tradesman…”

“I see… Once more, inside…”
“It doesn’t appear to be inflamed.”
“How about I clamp it like this?”
“Is the painful area approximately where my finger is touching?”

“Well now, I can’t see where your finger’s touching.”

“No—go by what you feel.”

“I don’t feel anything… Not a thing…”
“It just hurts.”
“It hurts so much it’s beyond description.”

“This might be some sort of epidemic,” said the doctor. “I’ve had a remarkable number of patients with similar symptoms since morning—most perplexing. Now then—when did the pain begin?”

The tradesman shifted in his seat. “This morning, when preparing to leave for my shop—I always have a car summoned, you understand—but seeing how fine the weather was, I thought to cut through the drill ground and stroll to Honcho Street. As I neared the cavalry regiment’s rear gate... well... an odd tranquility came over me.” His fingers twitched near his afflicted cheek. “The peach buds swelling, the election finally decided... before I knew it, I was humming a snatch of Naniwa-bushi—my usual favorite.”

“Hah—so you’re a Naniwa-bushi fan too?”

“The Parting of Akagaki Genzo and the Sake Jar” – well, I only picked it up from a record, you understand. Of course I’d never actually perform it for others.”
“When I figure no one’s around to hear, somehow the melody just rises up.”
“So I… well, I gave it a go.”
“Then right when I’d sunk into that blissful state – sudden stabbing pains, sharp sharp sharp...”

“So that’s when the pain began?”

“Pressed my cheek too hard and thought ‘Christ, have I torn something?’ or thereabouts.”

“Thank you.”
“But was there anything wrong with your nose?”
“You do use your nose a great deal.”

“Well, there’s nothing particularly—”

“Hmm. One might consider that your cheek muscles spasmed at that moment, but it’s odd for the pain to linger this long.”
“The cheek muscles—as demonstrated here—differ from those in arms or legs through their capacity for free stretching and contracting. While I don’t believe they’re prone to cramping, you might try getting a massage for good measure.”
“I won’t prescribe any medication.”
“If you’d like, would you care to take a two- or three-day supply of gargle?”

“No, I wouldn’t say I’m insisting, but… would rest still be necessary?”
“As for your cheek, you’d do best not to move it forcibly.”
“Doctor—another call from Mr. Nemoto...”

“Ah, tell them I’ll be right there...”
“Well, take care…”

“How much is the consultation fee…?”

“I see. In that case, please settle it at the window over there.”
“The initial consultation... Let me see—this will also be handled at the window.”
“It hurts!”
So this was it.

II. Police Station

“We’ll meet with you. I never said we wouldn’t. What’s your business?”

“This isn’t something that can be settled here alone,” said the Man in Western Clothes. “Depending on how they handle this, I’ll file a lawsuit. This is absolutely unacceptable!”

“Who exactly are you calling ‘unacceptable’?” asked the Police Chief.

“If you knew who it was, I wouldn’t need to be talking to someone like you.”

“You seem rather agitated. What’s wrong—holding your nose?”

“I’m holding it because it hurts! You already know that!”

“Did you get into a fight?”

“What do you take people for?”
“You’re the one who needs to ask—what do you take this place for?!”

“I am this kind of man.”

“Ah, is that so.”

“In my capacity as Prefectural School Board Member, I’d like to formally consult you—I demand the immediate arrest of the perpetrator.”

“You say ‘the perpetrator’?”

“There exists an individual who has inflicted this harm upon me.”
“This clearly constitutes assault and battery—wouldn’t you agree?”

“Then please provide detailed particulars regarding when and where this battery occurred, the circumstances surrounding it, along with the perpetrator’s facial features, physical characteristics, and other relevant details.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” said the Man in Western Clothes. “This morning I returned by bus from Motomura’s election office via the national highway. But since snow removal at the mountain’s base hadn’t been completed yet, the bus got stuck. The vehicle sank into the snow and wouldn’t budge. No matter how long I waited, there was no sign of moving again. Just as I was growing impatient, someone suddenly punched me right here.” He pressed a hand to his nose. “It hurts! What’re you doing?!” I shouted while looking around, but the bastard who did it had already vanished.”

“Until then, was there anyone nearby—any man who might do such a thing…?”

“Well, up until then, there wasn’t anyone.”

“The passengers were few, I suppose?”

“Exactly. Even so, the seating area was full.”

“Was it inside the vehicle or outside?”

“Of course, inside.”

“Inside?”
“Aren’t any of the passengers getting off?”

“No—they got off.”
“Everyone got off.”

“What about you?”

“I didn’t get off.”

“So you were the only one left in the vehicle?”

“There were people until just before that. But the bastard who threw it must’ve sneaked into the vehicle right then.”

“Then when you shouted ‘It hurts! What’re you doing?’, there’s no way his figure had already vanished, is there?”

“I couldn’t see it—definitely didn’t see it. So there’s nothing I can do.”

“Well then, there’s nothing I can do on my end either, is there? We can’t even begin to guess what sort of person they are, can we?”

“Given your line of work, shouldn’t you be able to form some sort of hypothesis? Otherwise, there would be no need for this thing called the police in the first place.”

“What were all the passengers doing?”

“Some were pushing the bus’s rear, others were scraping snow away with their hands—what with the cold, nobody could stay still, ha ha ha.”

“Were you dozing off in the car?”

“No! It was nothing like that! If I don’t make it back to town by 10:30, I won’t be in time for the speech meeting starting at 10, you see. I thought I’d make use of what little time I had, so I was reading through my speech draft.”

“Among the passengers—aside from locals—”

“Except for two or three, since I didn’t recognize most of their faces, I couldn’t possibly have known who the devil they were. Ah—ow! It hurts…!”

Police Chief: "If you were hit hard enough to hurt that much, you'd at least get a nosebleed."

Man in Western Clothes: "What did you say?"
"Are you saying it doesn't hurt just because there's no nosebleed?"
"Are you saying even being hit was a lie?"
"Whether there's a nosebleed or not—that's my own business, isn't it?"
"Thank you ever so much for your concern."
"Instead of that—just catch them! The culprit..."
"The bus has been detained here with all passengers still aboard."

“Huh, so the bus is parked there, I see.”
“That’s a problem.”
“Hey… Hashidzume…”

“Yes.”

Police Chief: “Officer Hashidzume—appreciate your hard work—but since there’s a bus parked out front with passengers still aboard... Investigate whether any threw something at this gentleman here. If none did—let it depart.”

“What happens if I say ‘Officer Hashidzume’?”

Police Chief: “Say that—and detention.”

“They must apprehend me! Everyone’s feigning ignorance—the masses are shameless! Why don’t you detain everyone and pin all responsibility on them?”

“Without evidence, we can’t very well proceed like that…”

“Er... The bus is nowhere to be found.”
“Furthermore, police boxes have been frequently calling in—they say the town has become strangely rowdy.”

“It’s probably because of the festival.”

“No—rather, they say cries of ‘It hurts! It hurts!’ can be heard all over town.”

“Do you hear voices crying ‘It hurts! It hurts!’?”
“Why?”
“What in blazes is that...?”
“Are there injured people now?”

“No—it doesn’t seem particularly serious either way,” Officer Hashidzume replied. “But regardless, the section chief has gone out on patrol now.”

“It hurts... unbearable... Who’s considered the top doctor around here?”

“For surgery, Dr. Mabuchi’s hospital stands right nearby. Exit here, turn left for half a block—you’ll see the signboard. Shall I arrange an escort?”

“No need for that—but ring them up first and introduce me, would you?”

Officer Hashidzume: What was that just now?

“I don’t know,” said the Police Chief.
Such people were always hardest to pin down.
Weren’t there creatures where what you took for a head turned out to be a tail?
(Phone) “Hmm? Ah—it’s you? ...What’s this about commotion?... Eh?... At times—men and women both... bloodcurdling screams?”
“You mean when investigated... nothing amiss?”
“No discernible cause?”
“What?”
“Can’t hear clearly.”
“Compose yourself and speak properly.”
“Ah... So... festival decorations... those floral ornaments on lanterns? Covering every street?”
“Hah... Too elaborate for mere vandalism...”
“Installed without anyone noticing?”
“Ah—all dumped in gutters now?”
“I see... So they’re claiming... everyone was strong-armed into buying useless trinkets?”
“Hah! Not even aesthetically pleasing?... And no complaints filed?”
“Fascinating.”
“But how connects this ‘pain pain’ business?”
*Wait—this might escalate into something major.*
“I’ll investigate personally—you hold things here.”

“Officer Hashidzume—are you heading out?”

“Prepare the sidecar!”
“Ah—have the entire fire brigade deploy immediately…”

III. Elementary School (Probably Not a Private School)

“If this kind of situation continues,” said the Principal, “we cannot possibly hold classes today.”
“We shall send the students home.”
“Let me confirm once again—in the first grade, only one child has reported pain, correct?”

“That’s right,” replied Teacher A.
“Once during reading period and once during singing period.”
“However, I myself have experienced several episodes of pain since morning—as you can see, I’m drenched in sweat.”

Principal: “You’re not alone.”
“Takamine had already collapsed during first period.”
“Second-year: six, third-year…”

Teacher B: “Eleven…”
“I had it worst during moral education.”

“Fourth-year and above—too many to count...”

“There are none in my class.”

“Higher elementary first-year girls, correct?”

“During both sewing and gym classes, there were no issues whatsoever.”

“And what about you?”

“I don’t have any pain anywhere in particular. I find it strange that all of you say that.”

“Hmm, so there are people like that.”

“This one’s different. She’s the type who doesn’t laugh at comic routines. Her nerves are specially made.”

“Be that as it may, this is undoubtedly an unprecedented epidemic of a malignant disease,” declared the principal. “While symptoms may vary depending on constitution and general health, there appears to be a marked tendency for severity to increase with age. As for myself”—he gestured at his unaffected body—“the incidence among students rises proportionally with their grade level, while generally speaking, the teachers’ pain severity seems to correlate directly with age.”

Teacher F interjected, “That may hold true statistically, but listening to these reports, I can’t help noticing distinct patterns in how different school subjects affect symptom manifestation. Could there not be some causal relationship here?”

“Hmm,” said the Principal, “that seems an overly analytical observation. But during which class did you suffer most severely?”

“Moral education class, without question,” replied Teacher F. “During the subsequent arithmetic period, only two students remained present. I myself experienced merely a brief moment of stabbing pain.”

The Principal glanced out the window. “Now that you mention it—observe them playing in the schoolyard. None appear afflicted here.”

“Even as we discuss this,” noted Teacher A, “no one seems troubled within these walls either.”

“Honestly...”
“But according to the janitor’s report, there seem to be considerable groans audible throughout the town.”
“I hear patients are swarming to the school doctor’s office as well.”
“You however don’t seem to be in too much pain—seeing as you’re able to remain like this...”

“Well, just recalling it makes me feel all prickly,” said Teacher B.
“But earlier, I thought my ear would get torn right off.”

“It’s odd how everyone’s pain manifests in different places,” mused the principal.
“That must be their physiological weak point.”

Teacher G: “Then does this mean my armpit’s my weak spot?”

Principal: “Well then—given things appear settled for now—we’ll continue observing a while longer.”
“Let’s also have the children wear masks.” (He pulled a mask from his pocket and put it on.) “Now then—as we commence next period—exercise utmost vigilance.”
“At minimum—ensure no severe cases are reported from our institution.”
“This illness stems partly from mental disposition.”
“Through proper spiritual bearing—one can repel disease demons.”
“Ah yes—palm therapy might prove effective now.”
“My wife’s taken it up recently.”
“Well—regardless—gentlemen—persevere resolutely here.”
“Should complications arise—dismiss students immediately.”
“You may rest temporarily.”
“But ensure no procedural oversights whatsoever.”
“Alternatively—let us suspend classes today—I shall deliver an address instead.”
“The schoolyard will suffice.”
“Thereafter—in this town’s name—nay—for all Japan—under our school’s collective banner—let us conduct epidemic-banishing prayers.”
“With eight million gods enshrined in mind—all seven hundred heads bowed earthward—we’ll entreat protection for a hundred million compatriots.”
“This carries profound pathos!”
“Very well—begin at once.”
“Kaji—notify Nichiho Press via telephone.”
“Then arrange photographic documentation.”

“I wonder if notifying the newspaper would be advisable...” Teacher D ventured.

The Principal wheeled on him. “This is precisely why you remain perpetually inadequate. Petty publicity campaigns won’t suffice.” He drew himself up, fingers tightening around his lectern’s edges. “My convictions stand unshaken. To salvage our nation’s decaying ideology, we must etch these noble acts into the public consciousness through grand spectacle.”

His voice swelled, carrying across the assembled faculty. “Tear-jerking tales—the masses hunger for them now! These pure-hearted schoolchildren’s deeds must become the guiding light for our spiritually barren populace.” A practiced pause. “Even theater makes us weep when children take the stage—never forget that emotional calculus.”

His eyes darted to the window where shadows lengthened across the schoolyard. “Ah—they’ve gathered already?” The sudden shift in tone sliced through his rhetoric. “Then let us commence...”

“Now then, everyone...”
“Starting tonight, our town’s festival will commence in earnest.”
“Tomorrow being a holiday—spend it relaxing at home and enjoying yourselves properly with your father, mother, elder brother, elder sister, younger brothers and sisters.”
“Take care not to overindulge in festival treats, avoid lingering outdoors until late hours, and be certain to pay your respects at the shrine at least once.”

By the way, since this morning, a strange illness had begun cropping up here and there—people experiencing sharp stabbing pains or prickling sensations in various parts of their bodies.
"This hasn't yet been clearly identified as an illness or something else," he said, "but there are already many such cases among you all."
"Well now—I don't think it's anything serious," he continued, "but as a precautionary measure, we'll conclude today's classes here and have everyone return home."
"If your father or mother should complain of pains—'It hurts! It hurts!'—be sure to nurse them properly."
"However," his voice deepened ominously, "if we consider that this might be an epidemic of malignant nature—"
"—such a situation wouldn't subside easily."
"In severe cases," he paused dramatically, "it could even kill."
"What would you do," he swept his gaze across the assembly, "if this proved to be a terrifying contagion like cholera or plague?"
"This town would naturally be just the beginning—it might spread throughout Japan," his hands trembled slightly as he gestured expansively, "even reaching our unparalleled ally Manchukuo! Potentially unleashing an unprecedented catastrophe!"
"If that comes to pass," he concluded gravely, palms pressed together in mock prayer, "this ceases to be merely a personal problem."

Now then, everyone—what should the honorable faculty and student body of our school do when confronting this time of national emergency?
“There’s no need to raise your hands.”
"The Principal declares."
“There remains nothing for us but to pray with utmost sincerity to our ancestral gods, imploring them to grant deliverance from this calamity.”
“Now then, let us commence our prayers.”
“All together, face the heavens and bow deepest!”

Ahem. I, Asano Eizo, Principal of Fukuro-machi Ordinary Higher Elementary School, hereby humbly offer prayers to the eight million gods on behalf of all faculty and students.
“We humbly beseech that you may deign to perceive our sincere hearts devoted to patriotic service, and bestow your vast protective power upon the peaceful well-being of Fukuro-machi’s residents, and furthermore, for the tranquil prosperity of all Japan and our neighboring allied nations.”
“Agh... Ah... Ah... Ah! It hurts!”
(Collapsing) It's my leg... my ankle... I've been hit!
What a disgrace! Ah, photographer... Doesn't matter—photograph here... here... while I'm like this....
"No, it’s nothing… It hurts—!”

Photographer: “Please don’t move.”

Principal: “Hmm... Yes... Quite... Will this suffice?”
“It hurts—truly...”
“No—no matter... Just a trifle...”
“Take it now!”
“Again—deepest bow... Don’t look here...”
“Ah—my fate matters not.”
“See that the pupils return home unharmed.”
“Namu Hachiman Daibosatsu, Inari Daimyōjin, Konpira Daigongen, Shichifukujin... Senju Kannon... Gohyaku Rakan...”

IV. Barber Shop

“Hmm, sir—are you quite all right? I’ve had two slight episodes since this morning. My wife was just whimpering too. It doesn’t seem to last too long. There are people who come up with clever explanations. Look, it’s been in the papers lately—something about cosmic rays…. They say they’re invisible particles, aren’t they? And they say that sometimes, when something happens, slightly larger ones get mixed in there. When you get hit by one of those exactly, in that instant—so to speak—they’re small rifle bullets, you see. When you get hit by one of those, course it’s gonna hurt.”

Customer: "Hmm—who might that be?"
"Who came up with that theory...?"

Barber: "That would be the young master of the Gotō household over there—he's graduating from high school this year, and they say he's quite the top student."

“I’ve got another theory though,” said the customer. “Can’t go blabbing to people about it.” “The proof’s still insufficient—it’d be trouble if this got out publicly.” “This—old man—is definitely poison gas at work.”

“Huh?! Poison gas, you say!”

“Ah, I’ve got a hunch someone’s pumping poison gas toward Japan using cutting-edge methods from somewhere.”
“Or maybe not some lifeline business but murderous rays—though whether they’re just weaker ones, I can’t say for sure.”
“Either way, no question some country’s behind this scheme.”
“This here’s the overture to one hell of a crisis, I tell you.”

“Please don’t go frightening people like that, sir. Shall I shave your beard as well?”

Customer: “This is absolutely a secret，you hear?”
“Because if I get branded as the source of these rumors，it’d be a real hassle.”
“Ah，it hurts!”
“Hey，watch what you’re doing! What did you just stab me with?”

Barber: “Oh，I’m not doing anything at all，I tell you.”
“I'm brushing your neck hairs right now.”

Customer: “That’s exactly why my neck hurts!”
“Hey，if it hurts this much，stop already!”

Barber: “How strange—I’m not doing anything different.”
“This brush here’s my softest one…”

Customer: “Right here—doesn’t this look wrong?”

Barber: "Is it really messed up?"
"This thick wrinkle must've been here before."
"Here now—let me try removing the hair more thoroughly."

Customer: "It hurts—huurts…"
"This—this is excruciating."
"Wait… I'll stop…"

Barber: "Well now—that's truly unfortunate—"
"So you've finally enlisted in the poison gas battalion yourself, sir."
"Ah—welcome."
"Please…"
"You're early today, sir."
"Oh—so the government offices have closed too?"

“The director and manager—everyone’s been taken down,” said the young customer. “Some cases are downright brutal. The director seems to have it in his tongue—can’t speak a word, just wheezing like a broken bellows.”

The barber adjusted his razor. “And you’re untouched, sir?”

“Only one left standing at the government office.” The young man tapped his temple. “Comes down to daily mental conditioning.”

“No—they say that’s not what this is about,” said the barber. “They say it’s the prelude to an enemy attack. Poison gas…”

“Cut it out with the nonsense,” retorted the young customer. “Haven’t we learned our lesson from the earthquake disaster? If even one person starts saying such things, word spreads quickly, you know.”

“It wasn’t me who started it—the one who did was…”

Young Customer: “It’s because there are people passing things along that everything goes wrong. But I can’t help wanting to say such things myself.”

Barber: “Speaking of war—though I’m still just a reservist myself—it makes me restless. If it’s a righteous fight they’re talking about, I’d like to give it a try. Raising high the banner of justice and watching the territory gradually expand—that wouldn’t be so bad now, would it?”

Young Customer: “I want to grow old quickly.”

Barber: “My, you’ve changed quite a bit, sir…. If I may ask—how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“You still appear to be unmarried.”

“I will absolutely never marry.”

“Oh, this one’s gone peculiar too,” said the barber.
“Why do you say that?”

“Women who marry nowadays,” replied the young customer, “children born these days—it’s all just pitiful, I tell you.”

“You’re a pessimist, aren’t you? What makes you so pessimistic?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You truly can’t grasp it? Come to think of it, newspapers these days are full of words like ‘resolutely’ and ‘decisively.’ Distinctly Japanese terms that embody a valiant spirit—the sort where you pound your chest with a clenched fist, I suppose. Not like that empty bluster of ‘Though there be a million, you shall go! Though I stand alone, I shall not flee!’ You’re an exception—young people today have no vitality whatsoever. Getting them all fired up must be quite the challenge even for the government.”

Young Customer: “You’re exactly right.”
“We’ve got absolutely no vitality left.”
“It’s not that we lack vitality—it’s that vitality itself holds no promise anymore.”
“I try belting out songs at full volume.”
Immediately I’d find myself wondering why I did such things.
Even so—“I’ll act when the time comes!”—that’s what everyone’s thinking.

Barber: “Young folks these days have grown less inclined toward drinking and such.”

Young Customer: “Those who want to drink still do.”
“They drink in secret.”
“When drunk, they wander through the darkness.”

“Gloomy business, this.”

“The person called myself—there’s no one left who truly sees me for who I am. This is the loneliness of modern youth.”

“There certainly is that tendency to judge everything based solely on appearances,” said the barber. “Must be because everyone’s busy.”

“Who knows,” replied the young customer. “Could it be our eyes are gradually going mad? Can’t trust others’ eyes; can’t trust my own. Then everything becomes a tangle of crossed wires. Deceiving others while being deceived ourselves.”

He leaned forward, razor forgotten. “We’ve grown indifferent—so long as being fooled doesn’t cost us, we resolve that profiting only when doing the deceiving suffices. This propaganda-saturated world? Nothing but that psychology made manifest.”

“I see—my poor business skills come from not graspin’ that psychology.”
“Well, actually… I’ve been thinkin’ of doin’ a bit of advertisin’ for this shop myself.”

“Go right ahead, I tell you.”
“If you do it now, no matter what you try, it won’t be a disgrace.”
“But it’s strange, isn’t it.”
“The ethos of barbershops—seems that’s always been a rather unique thing, hasn’t it.”

“Is that so?” said the Barber. “If I can assist in any way, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Then turning to the door: “Ah, welcome! I’ll be right with you.”

“Japan’s stuck in the eighteenth century these days,” said the young customer. “Beaumarchais would’ve had a field day writing about this.”

“Why not write it yourself then, sir?” asked the barber.

“They’d can me on the spot! Get fired and my books don’t sell—then what? You can’t say or do anything different from the herd these days.” The young man’s voice tightened. “Speak your mind and society spits you out. Best keep your mouth shut and eyes down.” He suddenly jerked upright. “Ah! There it—!” His hands flew to his thigh. “Got me at last!” A guttural scream tore through his teeth. “Aaaaaaagh!”

Barber: “Where is it?”

Young Customer: “The inner thigh! The left inner thigh!”
“Indeed... this... is intense.”
“What should I do...”
“Call a doctor... Ah—it’s tearing—my leg feels torn apart...”

“Oh, looks like someone else got hit again.”
“Two women went down together this time.”
“This seems beyond what doctors can handle.”
“Just bear with it a little longer—stay right there.”
“Thank you for waiting—right this way...”

The man in work clothes gruffly demanded some display of masculine bearing.

Barber: “Hoh—on top o’ that now?”

The man in work clothes: “What a blessed era we’re livin’ through.”
“In this blessed era—ain’t nobody values these duds no more! What’d you know ’bout that, old-timer?”
“No matter which way you fall—ain’t nobody gets up for free—that’s what this is.”
“Bourgeois—no good. Intellectuals—no good. Zaibatsu, bureaucrats, political parties, fascists—all no good. Farmers got no sense, petty merchants’re sly by nature—leaves just us and the women an’ kids.”
“Hey old-timer—why don’cha strip off that masseur’s getup you’re wearin’ and suit up in one o’ these workman’s jackets?”

“They say your company’s doing roaring business these days, ain’t that right?”

"Of course," said the man in work clothes. "There was a time they asked me, 'Ain't you a Red?'" He couldn't tell whether he should've answered, "Nah, 's not like that," or not.

But lately...

“Haven’t you been struck by it yet—the pain?”

“Ain’t that strange? When I wear this outfit, I don’t seem to get hit as much.”

“How about at the factory?”

“About half the engineers and technicians were struck down,” said the man in work clothes. “And most of the foremen collapsed too. They all laughed. It’s like someone’s playing tricks—ain’t that strange?”

“Any talk about war breaking out on your side…?”

“There’s been talk ’bout that for two, three years now, ain’t there?”

V. A Certain Household

Father: “An extra edition?”

Son: “Hmm... Well... It seems to be nationwide.”
“America and China seem unaffected... Or rather, according to a Shanghai phone call, Japanese people there are being struck down as well.”
“Ah—in San Francisco too, Japanese immigrants along with consulate staff are frequently complaining of pain... it’s said...”

Father: "Is it only Japanese people being struck down everywhere?"

“It seems strange that only our household is being spared,” said Mother. “The neighbors next door and across the street have been making strange noises since this morning.”

Son observed, “It seems children aren’t being affected much. Tadabō said there were about four or five cases in his second-year class.”

“Where is Shizuko?”

“She’s upstairs writing a letter or something. Oh right—at the girls’ school, they said she was about the only one who wasn’t affected at all…”

“Namu Amida Butsu.”

“You should stop reciting Buddhist prayers like that...”

Mother: “You haven’t heard it, so it’s fine.”

Son: "Ah—she went to pray again."

“Don’t you go nitpicking at every little thing.”

Son: “Father—today I can’t bring myself to do anything. Might I trouble you with a rather bothersome conversation?”

Father: “Your talk’s always a pain—but fine, I’ll hear you out.”

Son: “Lately, these doubts keep welling up endlessly. Until now, I’ve kept it to myself and thought it through alone—but I can’t hold it in any longer.”

Father: “You needn’t endure such things alone. Isn’t there a teacher at school you could consult about this?”

Son: “There might be one English teacher. But he’s still young.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “Rather unreliable, I’m afraid.”

Father snorted through his pipe smoke. “Don’t put on airs.” The amber glow highlighted his crow’s feet. “You think those fossilized professors would fare any better?”

“Even when equally misguided,” the son leaned forward, elbows digging into worn tatami, “the old lack that dangerous charm. No intoxicating power to sway minds—don’t you see?”

“Only oppressive force?”

“However, Father, I think you moderate that force too much.”
“It’s not exactly a complaint, but... well... I can’t help feeling sort of... sorry for you.”
“Or maybe that’s not quite it…”

Having others feel sorry for me was somewhat troubling, but if that’s truly how it was, then there was nothing to be done.
Old men like me were pitiable creatures by nature.
Since that was how it appeared to an outside observer, the son mustn’t entertain such thoughts.
What was conversation, anyway?

Son: “Lately, I’ve started to find studying rather tiresome. To put it another way—the amount of effort required has become disproportionately large.”

Father: “Isn’t that only natural the further you advance into higher studies?”

Son: “No—not in that sense. Things like interest or hope should support one’s efforts, shouldn’t they? It feels like those supports have been dwindling somehow. After considering the cause, I think it’s because what we might call ideals or dreams—those kinds of goals—have grown indistinct. Looking back now, I used to literally dream while reading books—carefree notions like becoming a doctor, constructing the world’s greatest iron bridge, winning a Nobel Prize, or planning to staff all elementary schools with female teachers if I became Minister of Education. But when we Japanese confront the practical question of which path leads to meaningful work benefiting all humanity, we inevitably find this ambition blocked at a certain point by a signpost declaring: ‘No Japanese Beyond This Point.’ With extraordinary luck—or rather, considerable skill in navigating society—one might reach a certain level. Yet I suspect my own disposition and nerves would hinder such progress. I’m already a seed planted in this soil called Japan. Nothing exists beyond this earth to cultivate me. With limited fertilizer quality, predetermined sunlight and ventilation—no matter how desperately I struggle—I can’t grow as I wish. My fate is to find myself unable to bloom the flowers I desire or bear their fruit.”

“So you’re saying being born in Japan was unfortunate?”

“No, this isn’t some tearful complaint.”
“I am content being Japanese.”
“What would come of wishing for anything beyond that?”
“No—rather, it’s precisely because I want to take pride in being Japanese that I contemplate such matters.”
“Why must Japan be this kind of country?”
“I don’t know about the past.”
“It’s about the present.”
“It’s about the present.”
“Although I don’t fully understand political matters either—the fact that practices one might question as acceptable prevail so openly throughout society—this would seem utterly strange to anyone who’s glimpsed what defines a civilized country.”
“If you watch Western films or read their novels—it becomes immediately apparent.”
“Of course evil persists wherever humans dwell.”
“But could such grotesquery manifest—masks unworthy of humanity parading brazenly through daylight streets—in any land where people remain conscious of their very human nature?”

“What do you mean by 'masks unworthy of humanity'?”

“It’s the sight of falsehood’s spirit hoisting noble banners while sneering at civilized society’s common sense. Every trend, movement, and fashion that present-day Japan keeps spawning carries at its core an emptiness intellectuals cannot condone and a shamelessness. Theories and slogans can be molded into anything. Once you uncover their true motives and purposes, wouldn’t you find shame that makes you want to hide your face and a simplicity like uncivilized people holding sway?”

“Society’s the same wherever you go—that’s just how it is,” said the father. “Therefore, the battle against society remains the sole path permitted to geniuses.”

“Are you saying geniuses can prevail in that battle?” asked the son.

“Whether they prevail or not—aren’t those we’ve called geniuses up to this day precisely those who overcame it? At least spiritually…”

“But however lonely a genius may be,” countered the son, “doesn’t society itself—to some extent—possess the very nourishment needed to cultivate them? Father, you know about Germany, France, the United Kingdom and Russia—all those places. Though their modern lives may be far from ideal, though likely tinged with considerable decadence—don’t you think they’re still sustained by great traditional forces contributing to humanity’s progress?”

“Japan has that too.
It’s just encountered a temporary period of chaos—its flow dammed up.
The West has weathered such eras many times over.
When cultural forces flowing in from foreign lands grow overwhelmingly strong, those aspects seeking to embrace them clash against others trying to block them—ultimately merging into one—but for now, the waters turn turbid and waves churn.
That interim manifests an outward appearance where two opposing aspects—never fully formed—confront each other as frivolity versus coarseness, eccentricity against arrogance.
Yet time will settle this.
As the scum surfaces and is skimmed away, a unified, refined culture gradually emerges.
You’re hoping such an era might dawn tomorrow itself.
I understand perfectly.
But to reach unification—true purification—all elements must collide.
It must be so.
Blending East and West might seem straightforward for individuals, but from a nation’s standpoint? Not nearly as simple as people claim.
On that count, even the conservative bunch grows too hasty—worrying overmuch.”

“Father, you did not deign to answer my question.”

“Oh? Was that how it was?”

“So then, what am I supposed to do?”

“Take the middle path.”

“But isn’t this an age where that middle path you speak of no longer exists? If it did exist, someone like me would truly be saved. Ah, right! Now that you mention it, I found something interesting the other day.”

“What did you find?”

“When I passed through Kojimachi by bus, there was a barber shop at the corner around 6-chome.”
“That sign is rather unusual, don’t you think?”
“Medium Grade Barber Shop”

“Ah, I see—the principle of following the middle path.”

“Please wait.”
“When I saw that, somehow I felt uplifted.”
“A feeling of relief, yet at the same time, like my heart was racing.”
“What could account for that?”

“Because there was an example of the middle path you seek displayed there, I suppose.”

“But beyond that, I sensed something even more humorous.”

“Because you know there are no other such reverent, humble signs in this world, I suppose.”

“That’s correct.”
“Barber shops have all come to be labeled as ‘High-Grade,’ you see.”
“To bring such deceptive signage into a context where falsehoods are openly permitted creates an absurdity born of honesty itself, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yet considering its actual standing, that barber shop seems dubious even as a ‘Medium Grade’ establishment—this makes it doubly absurd.”
“I burst out laughing.”

“But that’s an endearing story,” said Father.

“It also has this petulant quality,” replied Son. “I wanted to see what face this ‘master’ makes.”

Father chuckled. “A revolutionary of sorts.”

“Exactly! The doctrine of mean might be our era’s revolutionary thought—”
“Agh!”
“You? Quit it, Sis…”

“I just wanted to see you say ‘Ouch!’, sorry.”
“Go get Mom to handle this!”

VI. Hotel

“Is it really all right not to go back?”

“Going back wouldn’t make any difference.”
“But if this keeps getting worse, there’ll be nothing I can do once we’re traveling.”

“Being in Tokyo wouldn’t make any difference either.”
“Even on the radio earlier, they were telling everyone to stay calm right now and not imagine all sorts of things about what’s to come.”

"That wasn't what I meant by settling down while traveling—not that at all."
"I'm worried about the company too, you see."

“What are you worried about?”

“How should I put it—I was just wondering what everyone’s doing.”

“If you get lost, just think that I’m with you.”

“It must be some special germs attacking the Japanese constitution that have emerged. Since it’s localized, they must be entering through the skin.”

“If I were to contract it, would you cure me?”

“I might develop an interest in researching it,” said the husband. “When you’re an insurance doctor like me, non-fatal illnesses don’t even register. I keep thinking—I want just once to know the joy of saving patients from their suffering.”
“After graduating, poverty made me focus only on securing a monthly salary quickly enough. Even hospital work would’ve been temporary drudgery.”
“So these hands”—he held them up—“these hands that took notes diligently for five years toward that goal—they’ve never once guided a human life into light.”
“Country parents don’t understand illness. Since you became mine—no, precisely since yesterday—you haven’t mentioned so much as a splinter.”
“Out of kindness, I dosed colleagues and our landlord Mr.Kami with medicine. Whether they recovered unnoticed or not, I never received thanks—not even when they sent tinned fruit afterward like sudden penitents.”
“Your mother told matchmaker Mr.Hayashi she’d ‘send one daughter to a doctor’ since she’s sickly herself—a joke! Yet through all my visits, she’s never consulted me about health.”
“Instead she prattles about some Tokyo Imperial University hemorrhoid specialist from ten years back—as if provincial medical schools leave us unfit to hear about constipation.”

"Oh, but that's because I meant to align my story with yours," said the Wife. "For doctors, discussing doctorly matters suits them best—that's what I think."

The Husband replied, "That may be so, but you needn't go out of your way to mention some Tokyo Imperial University professor." His voice carried self-deprecation as he added, "Given I'm just a graduate from some rural medical college."

“That’s so silly—you sound paranoid.”

“But ultimately, I find it more comfortable that way. Being overestimated is terrifying. But what truly astounds me is the audacity of those who blithely take on grueling tasks—every last one of them—without even grasping their own limitations. Some even recklessly charge into matters nobody asked them to handle. This isn’t limited to doctors. Politicians are largely just mouthpieces for their factions. Society seems cowed by it all—amusing how they just watch silently. What’s funnier still is that while society shrewdly underestimates things, the professionals remain oblivious to this fact. The brazen ones already feel qualified merely by declaring they’ll do something. There’s probably no country like Japan that can flaunt the strength of not being true experts. If they just master shifting their specialties bit by bit depending on circumstances, that suffices. When third- and fifth-rate types gather to proclaim they’ll guide Japanese culture, it makes you want to ask—‘Seriously?’”

“That’s true. But don’t you think there might unexpectedly be individuals among even seventh- or eighth-rate types who at least have sound nerves?”

“Do you call that the masses? No—the masses can’t be relied on either. In my view, there are three types of masses. First: the mass of masses—the ignorant class called the foolish mob, an indiscriminate mix of gems and pebbles. Second: the masses putting on intellectual airs—that is, the vulgar crowd from universities. Third: intellectuals who take it upon themselves to represent the masses—that is, the most reliable cultural figures including first- and second-rate personalities.”

“So there’s nothing that doesn’t fall under ‘the masses,’ then?”

“There is.”
“Bureaucrats and politicians.”

“Ah, in that sense.”

“But look—in Japan, for the time being, you can’t expect something called a unified will from the masses.”
“In other words, it’s because the intellectuals who presume to represent the masses are themselves submerged within them.”
“Unless they assume positions of leadership, the masses have no means to even know what they themselves desire.”
“Let alone perform the feat of stating what they desire—even if they wanted to, they couldn’t.”
“For example, even if I get worked up and spout such things, nobody would think this is the voice of the masses.”
“That man must be a bit unhinged—it’s an era where the masses themselves think.”
“Who would ask someone who doesn’t even listen to what I say to be their representative?”
“On election day, I’ll just stay in bed.”

“Oh, not so loud.”
“That poster over there is glaring at us.”

“What the poster says is irrelevant.”
“I agree.”
“Those who make declarations... Wait—if they don’t consider matters more thoroughly, we’ll be in trouble. I find myself compelled to trust in the authorities’ sincerity and intellect.”
“Ah, it hurts!”
“It hurts!”

“What’s wrong?”
“Where does it hurt?”

“Ah, it’s a strange place that hurts.”

“So just tell me where it is!”

The husband said, “Wait,” while thinking.
Hmm, this feels like I’m being jabbed over and over with an injection needle being inserted and pulled out.
“Let me grip your hand.”

“The spot you’re pressing?”

“No.”
“I’m just testing the pressure here.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, just hurry up and find where it hurts already!”

“When I said ‘intellectuals’ earlier, it doesn’t necessarily mean people with academic knowledge.”
“In other words, it means ‘the chosen people.’”

“Enough already—what does any of that matter…?”

“No—this matters,” he insisted through gritted teeth. “Ah—damn it hurts!”
“Beyond those ‘chosen ones’ presuming to speak for the masses, there could equally exist ‘chosen ones’ presuming themselves intellectuals—that’s permissible, no?”
“Hmm... This might be muscular rheumatism.”
“Does your hand hurt?”

“What—your backside?”

“More... leg-adjacent.”

“Either way—just take your trousers off already.”

“You wouldn’t comprehend even if you saw.”
“Yet that breed of intellectual fundamentally misunderstands the masses.”
“They observe one facet while ignoring its counterpart.”
“Though mind you—this deficiency’s congenital.”
“Seems one can’t rectify it through sheer will.”
“Apologies—could you rub here?”
“Yes—harder...”
“Such folk remain blissful through their own ignorance.”
“If only money solved everything—”
“Gah—the pain!”
“No—nevermind.”
“There’s food enough—and I’ve my own sphere to inhabit...”

“This won’t do at all.”
“Alright—pinch that spot as hard as you can.”

“Like this?”

“Harder! Use all your strength!”
“Ah, that’s better.”

“Look—that man walking across the lawn! He’s the one who pretended to get lost and sneaked into the women’s bath at the public bathhouse…”

“Deliberately making mistakes like that is surprisingly difficult.”
“There’s almost no way to avoid getting caught.”

“Look! There he goes—approaching that young lady.”

“She must be his daughter.”

“That’s not it. Such things—don’t you get it?”

“What—is it about whether she’s his daughter or not? There might be cases where you can’t tell.”

“In this case, it’s perfectly clear,” said the Wife. “Look—do you see any man loitering around the neighborhood like that?”

“You’re watching like you shouldn’t be looking,” remarked the Husband.

“With that demeanor, he’d never actually approach anyone,” the Wife insisted.

“You’ve got quite the eye for this.”

“That’s just how it is,” she continued. “That kind of man harasses women on trains and such.”

“Drop that subject,” said the husband. “This morning’s paper turned my stomach. Whether you’d call it shameful or downright venomous—it made me wonder why I was ever born a man at all.”

“Do you suppose there are men like that in the West too?”

“Western men must all be that way.”

“The difference is,” she countered, “they’d immediately say something like ‘Mademoiselle, what has caught your eye?’ and strike up a conversation.”

“I see—they do initiate conversations, like in films...”

“Even in Japan these days, such types exist among young students.”

“Then what responses do they receive?”

“If uninterested, women simply don’t respond.”

“That’s likely how it goes.
Coeducation becomes problematic; conditional mixed-gender seating pervades every institution; careless walks with young women invite bystanders’ muttering; attempts at conversing with strangers make women vainly presume romantic interest—yet while one might resign oneself to blaming such men, should we accept their proliferation as Japan’s defining trait... Well then, complacency proves impossible.”
“We must examine why these men proliferate so.”
“If women’s chastity multiplies alongside these hungry ghost-like men, doesn’t it net zero?”
“Reflecting on myself, I believe Japan’s traditional customs clashing with modern trends yield these consequences.”
“Creating segregated trains solves nothing.”
“Hasty correction policies—superficial ideological guidance addressing symptoms over causes—increasingly distort everything.”
“When rural students enter urban schools for three-year boardinghouse lives, who comprehends their desolate daily landscapes?”
“Emerging from dusty classrooms, they can scarcely focus on studies unless compelled.”
“First they become sheep flocks wandering after youth.”
They yearned for crisp air against skin and young grass’s nose-tickling fragrance.
“Naturally.”
“What can modern cities offer these provincial youths?”
“Neither school authorities nor parents notice our utter deficiency in vibrant college life atmosphere.”
Having forgotten beauty’s reverence and dreams’ caress, their youth—consumed by employment anxieties—transcended misery.
“Proper interactions with family-centered ladies remain unattainable even when desired.”

“Cafés and mahjong clubs become their meager pasture.”
“I don’t say we should permit it.”
“Through providing alternatives to these, we must render cafés and mahjong clubs desolate.”
“What role do modern intellectual pleasures play in male-female interactions?”
“Though I cannot measure how much of the opposite sex’s charm manifests itself, if they were placed in circumstances allowing them to naturally savor youthful intoxication—after undergoing the mental discipline of drawing this out through free dialogue—then what must progress would progress, and their paths would naturally determine themselves.”

“Like us, right?”

“You and I—our path was set even before we spoke.”

“Look at that.
The young lady has run away.
Making such a strange face as he watches her go—that posture of his…”

“This is a story from the zoo—a male porcupine kept pesteringly following a female porcupine until finally, annoyed, she twisted her body around.
At that moment, the male porcupine was struck on the snout by a vigorous thrust of her quills.
Outside the enclosure, the spectators laughed.
The male porcupine pressed its nose to the ground and glared resentfully at the spectators, as if to say…
‘Then why don’t you try it yourself?!’
I read it in a book.
The lovemaking of speechless animals applies directly—not to all Japanese men, mind you, but certainly to some among them.”

“Now that’s what you’d call ‘painful,’ isn’t it?”

“Ah, right—what became of that pain business again? Are you still pinching?”

“Oh dear—you were desperately clutching at your trousers the whole time! Had enough yet?”

“Speaking of which, the newspapers went on praising that foreigner—the one who showed special kindness to the deceased servant’s family—as some great Japanophile.”
“A national perspective is all well and good, but this amounts to Japan disparaging itself.”
“The fact that we Japanese make such a fuss over this can only make one suspect we’ve become a nation thoroughly unaccustomed to treating foreigners as human beings.”
“What does promoting national prestige by boasting about Mount Fuji and cherry blossoms even achieve?”
“It’s not as though they were created through our own efforts anyway.”
“Rather than flaunting pretenses to the world—‘Look at our unique culture!’—our task as Japanese going forward should be this:”
“To answer with conviction that we contribute more than all of you to humanity’s progress and the construction of happiness you idealize.”
“But as for me—a mere insurance doctor—I can’t imagine ever being able to say such things on behalf of the Japanese people.”

“That’s precisely what’s wrong, you know—that’s precisely what’s wrong.”
“You really ought to have more confidence…”

Husband: “Alright—confidence it is.”

Wife: “What are you looking at?”

Husband: “Hmm? Oh nothing—just watching the view out at sea.”

Wife: “When a beautiful woman passes by, you know.”
“How unsightly!”
“Don’t crane your neck out like that.”

Husband: “I give up!”
Are women still such a rare sight these days?

VII Police Station

“Well now, everyone... Good work...”
“Things seem to have settled down considerably, hm?”
“Since holing up quietly at home appears generally effective, we should likely recall the fire brigade too.”
“Apparently chattering away does the worst harm.”
“The mouth is indeed a gateway to calamity.”
“Gentlemen—deeds before words remains paramount.”
“That said—has anyone in the station been struck?”

Police Officer A: “Fortunately, none have been affected.”
“The doctors in the holding cells show no abnormalities either.”
“Ah yes—earlier today, a woman of this description brought in a boy around ten years old and left this behind.”
“Apparently, the child had been saving one sen every day, and when he saw this morning’s newspaper article titled ‘The Pitiful Old Mother Abandoned by Her Son,’ he insisted on rescuing that poor mother by bringing all his savings here.”
“The child is a third-year student at Fukuromachi Elementary School—it’s written here.”
“When I asked for her address, she said it didn’t matter, but I made a note of it anyway.”
“She seemed quite refined—an intellectual type.”

Police Chief: “How much is there?”
“Hmm... Six yen and twenty-six sen?”
“What sort of newspaper article was that? Bring it here.”
“Ah, this one—the case Hattori-kun mentioned before. That old woman.”

Police Officer B: “She appears to be quite the heartless crone.”
“Her neighborhood reputation leaves much to be desired.”

Police Chief: “‘Exhausted her savings for her two sons’ education,’ it says here.”
“Well now—so one son lives rather comfortably?”

Police Officer B: “In truth, his monthly salary barely reaches sixty yen.”
“When they rented her a separate room after she refused to live with her daughter-in-law, she started grumbling about insufficient allowances.”
“Worse still, she’d arbitrarily purchase goods and demand payment from her son’s household.”
“When they pleaded hardship and refused, she’d immediately traipse about the neighborhood slandering them—utterly impossible woman to handle.”
“Lately, I imagine it’s the sons who’ve finally lost patience.”

“That’s all well and good, but we can’t very well not deliver this money.”
“Goodwill is goodwill, after all.”

Police Officer B: “However, this won’t serve as proper discipline for the old woman.”

Police Chief: “That’s also true.”
“But given these circumstances—sending it back with ‘We don't need to do this’ would be strange.”
“This time we have to consider its effect on that child.”

Police Officer A: “Right, right. The moment that woman handed over the money, she let out a terrible scream.”
“It appears to be that thing after all.”

Police Chief: “Hmm... In that case, we can’t let our guard down here either.”
“What’s with that man?”

Police Officer C had caught a pickpocket and brought him in.

Police Officer A: “Oh, it’s you.”
“Back again, huh?”

Pickpocket: “My humble apologies.”

Police Chief: “Lock him up.”

Police Officer C: “It’s exactly the likes of you who should get thoroughly wrecked today.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’ve been perfectly fine…”
“Been working nonstop since morning.”

“You shameless bastard.”

“Well then, I can’t keep this money myself. Give the old hag a proper talking-to when you return it.”
“And tell those sons – since even strangers care this much – that they’d better not mistreat their parents no matter what.”
“Mr. Watanabe – you’re familiar with her. Kindly see to this.”

Police Officer B: “Though I’m not exactly thrilled about being so acquainted with her…”

Police Chief: “But newspapers are a terrifying thing.”
“With just a twist of the pen, even this gloomy world can be brightened.”
“The power to make innocent children perform good deeds and secure our nation’s eternal peace—now that’s truly a grand spectacle of our times.”
“What’s happening? It’s getting noisy out front again!”
“It’s begun.”

“Ah, this time it seems quite severe, sir.”

“Don’t panic.”
“Steady, steady…”

“Oh, Mr. Taki.”
“You must be busy.”
“Your paper’s extra edition came out first, didn’t it.”
“Well done.”
“By the way, one of this morning’s articles prompted quite the splendid response.”
“Look here—‘The Old Woman Abandoned by Her Son’ received a cash donation!”
“And from a ten-year-old boy at that!”
“What do you think? Makes for a splendid article, doesn’t it?”
“Oof, that smarts!”

“Chief, it’s terrible! At the election rally venue, the speakers have all collapsed.”

“Wait! This illness isn’t malignant! The nature of the pain is remarkably clear-cut. I’ve never experienced such healthy pain before. Well, well—go all out. There’s no need to sympathize with those who writhe in pain. Officers! Your work is about to get easier from now on!”

This work was published in the March 1936 issue of Chuo Koron.
The magazine went on sale on the 19th, one week prior to the February 26 Incident (1936).