Pathway to Japanese Literature

Mother—

After long hesitation over this account，Chie finally took up the pen.

In truth, the general outline of what ought to be reported regarding Elder Sister's circumstances had already come into focus for Chie approximately one month ago. And yet Chie wrote "I don't know, I don't know" in her recent letter, and reiterated the same in a brief letter just a week ago. All of that was a lie. No, it was less a lie than something like hope. In other words, Chie had been clinging to the hope that Mother might eventually forget all about it. Yet judging by your letter received the day before yesterday—which apparently got lost en route, taking over ten days to arrive—Chie came to fully understand that far from forgetting, the more she hesitantly postponed this report, the more it seemed only to have amplified your anxieties. You had ominous dreams for three consecutive nights, didn't you? What kind of dreams they were in substance was not written in your letter, but from your words before and after, it was not impossible for Chie to roughly surmise. Faced with a Mother who had even been subjected to such nightmares, Chie could no longer cling to vain hopes. Moreover, now that Chie had witnessed such things with her own eyes—on the very next day after receiving that letter from you, Mother, which is to say yesterday—as if by prior arrangement, she felt there remained nothing but to relate everything exactly as it was and entrust all else to the grand design of Providence.

……………………………………… However, with Chie's clumsy pen, I have no confidence whatsoever in accurately conveying not only what I witnessed yesterday but every single change that has occurred in Elder Sister's condition. In truth, were it possible, taking even two or three days' leave to return home like anyone else and spending one full night conveying everything verbally before telling you directly, Mother, would undoubtedly be best. If conveyed orally, even imperfectly, I believe I could somehow manage to relay what I have seen and heard. What my words lack, my complexion and gestures—or perhaps my voice and tears—will compensate. ……The Shinshu mountain region must already be deep in snow. When I imagine how you spend this winter, Mother—having forsaken both kotatsu and monpe—I feel so restless I can hardly sit still, yet simultaneously find myself wanting to burst into laughter. For you, Mother, this must already be your fifth winter in evacuation country. You must have grown quite accustomed to it by now. Selfish Chie promptly fled to Tokyo at winter's end when the war concluded, yet for you, Mother, two or three more of those northland winters—winters I could never have endured—have continued since then. That cheerful Mother of ours could not possibly remain unaccustomed to such things. Far from that, there can be no doubt you have already splendidly "conquered" them. In your recent letter you wrote: “The glow in my cheeks has markedly improved, and contrary to my expectations, my white hairs have not increased. Each time I face the mirror morning and evening, I find myself surprised—is this truly my own face?” But Chie takes those very words at face value and believes them without reservation. Because Chie's Mother simply must be such a person. That is precisely what makes you Chie's Mother.

Somehow I've suddenly wanted to see your face. Thus every Saturday evening when writing these letters—whether short or long—this feeling always comes over me, but tonight it's particularly strong. Undoubtedly this stems partly from believing it better to meet you even once and speak directly rather than describe Elder Sister's situation through my clumsy writing—yet that alone doesn't explain everything. Of course Chie wishes to behold your "radiant" face again after so long, but she also wants you to see her own healthy countenance while doing so. Moreover winter break lies just beyond reach. Twelve hours going, eleven returning—with one or two days between—you might wonder why I can't spare even that time. But I solemnly swear—Chie isn't entangled in any romantic affair. I remain verifiably chaste—indeed my private parts haven't matured beyond measure. ...When such topics arose Mother would invariably blush crimson while Elder Sister and I maintained perfectly composed expressions. That memory belongs to distant days. While on this subject—during Father's lifetime over ten years past when matchmaker Mr./Ms.C came regarding Elder Sister's marriage arrangements—you declared "...She surely remains untouched..." if I recall. At that moment Elder Sister and I—eavesdropping behind the door—became so overcome with stifled mirth that we clutched our faces and crawled away retreating deeper indoors. Recalling those times feels like grasping at dreams.

Mr. and Mrs. C soon passed away, followed by Father, and then the father of the S family into which Elder Sister had married. With deaths following in such rapid succession, while we remained preoccupied with them, the war on the continent had gradually expanded before we knew it—until finally Brother Junyoshi crossed over to the mainland as a conscripted officer. It was only when the S household had been reduced to just you, Mother; Elder Sister; and that infant boy—Juntaro—that Chie first learned Elder Sister was not in fact her biological sister, but rather a memento left behind by our deceased former mother. No—I did not come to know; I was forcibly made aware through cruel means. The method proved so brutal that I felt nothing whatsoever—neither the fact of our differing parentage itself, nor any of the emotions that should have naturally followed: surprise, resentment, or hatred. I did not even feel humiliation—that was how it concluded. Are you suggesting, Mother, that this constituted some blessing for Chie—who had barely turned nineteen—in the annals of her heart? But that is not what Chie intends to convey here. Whether in mind or body—if one must inevitably be wounded—then I believe it better to sustain thorough injury early on, while some capacity for healing yet remains... At least... no—at least now that I have witnessed yesterday's horrifying vision with my own eyes, Chie cannot help but hold this conviction.

………………………………………

What am I doing—am I rambling in confusion? Now I was no longer afraid. Moreover, being before you—there could be no reason for reserve. Yes, that was correct. Elder Sister was alive. Indeed, Elder Sister was alive. In the span of this past month or so, I had seen Elder Sister with my own eyes many times. Indeed, I had seen her again yesterday. It was indeed a terrifying sight—yet this did not mean Elder Sister’s face bore war-scarred contortions, nor that she had a crushed eye, nor that she wore the garb of a lice-ridden beggar, nor conversely that she sported the garish attire of those career women so fashionable in postwar Tokyo. She wore a dark suit with a deep brown overcoat fitted impeccably, no hat upon her head, and rather high heels. Moreover, the way she walked—legs held straight, taking somewhat hurried, clipped steps—was just like Elder Sister of old. Though perhaps imagined, she seemed slightly stooped—yet her stature appeared even more slenderly tall than before, likely from having grown thinner. In such attire, she always walked briskly while leaning against Nurse F’s shoulder (Nurse F being a woman no less tall than Elder Sister), and from a distance, they appeared as nothing more than a pair of respectable Western women out together, attracting no particular attention from passersby. ...If I were to enumerate each of these points one by one and thereby judge whether a person lived or died, then indeed Elder Sister was splendidly alive... alive and walking.

It was merely that something about her was ill. This was because Nurse F—bound by her hospital’s regulations—had never removed her dark navy uniform nor the matching dark navy cap with white cloth, leaving no room for doubt. When Chie first caught sight of Elder Sister, it had still been that same pair. Moreover, since this occurred within St. Agnes Hospital’s garden, Chie immediately—

"Ah, she's ill!" I realized. I staggered to my feet and even started to chase after her without thinking. I was happy. When I thought back, it was a close call. If the spot where Chie had been sitting had been just a few meters closer to the path, and if their footsteps had been even slightly slower, she would surely have had time to catch up and call out, "Elder Sister!" And Elder Sister must have turned around and realized it was Chie right away. And so Chie must have written a letter of an entirely different nature from tonight’s to Mother already a month ago. It was coincidence that saved me. No, to call it coincidence would be a lie. From the very moment I staggered to my feet, something began tangling Chie’s legs. That strange, nebulous moment of hesitation rapidly coalesced into an intensely clear form, causing Chie’s legs to loosen with near-conscious intent. In that time, they moved further and further away, until they disappeared around the corner of the white ward.

What do you think of this hesitation of Chie's, Mother?

“You know I’m well aware of that!”

Mother’s cheerful smile as you say this seems to flit before my eyes. It was not that vacant smile people of the world often adopt, nor that evasive smile, nor any sort of dazzling smile either. It was an utterly bright, utterly cheerful smile—simply and purely honest, with a certain resoluteness of spirit, the kind that only appears on the face of one who rationalizes everything through their own conscience and maintains a refreshing state of mind. For such unburdened clarity, that person would not hesitate to strip off even their last undergarment and cast it to others. Indeed, they would tear off an arm—or perhaps a leg—and briskly toss it to a starving tiger. This indescribable generosity! That is something Chie inherited in full measure from Mother—enough that I believe I understand it well. That exists solely for conscience’s satisfaction. No—rather, it exists for conscience’s victory!

Chie inherited such temperament from Mother—not only that, but even came to firmly believe in those good deeds—and thanks to this, she spent her girlhood cheerfully and contentedly. Happily—I could even go so far as to say. For that, I wish to express my gratitude from the bottom of my heart. Moreover, on the other hand—to speak honestly—since that turmoil with the S family began—no, rather from the very midst of that commotion itself—Chie came to harbor faint doubts regarding the meaning of those good deeds I just described. A shadow began to fall over the daughter’s happiness. That this turmoil consisted of the uproar over whether Elder Sister would leave or not—arising shortly after Brother Junyoshi's deployment—I need hardly mention now.

"It’s fine, really! After being stripped bare like this—just going along with their demands—what reason could there possibly be for anyone to resent us now?!" Around the time the commotion had finally settled down, perhaps having noticed some anxious shadow on Chie’s face, Mother comforted her in that same cheerful tone as always. At that time, Chie thought, "I see," and she clearly remembered feeling as though she had done something terribly inexcusable.

You were absolutely correct. Of course, Chie was still just a young girl at the time—she did not properly understand the true circumstances then nor does she now—and moreover does not particularly wish to understand. In any case, that it was no mere ordinary divorce dispute was something even a daughter’s heart could discern. Nor was it entirely due to the scheming nature of the other party’s mother; setting aside those antiquated foolish arguments about compatibility with family traditions—now that I reflect calmly—Elder Sister herself had her own proper share of human flaws. To be sure, this is something Chie—who had believed they were real sisters after sharing a room for years—can only now say by comparing it to her present circumstances.

Well, there's no use dredging up such mutual recriminations now. In the end, I think no one harbored any malice. It may have simply been one example of how human relationships, once strained, become utterly impossible to manage. To begin with, the fact that they quarreled over whether to leave or stay while excluding Brother Junyoshi—the most crucial figure—seemed profoundly strange not only from today's perspective, when our family has been all but dissolved, but even by the standards of those times. In the end, separation resulted, and there Mother's characteristic generosity began. I don't recall each instance individually, but villas and rental properties were transferred one after another into the S family's name. From the antiques and household goods in our storehouse down to the jewels, nearly everything seemed to have been cleared out and transported to Elder Sister's residence. The process proceeded so briskly that even Chie, in her daughter's heart, found it almost exhilarating; one day, as she sorted through the final jewelry box remaining in her bedroom vanity cabinet—

“Well now, shall we keep these and these for Chie’s trousseau?”

When Mother would say such things, I felt a sort of guilty disillusionment—to such an extent that it almost made me recoil.

Well, each and every one of those matters was perfectly fine. Once it reached that point, it was no longer mere generosity or scrupulousness—it had become what one might call a contest of feminine pride. Chie could sympathize with that sentiment too, and thanks to it had managed—without ever tasting guilt or self-abasement—to weather through these past five or six years of turbulent times. Lately while observing my classmates one after another I came deeply to realize how those who helplessly watched their property burn versus those who cast it aside beforehand—though their difference seemed paper-thin—left ripples with vastly divergent repercussions. Through Mother’s decisive handling of affairs at precisely the right moment Chie had been severed from both dependency and gambling mentality. For this I am profoundly grateful.

Oh, Mother’s smile flitted before my eyes again. What are you smiling about this time? “There’s no need to go out of your way to thank me for such a thing. Are you saying, ‘Mother merely did what she wanted to do’?” Surely that could not be the case. “Whether what Mother did was good or bad—well, don’t fret over such things and just study diligently. What a strange child you are.” Of course, that could not be the case. Please forgive Chie’s presumptuous conjectures. In Chie’s eyes, Mother’s pained smile seemed to flicker. Did I guess right? Or... No—there was no way this could be wrong. If that were not so, how could there be any reason for Mother to worry so about Elder Sister’s whereabouts? Why would you be having nightmares about Elder Sister? Or perhaps…

..................................................................

No, no—this must not be Chie’s overactive imagination after all. Mother does love Elder Sister. As if she were her own daughter—no, even more than her own daughter—Mother loves her. “That’s only natural!” ...Mother would softly protest in a hushed voice. Chie also believes so. That is precisely why you are Chie’s Mother. However, Mother bestowed far too much. Because of that, you lost something precious. The retribution has come.……

Chie was not thinking of blaming you, Mother. Whether humans could even blame other humans—such matters she had never contemplated. Sin likely existed nowhere nor within anyone. There were only things that made human children stumble.

Having written this far… Chie at last steeled her resolve.

Now then, Mother, what follows is Chie’s formal report. As for writing this report, Chie will likely not regret it. When you read this, please do not let yourself feel regret, Mother! Chie both prays for this and has nearly come to believe it.

..........................................................................

The first time Chie saw Elder Sister was, as I wrote before, a little over a month ago from today, in the garden of that St. Agnes Hospital. St. Agnes Hospital—you may not be familiar with it—is a rather small hospital that stands quietly in an area near the riverbank in Tsukiji, surrounded on three sides by canals. Though small, it was a three-story white plaster building; yet from afar, it was so obscured by a rather deep pine grove that even the aged golden cross atop its roof remained unnoticed unless one looked quite attentively. In truth, even Chie had only faintly remembered hearing its name before being assigned there for her school training, to the extent that she had absolutely no idea where the hospital was located.

Though it was called an internship, of course Chie wasn't yet conducting examinations or treatments herself—the work mainly involved something like a nursing apprenticeship. But just as that three-month training period was nearing its end, Chie encountered Elder Sister. In other words, Elder Sister had been admitted to the hospital just two or three days prior. It was utterly coincidental. It is only now that Chie confesses this: while being fully aware of your strong wish, Mother, to somehow uncover the whereabouts of Elder Sister and the S family after they suffered war damage at that villa in Yushima, she did almost nothing. Of course, Chie did at least go to the ward office and try asking. She even obtained a letter of introduction to some department at the metropolitan government office and went there. But both ultimately proved futile. Indeed, while government officials these days had softened their language somewhat, this only laid bare the emptiness and unkindness within—an almost heartrending spectacle for those who observed. They made such a grand fuss about democratization, but in the end it amounted to nothing more than instilling yet another form of cunning in the Japanese people. In the countryside where you reside, Mother—do you not see such phenomena?

Be that as it may，with the documents burned and them saying no notifications had been submitted，it was ultimately as futile as pushing against a shop curtain．The most plausible scenario was imagining that Elder Sister and Juntaro had perished together in the flames．In that area around Yushima，the fires spread so quickly that there were reportedly many cases of entire families perishing in the flames．．．Chie nearly came to believe this．Rather，she had strongly wished to believe that—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say she did．This too may be a form of cunning．If that is indeed the case，then please blame this Chie to your heart’s content．

Fortunately, Chie was said to be reasonably intelligent, and moreover, she possessed a certain composure essential for medicine—a rarity among women—which had apparently earned her considerable trust from Dr. G. From the beginning of this academic year, she was allowed to live at Dr. G’s residence from evening through night under a capacity akin to that of a substitute nurse, and thanks to this, she had once again been spared this winter from the kind of part-time job hardships that her classmates were gradually becoming troubled by. Among her classmates, while working as a tailor shop’s sales representative or addressing envelopes for political parties might have been understandable, there were those who had even taken up positions as cabaret dancers or artists’ models. In fact, there were even about three people who had been semi-openly working as mistresses to fund their education all along. But everyone got along well, helping each other through each day. Although various differences would likely arise in the destinations they eventually reached, as of then it remained entirely unclear. There was only each day as it came.

Given that Chie led such a life, you must understand that she had neither the leisure to search aimlessly for Elder Sister’s whereabouts nor any connections to do so. If there had been no chance assistance, the prospect of encountering Elder Sister would have been utterly nonexistent.

Therefore, once she had seen Elder Sister’s figure in the hospital garden and since nearly missing the chance to speak to her, to Chie this encounter no longer seemed mere coincidence but rather the manifestation of some deeper design. To think this way may itself be but another form of fleeting human consolation; nevertheless, Chie vowed in her heart to steadfastly observe both the meaning and true nature of this encounter. At that point—I must apologize—Elder Sister’s own subsequent fate and your concerns regarding it became nothing more than secondary or tertiary matters. In other words, Chie resolved that she would not reveal herself at all and would secretly follow Elder Sister’s trail.

Naturally, the first step was to investigate Elder Sister's sickroom and diagnosis. This was easily ascertained by flipping through the medical cards. The diagnosis was depression. It also stated that while mild, it was close to chronic. The sickroom was Room 318 on the third floor—located nearly in the center of the east wing, on the opposite side from the block where I had been serving as a nurse trainee alongside my classmate Koko in Rooms 301 through 308 at that very time. I also quickly ascertained that the nurse in charge was a woman called Nurse F—someone of such standing she could almost be termed the assistant head nurse. At this hospital, they did not accept private-duty nurses from outside at all; no matter how severe the patient's condition or how long their hospitalization, it was always the hospital's own nurses who took charge.

By the way, that third-floor east wing was a somewhat mysterious section within St. Agnes Hospital that received a kind of special treatment. Among us nurses, it was commonly called the "Sacred Area"—but indeed, throughout what would soon become nearly three months of our training period, that remained a region where we trainees were never once permitted to set foot. According to rumors, it consisted of large sickrooms that accommodated only certain specially treated patients—in short, it was said to be a kind of forbidden zone. That this special treatment was not solely based on worldly privileges like wealth or family prestige became evident from the hospital's inherent religious nature—yet considering how it did not exclusively house severe patients either (after all, Elder Sister was briskly strolling through the garden—), it might rather be a ward for individuals selected through privileges not of this world: namely, religious affiliations or testaments of devout faith. Well, putting aside such fuss—for Chie, who had discovered that Elder Sister’s whereabouts were unexpectedly close—while this granted her significant convenience in her investigations, it also necessitated that she exercise some caution to avoid being detected.

However, it soon became clear that this entailed neither much worry nor effort. For a young woman, the passage of five or six years might prove more effective than any skillful disguise. Moreover, they say life in Tokyo over these past three years has undergone changes easily rivaling those of twenty or even thirty years before the war. Furthermore, during this training period, Chie could not wear anything other than the plain mouse-gray trainee nurse uniform in accordance with the hospital’s regulations. And since she was also wearing a mouse-gray headscarf resembling a handkerchief pinned in place—unless Elder Sister herself, who must have been convinced that Chie was undoubtedly in this hospital, were to intently peer into the face of every woman she passed—there should have been no risk of discovery. Thinking this, Chie felt relatively at ease. She would go out of her way to use the east staircase when descending to the second floor, make her movements through the corridors as frequent as possible, and all while secretly seeking opportunities to catch another glimpse of Elder Sister from afar.

Strangely enough،that second opportunity did not come easily. It seemed that for those trying to meet here،the more one hurried،the less likely they were. Whenever Chie would deliberately detour through third-floor corridors... There were also times... Near... But neither Elder Sister’s figure nor Nurse F’s had been seen... That 'Special Area،'... Could it be...

At last, Sunday came.

It was undoubtedly the second Sunday since Chie had taken charge of the third floor. Since it was a Catholic hospital, having a chapel was only natural, but rather than being a separate building in a corner of the garden, this hospital had allocated a hall projecting from the central southern side of the third floor. That Chie only learned of this chapel's location after being assigned to the third floor speaks volumes about her thoroughly irreligious nature. On that first Sunday, shortly after the nine o'clock morning Mass had begun, she merely passed before the chapel while delivering patients' temperature charts to the medical office below, catching only fleeting fragments of pure hymn voices. Upon descending, she was immediately assigned to assist in an acute appendicitis surgery for a young woman (Chie had made it a practice to volunteer for surgeries and dissections that her classmates disdained). Dr. G—under whose care I now reside—being this hospital's head surgeon) I forgot about the Mass entirely during that day's operation,yet those pure voices lingered strangely in my ears throughout the procedure,fading only to abruptly resurge. Though I never identified the hymn,the melody grew hazier daily even as its impression intensified,binding itself ever tighter to one association: That Elder Sister must have been among that Mass's congregation. This fancy soon hardened into conviction……

It was the following Sunday. Ill-timed as it was, one of my patients developed a fever and ended up complaining about every trifle while delirious. Since all regular nurses—being believers—had gone to Mass and were absent from their posts, I could scarcely leave the sickroom. When I finally found a moment to rush to the chapel, the Mass already seemed near its end through doorless entranceway revealed only uniform rows of kneeling backs within that soundless hall. I hesitated to violate that silence by entering. Chie muffled her slippers' sound and stole toward a corridor window where she peered through arabesque-patterned bronze grilles into chapel shadows. There Elder Sister appeared. Positioned shockingly close—just two people beyond that window—kneeled Nurse F with her large frame humbly bent forward. The pale profile pressing against that shoulder while gazing vacantly altarward could only belong to Elder Sister. When recognition struck—as I caught my breath—Elder Sister's face seemed flash toward me. Chie froze mid-step. Yet this proved mere fancy. The congregation rose en masse. Instantly feigning pious posture by entranceway she'd never occupied I led exodus from chapel.

Upon reaching the corner where the corridor branched off, Chie stood motionless there, slipping past four or five trainee nurses and nurses, and fixed her eyes on the group turning into the eastern corridor. She caught a glimpse of Nurse F’s broad shoulder, and from behind it, Elder Sister’s pale face seemed to flash as it turned this way. That too must have been a trick of her mind, and nothing came of it. Elder Sister’s figure was hidden by the crowd and then vanished from sight. ……

……………………………………… Thus did Chie behold Elder Sister's form at close quarters for the first time. It was but a profile—nay, one might even say a view of her back—yet why did I feel she had glanced back toward me not once but twice? This could only have been a trick of my mind. Yet even were it a momentary illusion, there lingered upon that pale countenance—flashed twice before me—some expression defying description. Her face stood pallid and gaunt. In Elder Sister there now dwelled a certain sharpness and prickliness unseen five years prior. Simultaneously present were a peculiar nobility and a remoteness of gaze as though fixed upon some far distant realm. All these impressions struck Chie at once. Perhaps this constituted what men call intuition or spiritual insight. I noted the disheveled state of her hair. That none of this sprang wholly from mental delusion would come to be confirmed gradually thereafter……

Mother.—

Without further hesitation, I will tell you everything.

The face of Elder Sister that Chie saw through the copper grating of that chapel was undoubtedly that of a madwoman.

The next day, and the day after that as well, Chie passed Elder Sister in the corridor. Both times occurred slightly past noon, when winter sunlight filled the courtyard, leaving the corridor far from dark. But both times, Elder Sister did not notice Chie. The gray trainee nurse uniform must surely have made Chie's figure nearly indistinguishable. But to tell the truth, Elder Sister did not have the sort of gaze that would grant even a fleeting glance to those she passed. Those strikingly large eyes were fixed intently on some far, faraway place.

Then, after four or five days, Chie was transferred to the affiliated maternity hospital when two third-floor patient rooms had become vacant. This time, it was night shift.

It was precisely during those night shifts at the maternity hospital that Chie came to learn various details about Elder Sister’s condition. The time has come for me to relate this. You must not allow yourself to be shocked. It was less an illness than what should be called fate. Chie will calmly set this down in writing.

To be startled and flustered before fate may perhaps be human arrogance. Please consider this.

Although it was called a maternity hospital, Chie had been assigned to the Charity Annex—an old wooden detached building standing alone in the southeastern corner of the grounds, so close to the river that one might almost call it riverside. When night deepened and the surroundings grew utterly silent, the chugging of steam boats traveling up and down the river became unbearably noticeable. Since the night shift was from nine until two, during her watch that sound served quite well to keep sleepiness at bay, but when she withdrew to the duty room to sleep, that dull regular roar would cling maliciously to her ears and made it terribly hard to fall asleep.

Chie’s assigned duty was to two large rooms within that maternity hospital, commonly referred to as the nursery rooms. Separated by corridors and doors, neither the lively cries of newborns nor the voices of impoverished mothers soothing them could scarcely reach there. For these two rooms were reserved exclusively for unfortunate infants—those bereaved of mothers through childbirth deaths, or who had to be separated from their mothers soon after birth due to other circumstances. There must have been forty or fifty cots of varying sizes for such infants, each surrounded by rather high iron railings on all sides, giving them the appearance of cages. This was because the two large rooms had to be managed by only about six nurses. Yellow electric lights, deliberately dimmed to candlelight levels, hazily illuminated the room. As night deepened, it felt as eerily silent as an unmanned mortuary. Though the cots were nearly full, not a single baby emitted a vigorous, healthy cry. The infants who cried with that crushed, miserable hoarseness—though there were only two or three such babies in the vast room—made Chie resolve never to repeat her ten-odd days of night shifts in the nursery rooms again.

The terror of giving birth, the profound sin of being born a woman... these truths were etched into my very being.

The cots were all painted light blue for some reason.

The child in the large cot in Room 2—positioned relatively close to the window in the nearly central row—had drawn Chie’s attention from the very first night. It was a large boy—less than eight months old yet appearing two or even three years in size—a bluish-swollen, unsettling child. The mother had been diagnosed with pulmonary infiltration after childbirth and was bedridden in the west ward of the main building, but this child too—despite his large build—had severely delayed intellectual development and moreover had a nightly habit of sleepily getting up without fail. That said, he did not cry or make a fuss. The time was almost always limited to around ten-thirty, but he would soundlessly stand up and vaguely cling to the handrail. Drooling with vacant eyes, he did not move along the handrail but stood motionless like a ghost. Both on the first night and the second night, Chie was distracted by the infant by the window who had suddenly started crying, and she did not see this child standing up. It was only some time after the child had stood up unnoticed that she realized it, startling her in spite of herself. Fortunately, that night, the veteran caregiver was still present and taught Chie about the child’s habits and how to handle him. It seemed there was no particular danger in leaving him unattended. However, as is typical with such top-heavy children, their leg development was severely delayed, so care had to be taken the moment they let go of the handrail. If someone then gently supported their hands from behind, they would naturally lie back down on their original spot on their back. One must never panic and make noise or try to shake them awake... Well, that was the gist of the instructions.

As Chie and Caregiver H who had shared that information watched fixedly, the child kept both hands on the handrail, staring unblinkingly into the intermediate void. They were large, vacant eyes. In daylight he possessed beautifully clear azure eyes, but under the dim yellow electric light—perhaps due to this circumstance—they appeared as the unsettling white orbs of a surfacing fish. His pupils remained considerably dilated, their focus neither on ceiling nor walls, nor of course on Caregiver H's face peering directly before him or Chie's countenance. It was as though he gazed vacantly at some indistinct object drifting nearby. Whether imagined or real, that gaze seemed to shift gradually across space—yet its movement appeared no swifter than a minute hand's progression. ..."Is he awake?" Chie whispered. “He cannot be,” Caregiver H answered. “If only he’d laugh or cry properly—that would make things easier...” Exactly as Caregiver H described: after standing motionless for three or four minutes, the child would cautiously lower his hips—thrusting his buttocks backward—then gently release the handrail to lie supine once more. “See how he moves his hips? This is when he wets himself,” Caregiver H remarked while deftly unfastening his diaper front with practiced hands. The damp diaper passed to Chie indeed radiated urine's warmth like rising steam......

"Ugh, ugh—if I were to give birth to a child like this…" The thought struck Chie suddenly, making her gasp reflexively. "I'm sorry for thinking such a thing!" she mentally apologized while tossing the diaper into the laundry basket in the corner, clasping her hands together in silent entreaty to some unseen presence.

It was said that the life of Mother, who remained bedridden in the main building, also seemed to be in danger.

It was the third night. The hospital fortunately had no power outage, but that night the voltage seemed particularly low; even the already dim light bulbs all glowed faintly red, their thin filaments inside appearing to float. By the time Chie's shift began, all the children had settled into sleep, and even the infant by the window—who usually struggled to fall asleep—was strangely calm that night. From time to time, a frail-sounding hoarse cry—as if from a newborn—would drift faintly from the neighboring room, only to abruptly cease again. That only served to deepen the silence in this room. The veteran caregiver was off duty that night, and her replacement was a somewhat stern-looking young woman. Of course, that night being their first meeting, even when Chie politely greeted her with “How do you do?”, she merely gave a single nod and briskly headed toward the child who had just then begun to fuss. Without so much as a glance at Chie, who had timidly trailed after her, she briskly changed the diaper herself, settled the child back down, and then planted herself in a chair by the wall to start reading a magazine. Since she was so unapproachable, Chie felt all the more uneasy and found herself wishing that even two or three children would start crying at once to distract her. As she went around peering at the infants sleeping soundly, she felt strangely resentful.

Eventually, a clock struck once somewhere far away. When I looked at my wristwatch, it was ten forty. Thinking that it was about time for that child to start sleepily waking up, I left my chair by the wall opposite the caregiver and quietly approached his cot. He had his eyes parted quite wide yet appeared to be sleeping soundly. His mouth hung half-open with drool flowing. I gently wiped it away with gauze. His bluish-swollen face appeared oddly translucent, giving an uncannily mature impression, though upon closer inspection it wasn’t an unpleasant countenance. I thought he must take after his father. I somehow had that impression. I had been watching his face for some time, but there were no signs of him waking up—he did not move a muscle. The space between his thinly opened eyelids resembled a blue abyss......

In such a manner, I did not know how much time had passed. Five minutes—no, probably not even ten minutes had passed, I thought. Suddenly, Chie sensed something white at the edge of her vision and turned toward it. It was the corridor window. From beyond that window, Elder Sister was staring fixedly in this direction. ...That this pale face belonged to Elder Sister was something Chie understood immediately. There had been no time for surprise or panic. In the darkness of the dim corridor, a white face floated distinctively. Had it not been Elder Sister's slightly haggard, sharpened features, Chie might have screamed in terror instead. Chie did not stir. She kept perfectly still. While staring back unflinchingly at Elder Sister's face, she maintained this composure—some part of her mind clinging to the awareness that "It's all right, I'm backlit..." Even so, I resolved not to move or alter my expression. Elder Sister stared with those large eyes that seemed to devour everything before them, yet showed no awareness of Chie; it became immediately apparent that her gaze was slightly misaligned. But when Chie finally noticed where that errant gaze was directed, she nearly cried out. The bluish-swollen boy had risen. Before anyone noticed, he had soundlessly stood up—as if drawn by the magnetism of Elder Sister's eyes—and while gripping the handrail, appeared to be staring fixedly in her direction......

………………………………………

A rustling of garments sounded nearby as someone’s presence closed in right behind me. When I startled and whirled around—it was that young caregiver again. "There she comes again." "Hmph! Gets under my skin," Caregiver H declared in a brusque voice roughened like sandpaper—flinging a scornful glance at my face before roughly scooping up the boy from behind and dumping him onto his cot. The child offered no resistance at all—merely began breathing shallowly like some deflated rubber doll—as he lay motionless where she'd dropped him.

When I suddenly noticed and looked toward the window, the face had already vanished. “You’re new to this?” “Well, that must’ve been a bit of a shock,” Caregiver H said in an unexpectedly familiar tone, darting another glance at my face—— “That’s a Special Ward patient—comes peeking like that every three days without fail.” “Is there...a child here connected by some bond?” “Stupid!” “All these brats are paupers’ whelps!”

The caregiver spat out her words, but in her eyes—which had darted another glance at Chie’s face—there lingered something like a pitying smile. And suddenly, “That one’s gone loony,” she tapped her temple with her index finger, “and there’s even talk of brain trouble.” Chie was left speechless. More than that, it felt as though she’d been struck on the crown of her head with something like a hammer—a heavy clang reverberating through her skull. Caregiver H, who had again darted a glance at Chie's expression, muttered "Poor thing!" in a tone as though pitying Chie—though what she might have misread—and then

“It’s no wonder you’re shocked—it being your first time—but I was really moved myself… But,” “she’s a bit creepy alright, but that one’s truly a pitiful soul.” “Want to hear about her?” “Through some strange twist of fate, I actually know that one pretty well.”

As the conversation took increasingly unexpected turns, Chie had completely frozen up, unable to answer "Yes" or "No," and simply stared at Caregiver H (this was that caregiver's name). Her lips were trembling involuntarily. My complexion must have been quite pale as well.

When she saw Chie’s terrified demeanor, Nurse H abruptly changed her attitude, transforming into a woman who seemed both meddlesome and chatty. That was her true nature. In other words, Nurse H was one of those simple women commonly found in the world—a half-and-half mixture of cruelty and kindness. Nurse H, having encountered this timid young girl who seemed ill-suited to her own demeanor, appeared secretly delighted at having found a good companion to shake off her drowsiness—a fact that became evident from how her small, single-lidded eyes, which had been so unfriendly until just moments ago, now sparkled with lively pride. When I think back, it was a strange night. Chie listened motionlessly, all ears. Nurse H would occasionally dart sidelong glances at Chie’s face, and upon confirming unmistakable terror there, would resume her tale with renewed assurance.

The wind seemed to have picked up, and the pine grove was rustling noisily. The temperature had dropped so suddenly that both Nurse H and Chie went to retrieve their shawls from the duty room and wrapped them around their necks.

The story that Nurse H told Chie that night was roughly as follows. Nurse H was the daughter of a large pharmacy located in the same neighborhood as Elder Sister’s Yushima house. Thus she had apparently known not only about Elder Sister but even about S’s brother and Juntaro for some time without particular effort, and seemed to be quite familiar with the S family’s circumstances. Whether Chie should feel grateful for this strange coincidence—she does not know……

………………………………………

When the area from southern Hongo to Kanda burned down, Nurse H had still been attending midwife school, and thus suffered disaster at her family's main residence in Yushima. This occurred when nighttime air raids had just begun—a time when people still clung to that casual sentiment of "Oh, it's nothing serious..." That day, having returned home later than usual from school, Nurse H took her first bath in ages. While quipping "Best get some sleep while I can," she'd burrowed into her second-floor futon—just drifting into drowsiness when it happened. She claims her younger sister sleeping beside her suddenly shook her awake roughly, and in that moment of startled awareness, a noise like two or three bicycles crashing from the sky kept resounding near their backyard. What followed was pure blind panic—she somehow kept footing on darkened ladder steps before bursting into the downstairs parlor to find every storm shutter mysteriously removed from the garden-facing windows, leaving it bright enough to mistake for dawn. Amidst this glare, she didn't immediately recognize even her own mother, grandmother and young maid among figures bustling about urgently. Then came her brother leaping in from the veranda shouting something fierce—a momentary awakening before panic reclaimed her. ..."To the university! "To the university! To the university!"—nothing but that booming voice filling her skull while flashes like scattered fireworks drowned every inch of vision.

When Nurse H finally noticed the sea of flames, she was standing on the streetcar line near the university hospital, gripping her mother’s hand tightly. A terrible noise roared for some time, and she distinctly remembers an impossibly large serpent of fire slithering past with a rushing hiss. Nurse H spent the night with her mother in the dense grounds of the university hospital. By nearly nine in the morning, Nurse H had first met her younger sister and the maid, then encountered her brothers and younger brother—so she says—but the discovery that her grandmother had burned to death in an air-raid shelter by the roadside didn’t come until nearly noon.……

For the time being, her mother and Nurse H were to go to her cousin’s house in Surugadai, while the remaining family members ended up taking shelter at a relative’s house in Komagome or somewhere like that. That cousin was a widow who lived right at the base of the famous N Hall’s cliff. She had been a longtime believer of that church, and through that connection had been given lodging within its grounds, serving a role akin to a housekeeper at the bishop’s residence. Along with the two or three furoshiki bundles and rucksack they had finally managed to carry out, when Nurse H and her mother moved into that lodging near evening, something unexpected and strange occurred at N Hall. Hundreds of burned corpses were transported one after another by trucks and handcarts into the main hall. Nurse H had apparently witnessed that gruesome scene herself. Not only that, but she even claimed to have helped carry in about ten of them. Apparently even she couldn’t bear it anymore—rushing home and burrowing into her futon—but…

As for why such a strange thing had occurred, the reason was simple when considered afterward. In other words, the police authorities had been overwhelmed by the sheer number of burned corpses they needed to handle. They couldn’t very well burn them on the spot without waiting for claimants to arrive. It seems they first accommodated them in schools that remained unburned within their jurisdiction, but when even those couldn’t hold all the corpses, they ended up bringing the excess to this large hall nearby—fortunately, it was close by. According to Nurse H’s description, the priest who handled these negotiations was apparently a portly man with a decisive air. Without even needing to confirm the intentions of the Bishop—who was then bedridden with a cold—the priest responded to the officials, “Very well, I shall take responsibility for this,” and immediately had the main hall’s front doors swung wide open, they say. To this, the officials were reportedly so taken aback they seemed almost dumbstruck.

From the early hours of the next morning, claimants came thronging in succession. The echoes of their choked sobs and wailing voices reverberating off the high domed ceiling—how those sounds occasionally leaked into the grounds remained inexpressibly eerie for the first two or three days, they said. “When crossing the grounds on some errand, she couldn’t help covering her ears”—Nurse H recounted this with a visible frown. But that was still preferable. After two or three days had passed, most of the corpses had been collected, but even then, twenty or thirty bodies still remained. They began to emit the stench of decay. Of course, every last window in the hall was tightly sealed with iron shutters. The main entrance too had been completely shut now that nearly all claimants had come, so there was little worry of that foul odor leaking outside; yet even so, for all its size, the sealed air in that main hall—being early spring after all—held a stifling, muggy lukewarmness. And those who knew of the circumstances said that even the moment they passed through the west gate—the farthest point from the main hall—an uncanny stench seemed to drift about in their nostrils.

Even the priest finally could no longer endure it and began vehemently negotiating with the police about removing the remaining corpses, but once that began, there was no quick resolution—days passed: the fourth, then the fifth, until finally on the sixth day, a single truck arrived and carried them off somewhere. However, they still couldn't load them all, leaving about five or six bodies remaining. But with evening fast approaching, it was decided that the rest couldn't be transported until the following morning.

That evening, for the first time, Nurse H had ventured into the main hall. How utterly horrific that scene had been—Nurse H recounted it in meticulous detail. When I later reflected on it, it seemed she had emphasized none other than that hellish tableau in her account. As she spoke of this, Nurse H's cheeks bore both the innocent fervor of one frightening children with ghost stories and that unmistakable look of grim satisfaction. But Chie tonight had neither interest nor need to relay these details to Mother—for after that vision of hell came tales many times over more hair-raising to the listener......

……………………………………… That evening, seeing that the sky had cleared and the hall remained quite bright, with unusually no sign of an air raid alert that day, H-san’s devout cousin proposed to the priest that they should first clean the sanctuary long defiled by bodily filth. “Since all will undoubtedly be taken away by tomorrow morning, the purification can wait until then, can it not?” the priest initially objected. “That may indeed be so, but given how air raids grow fiercer by the day, who knows what may begin anew tomorrow.” “No—far from it! First of all, even our own lives—who knows if we’ll see tomorrow?...” To these words from the devout housekeeper—both eminently reasonable and fervent—the priest could not help but agree in the end. Nurse H too was made to assist with the cleaning. Once this was decided, the priest—still wearing his air-raid gear with puttees—stripped off his footwear and took the lead himself in the purification service.

The number of volunteers was four. Another person—a church worker named Furushima—had volunteered to assist. This Mr. Furushima was apparently a young man from a fishing village near Kujukuri, but strangely enough, he was missing one arm—and what’s more, his right arm was missing entirely from the shoulder down. As for the cause of his disability, even Chie ultimately could not ascertain it, but it was said that it was not due to anything like the battlefield or air raids—rather, his arm had been amputated when he contracted some serious illness in childhood. Given his unfortunate upbringing—with little education since childhood—it was only natural that he found his way into the path of faith; yet Mr. Furushima also possessed an exceptional, God-given talent for painting. Though I do not know by what course his artistic talent and devout faith were recognized, he had been discovered by the priest and had resided at N Hall as a church worker for quite some time. This was because the priest, unusually for a clergyman, possessed skill in Western painting (primarily landscapes rather than religious art, I should note—) that surpassed amateur proficiency. Chie had recently had the opportunity to discreetly view the priest’s paintings as well, and particularly when shown Mr. Furushima’s unfinished work, she found herself seized by an inexpressible emotion. But let us set aside the matter of the paintings for now.……

The young man called Mr. Furushima grew increasingly mysterious the more one observed him. He painted splendidly with his left hand. Not only that, but I had seen even brief memos he wrote—his penmanship was remarkably neat, so proper in its character usage that one would hardly think it written by someone who hadn’t even completed elementary school. Moreover, with that left hand, he gripped cleaning buckets and scrubbed cooking pots. I had never actually exchanged words with this person but had encountered him twice within N Hall’s grounds—albeit from a distance. One such occasion found him doing laundry at a wellside equipped with a water pump—the dexterity of his one-handed movements felt so uncanny that watching him gave me an eerily strange sensation. Emaciated and rather short in stature, he sported sunken cheeks and a chin beard shaped oddly like a spoon. This made him appear aged despite being a young man—though they said he was twenty-seven. He had sharp eyes that seemed to pierce like arrows. Yet those eyes had met mine just once—but in the very next moment when I startled, they were already reverently cast downward. I had also occasionally heard his voice through a door—a calm, gentle tone where each word lingered faintly, yet beneath it lay an unshakably resolute spirit.

……Well, putting that aside, with the hands of the four people—Caregiver H now among them—the purification of the sanctuary proceeded smoothly. The bluish-black discolored burned corpses were gathered into a corner of the left-hand outer sanctuary and covered with fresh straw mats from above. The iron shutters on the windows of both left and right outer sanctuaries were thrown open, and the spring evening wind gradually thinned the foul odor. All that remained was to wash the concrete floor—estimated to span well over three hundred square meters—but this proved no small undertaking. It was said that the floor had become such a state, with not a single spot to step, due to the bloody grease that had seeped out before one knew it from corpses piled high enough to form mounds. Moreover, it would not come off with just a little water and scrubbing, so the four of them—each holding a scrub brush—reportedly exchanged glances and let out deep sighs. The iconostasis, with its golden walls depicting various saints, was of course shut tight. However, they say that the setting sun at that moment streamed through the west-facing rose window, its light flooding the inner sanctuary to reflect off the high domed ceiling, filling the hall with a brightness as if from a dream. In that light, the glaring color of the bloody grease—which remained visible no matter how they scrubbed and scoured—seemed impossible to forget in a lifetime. Even Caregiver H closed her eyes reverently mid-sentence as she spoke of it.

It was around the time when the sunset's colors had grown quite dark, they said. Suddenly, a piercingly shrill human voice rang out, resounding extravagantly across the domed ceiling. When Nurse H startled and looked around, she saw the small-statured Mr. Furushima—who had been desperately scrubbing near the left-hand outer sanctuary where corpses had been moved aside—now struggling with some unfamiliar figure as if engaged in hand-to-hand combat. That strange voice, it seemed, was a scream Mr. Furushima had desperately let out while struggling. The remaining three involuntarily discarded their scrub brushes and ran up to the sudden intruder. That was a rather tall woman wearing purple monpe trousers. Without wearing an air-raid hood, her hair disheveled, her face a translucent pallor—the woman suddenly whirled around to face the three of them. That... was Elder Sister.

“Ah—Mrs. S!” Caregiver H inadvertently cried out. This was because she had been well acquainted with Elder Sister’s face from the same Yushima neighborhood. Not only that, but just two or three days before the disaster, when Caregiver H happened to be alone on evening shop duty, Elder Sister had apparently appeared with a pale face full of worry to purchase children’s fig enemas. This was during the time when pharmacies across Tokyo had grown scarce of all supplies, and of course fig enemas were no exception—yet though she would normally have curtly dismissed requests with an “I’m terribly sorry,” Caregiver H found herself so compelled by Elder Sister’s earnest expression that she generously parted with half a dozen from her own stock. That incident having occurred, her eyes became all the more keenly observant.

At Caregiver H’s cry, Elder Sister fixedly stared at her face—but her gaze was utterly hollow, devoid of any emotion or discernment, like that of someone completely dazed, it was said. Elder Sister, who had been staring at Caregiver H’s face with those eyes for some time, let a faint, eerie smile drift across her pale face, released the one-armed Mr. Furushima’s arm—which she had been gripping tightly until that moment—and soundlessly slipped out toward the exit. The three who had rushed over stood dumbfounded as they watched her retreat. When Caregiver H suddenly noticed, Mr. Furushima had already retrieved his scrub brush—yet instead of resuming his work, he stood vacantly staring at one of the corpses before him.…

According to what Mr. Furushima later disclosed to the priest, that evening had not been the first time he had seen Elder Sister’s figure within that hall. Though he could not clearly recall how many times it had been, the figure of that woman—with her sharp eyes, slender and tall stature, and pallor so extreme her color seemed drained—had indeed been seen three or four times among those coming to claim corpses. Of course, all those who came to N Hall searching for the corpses of relatives—if they were women—must have uniformly had bloodshot eyes and pale faces. But that Elder Sister’s face and eyes alone had burned so clearly into Mr. Furushima’s memory among all those others must surely have had a corresponding reason from the start. Why on earth was that? "It was 'her eyes,' Mr. Furushima had declared unequivocally," Caregiver H related. When Chie heard this, she involuntarily—vividly—recalled Elder Sister’s piercing gaze peering into the room from the corridor window about an hour prior. Yes, there is no mistaking that person’s gaze. Anyone who has witnessed that indescribable gaze even once should never mistake its owner thereafter.

Even so, after all, who had Elder Sister been searching for? Caregiver H said her grandmother had burned to death inside a roadside air-raid shelter. From such associations, I tentatively considered whether perhaps the whereabouts of Mrs. S’s mother had become unknown. Of course, I had been aware from the very beginning that this line of thinking was likely nothing more than a fleeting comfort. That the one who had gone missing was none other than Juntaro—who would have been six years old at the time—is something I can no longer doubt for various reasons now.

As for Mrs. S’s mother—shouldn’t she have been residing all along at the villa in Gotenba, rather than having evacuated? In truth, I had thought that Elder Sister too must have long vacated the main residence in Yushima and—though not staying with Mrs. S’s mother with whom she had fallen out—evacuated to some villa in Karuizawa or Goshiki, one of those mountain cabin-like retreats, forcing myself to believe so. But this was nothing more than fleeting wishful thinking. In fact, wasn’t it precisely around that time that Elder Sister appeared at Nurse H’s shop to purchase fig enemas? And wasn’t it precisely that she had wandered even into N Cathedral more than once after likely exhausting her search through various corpse collection centers? Juntaro must certainly have been ill with some disease. Elder Sister must have become separated from Juntaro—who was ill—in that chaos. Juntaro may have burned to death somewhere while still being carried by some young incompetent maid or other.

This is an ominous conjecture. I am fully aware of that. But I have indeed seen Elder Sister’s solitary figure with my own eyes, have indeed witnessed that terrifying gaze firsthand, and have also heard Caregiver H’s account. This is no longer conjecture. Even so, Mother, do you still force yourself to put on that cheerful voice? I would resent you from the bottom of my heart if you were such a mother. According to Mr. Furushima’s account, that evening as he diligently wielded a scrub brush with his awkward single arm, he suddenly sensed someone stirring in the shadows of the outer sanctuary and jolted in alarm. Could it be that a corpse had come back to life?—he even momentarily felt such an illusion, it seems. That was the woman. Elder Sister had apparently sneaked in unnoticed at some point and, bending down, peered into each of the remaining several bluish-black corpses one by one. As Mr. Furushima stood dumbfounded watching her, Elder Sister—who had been crawling toward his feet—suddenly seized his forearm with one hand, placed her other hand under the chin of the short-statured man, and began thrusting upward with terrifying force while crying, “Ah, my boy—it was you, wasn’t it? Truly, it was you... “I’m your mother...” she managed to say before trailing off, then silently burst into tears—or so the story goes. Mr. Furushima was of course in a frenzied panic. That calm, unflappable young man had screamed in utter desperation. Even so, it seems Mr. Furushima—though startled and flustered—had just enough composure to briefly meet the woman’s eyes staring intently down at him from above. Regarding the impression of those eyes, Mr. Furushima told the priest, as I noted earlier: “They were that person’s eyes—indeed, they were that person’s eyes...” Who this “that person” referred to was something I did not understand when I first heard Caregiver H’s account. Even Caregiver H herself probably had not understood. But later on...

No, Chie’s head had somehow become all tangled up. I will open the window... I will open it...

………………………………………

Night air flowed in. It was a pale, frost-like night air. The northern sky was piercingly clear, and before I knew it, those Seven Stars you so love, Mother, now hung near mid-heaven. Midnight must have long since passed. Not a sound stirred. Chie’s head felt the deeply seeping night air as rather cool. For a while, Chie stared vacantly at the blackened remains of a charred factory visible through the forest shadows.

My head has cooled down considerably. Though its core still burns with this strange, muddled heat, I must persevere just a little longer. Unless I finish writing this letter to its conclusion and seal it properly, I doubt I'll find sleep tonight. Only a small portion remains now. Mother - please endure this a while longer......

How much have I written now, I wonder? Ah, right—it was with the phrase "that person" that Chie had fixated. According to Nurse H’s account, Elder Sister’s figure continued to be occasionally sighted within N Cathedral’s grounds thereafter. The remaining corpses had all been carried away as promised by the following morning, and after the cathedral’s purification rites were completed, the front iron door was firmly shut once more under intensifying air raids. Thus Elder Sister never again gained opportunity to enter the hall and search for her child’s corpse. By that time, with passersby already scarce and empty-dug air-raid shelters scattered among the plantings, she could only wander aimlessly through the desolate cathedral grounds. Even during those times—had she merely paced for ten or twenty minutes it might have been tolerable—but there were instances when she wandered nearly an hour, or so it was said. That her search’s object had shifted from her child’s mangled corpse to Furushima-san’s living form was something those who observed her behavior from afar reportedly asserted in unison. Of course Furushima-san had become thoroughly terrified; should he glimpse her purple monpe figure, he would turn pale and flee to his room. Even so, there were apparently once or twice when she nearly caught him during their encounters.

“Isn’t there something off about her…? Even such rumors came to be whispered among the cathedral staff in hushed voices. Though if you ask us”—she lightly tapped her own forehead with a fingertip—“we’d say that Mrs.S here’s just gone a bit strange in this department, if you catch my meaning.……” Having finally concluded her lengthy discourse, Nurse H formed a cold smile and once again uttered the name of that abominable illness.

...The wind rose and roared through the Pine Grove before subsiding. A single airplane entered from the sea at a leisurely pace, then receded toward the city center. Chie distinctly remembers how these sounds deepened her awareness of the night's progression. Having concluded her account, Caregiver H observed Chie's face with a triumphant gaze, scrutinizing her intently. The color must indeed have drained from Chie's lips. Yet within her chest churned something reckless—a defiance whispering, "Look your fill if you must!"—paired with peculiar composure. While nursing resentment, I felt like sticking out my tongue behind someone's back. True enough, a venomous brew of disgrace and humiliation swirled in Chie's stomach, yet the pleasure of knowing Caregiver H hadn't detected even a wisp of it proved undeniable. "Yes, I'm exactly as you see—a timid little thing." Feigning meekness through downcast eyes, Chie granted Caregiver H full triumph. This became my paltry offering of gratitude.

There was still some time remaining until the shift change. Gradually, Chie regained enough composure to speak and managed to ask about two or three points that didn't quite make sense. "So does that Madam still come peering into places like the maternity ward because she can't let go of her missing boy?..."

“To put it briefly, well, it’s something like that,” “But when it comes to whether she actually believes she can encounter a living child—that part seems rather doubtful.” “Even now, when peering through the corridor window like that, her gaze—it isn’t that of someone restlessly searching for something, but rather seems intently fixed on a single point, yet somehow remains strangely aimless—in short, it’s the gaze of someone wandering between dream and reality.” “That’s precisely why it feels even more terrifying, you know?…… I once asked Nurse F about it, and she said that despite all that, Madam is actually quite docile.” “If you don’t provoke her and just leave her be, she’s actually easier to handle than an ordinary person—that’s what Nurse F said.” “It’s rare for someone with schizophrenia to be that calm—the doctors say so too.” “According to Nurse F, even when she comes peering through windows like that, it’s not something she sets out to do from the start. During her nightly walks, if the maternity ward’s lights happen to catch her eye, she drifts over as if drawn by something and ends up pushing open the garden’s glass door herself.” “Since Madam shows signs of insomnia, they make it a routine to take her out for about an hour’s walk in the garden every night at nine o’clock sharp.” “At first, she would walk slowly, ever so slowly through the pine grove.” “Then she would go out to the riverbank and, whether it was a moonless or moonlit night, sit on that bench there and stare fixedly at the river’s surface.” “Occasionally, motorboats would ascend the estuary, towing barges piled high with black cargo while their engines throbbed, or conversely be drawn into the bay's darkness from the river mouth—yet Madam showed no sign of whether those black shadows entered her vision or those engine noises reached her ears.” “Without moving a muscle, she stared fixedly at the river’s surface.” “Occasionally she would look up at the sky and watch some fixed star intently for a rather long time.” “Then she would suddenly stand up and promptly head back toward the main building on her own.” “And when Madam reached the round lawn where the former director’s bust stood, whether her feet turned right or left determined whether that night’s walk grew longer or shorter.” “If she turned left, it led straight to the main building’s back entrance, after which she would climb wordlessly up to the third-floor ward, collapse onto her bed as though utterly spent, and fall fast asleep without even properly changing her clothes.” “When she turned right, the lights of the maternity ward usually came into view first.” “There, she gently pushed open the garden’s glass door with her own hand.” “That door was a shortcut leading to the main building’s medical office, so they had a policy of not locking it even at night.” “She walked soundlessly down the corridor, first pausing at Room 1’s window, then at Room 2’s window.”

“For about two or three minutes, Nurse F silently stepped back a few paces and watched.” “Before long, Madam took the lead again and promptly headed back toward the glass door.” “And she stopped on the stone steps leading down to the lawn and let out a long, deep sigh.” “…And after that, she apparently falls asleep very peacefully.” “So that Madam doesn’t specifically target that creepy child when she comes here? Earlier, right in the middle of her peering in, that child suddenly sat up, which made it all the more startling.” “…I wondered if there might be some resemblance between that missing child and this one—in their eyebrows or the shape of their mouths, perhaps……”

And Chie casually invoked Nurse H’s own words. The truth was, I could only recall Juntaro’s face as a young child—a memory that had now grown quite faint—and while there seemed to be a flicker of resemblance in that child’s features at times, upon closer consideration none existed at all. This ambiguity fed a growing sense of dread that felt unbearable. I had no doubt that Nurse H had occasionally seen Juntaro-san until relatively recently.

“That’s not even slightly similar!” Caregiver H retorted without hesitation. “That boy had bright, round eyes and rosy cheeks—nothing like that bloated, flabby thing!”

From her tone, I inferred that even considering that child and Juntaro-san on equal terms struck Caregiver H as utterly inconceivable. To Chie, this was naturally satisfying, yet at the same time, Caregiver H's good-natured fervor struck her as somehow faintly absurd. When Chie kept silent with bowed head, Caregiver H soon began speaking rapidly in a tone suggesting her indignation still hadn’t subsided.

“That bloated child rising up earlier? Pure coincidence, I tell you! Just happened to hit that drowsy hour when they stir. We’ve had three or four such matches before, but that Madam’s eyes—why, she wasn’t even looking at the child! More like... hanging empty in midair—aimless yet somehow aching, that stare of hers. Put another way—well—not just the tykes in this room or next... Like she’s gazing clean through at every child ever born! Once I stood right inside the window myself, peered close into her peepers—didn’t so much as flicker at me being there! Don’t you think?” Here Caregiver H paused, darting a glance at Chie’s face to gauge her reaction before plunging on—

“Don’t you think? And even at that N Hall—she still appears now and then like she’s just remembered it!”

Chie involuntarily jolted. Her face had undoubtedly paled. Chie involuntarily lowered her gaze, but when she timidly raised her eyes again, Caregiver H was already wearing an expression that seemed completely altered, humming some popular song or other under her breath. And then the shift change arrived, and we withdrew to separate rooms.…

………………………………………

Upon being told that Elder Sister still showed herself at N Hall, I myself could not comprehend why I had been so startled. A chill simply ran down my spine for no particular reason, causing every hair on my body to stand on end with a sudden shudder. There was something undeniably abnormal about that place. There could be no doubt I had been quite out of sorts.

That night, I found it impossible to fall asleep. Strangely, only the sound of the wind reached my ears. Even so, I must have eventually drifted off, for I found myself caught in an intricate dream. At first, it seemed I was wandering aimlessly through the hospital garden. It was a terrifyingly bright moonlit night, with Chie utterly alone. The lawn lay white as a sandy shore while distant pines cast ink-black shadows. Within those dark woods, pale patches scattered here and there—each resolving into Elder Sister’s form when examined closely. Which was the real Elder Sister?... The moment this doubt took root, the dream began whirling at dizzying speed, vivid scenes unfurling without end. All that remains clear is walking across the vanished lawn of our Ōiso villa—moonlit again perhaps—arguing fiercely with Elder Sister’s vividly present face; everything else has been cleanly forgotten.

Well, let us cease this tedious talk of dreams.

The next morning—though when I say morning, it was nearly noon when I woke—I found myself unable to stop worrying about N Cathedral rather than those dreams. Until then, I had only ever viewed N Cathedral from a distance through its great dome and had never once set foot beyond its gates; but now I grew increasingly convinced that some formidable mystery lay concealed within that sanctuary until restlessness became unbearable. However unlike my duties in the main building, maternity ward tasks kept me constantly rotating between nursery delivery rooms and birthing suites leaving scarce opportunity for outings. Even so I finally slipped out under errand pretext and visited that cathedral breathlessly. Perhaps because afternoon had come main hall doors stood closed yet seeing scattered student figures within grounds I wandered pretending stroll from main hall to small chapel areas then hermitage near back gate. It was then I first glimpsed that youth called Furushima. Bucket dangling from one hand he abruptly appeared beside hermitage. He matched perfectly Caregiver H’s prior description. The instant recognition struck our eyes met. Those eyes were exactly as I’d previously described. His unshaven gaunt face bore surprisingly good color faint smile playing about lips. When my startled gaze—must have held something uncanny—met his Furushima’s eyes flashed ominously before demurely lowering as we passed.

It was a strangely searing impression. Why had Elder Sister clung to such a peculiar person?... Chie pondered this in the crowded train on her way back. And yet she had even blurted out things like，"My boy! It’s my boy!" And yet she had peered intently into those glinting eyes of his. Had it been nothing more than a fleeting hallucination? ……And yet，whenever she pictured the scene—Elder Sister gripping that emaciated，diminutive Mr．Furushima and peering intently down at him—she found herself overwhelmed by a peculiar poignancy，mingled with an irrepressible urge to laugh. Chie gradually began to feel as if even her own mind was becoming unhinged.

Two or three days later, Chie went to N Cathedral again. Then once more, and again... In the returning train she would resolve never to stamp her feet like this anymore, but after a while that same mystery would gradually swell up inside her until inevitably—helplessly drawn—she would wander back. There were times when she encountered Mr. Furushima and times when she did not. The main hall’s doors were always tightly shut, as if deliberately. No—there had been one occasion when the doors stood wide open, but that day appeared to hold some sort of funeral, with foreign men and women in formal black attire hurriedly coming and going. Those foreigners were people whose very finery made their poverty oddly conspicuous. Chie stood in the shade of a tree for some time watching with mild curiosity, but Mr. Furushima’s figure never appeared.……

As she continued in this manner，the hospital training period came to an end，and Chie once again came to reside at Dr.G’s home. After that，I kept missing Caregiver H at St.Agnes Hospital，and in the end never managed to meet her…….

Yes, Mother—had we truly never met at all, I cannot help but wonder how much better it might have been. Had that been so, Chie would have naturally grown distant from Elder Sister's whereabouts, and fate's tides might have kept them apart forever. Chie had indeed been secretly wishing for this. Yet in the end, yesterday came.

Yesterday saw drenching rain from morning onward. To compound matters，an unseasonably tepid wind blew，leaving windowpanes thoroughly fogged. Around noon，Dr.G seemed struck by sudden urgency—handing Chie a thick sealed letter，he ordered her straightaway to fetch a reply from the director of a surgical hospital in Kanda O-chō. Rain-induced phone outages prevented advance confirmation，but assuming his likely presence，she went regardless—only to find him unfortunately absent，having departed late that morning for a patient’s summons in Saitama Prefecture，with return expected no sooner than five o’clock. With hospital communications still down，Chie seriously considered retreating，but calculating three hours’ round trip against potential early return，she resigned herself to waiting in a corner of the narrow tatami-matted waiting room. Surgical waiting rooms make dismal company. While mercifully free of contagion risks，the grime-caked entertainment magazines—pages dog-eared—repelled before touch. Chie regretted not bringing a paperback，though self-reproach proved futile now. Huddling at the bench’s farthest edge，she feigned sleep—yet oddly crowded patients and their clamorous comings-and-goings denied respite. Soon enough，two or three patients with bandages oozing dark blood forced unwilling notice. Perhaps twenty minutes passed thus? Then H-san called out to her.

It was a strange coincidence. No—it might be better termed misfortune. Caregiver H had taken leave two or three days prior due to a minor case of tetanus and was attending that hospital, or so it was said. She had apparently just had her bandages changed, and indeed, three fingers on her left hand were bound together with fresh bandages.

Caregiver H too seemed surprised by this coincidence. As we talked awhile and she realized Chie had time to spare, she earnestly began proposing to show her around N Cathedral then and there. N Cathedral was indeed right nearby. "And there's something I particularly want to show you," Caregiver H said. Those words "to you" struck Chie's ears like thunderclaps......

"Why? Why me?" Chie braced herself to retort reflexively but stopped mid-thought. That was an overreaction born of Chie's fragile constitution. H-san was fundamentally decent at heart. She merely meant to scare Chie with another ghost story to alleviate her own boredom. Truth be told, Chie might have actually felt relieved at finding such a convenient guide.

When we went outside, it had become quite a driving rain. It only grew more intense by the moment, and by the time we reached the broad paved road ascending from O-chō’s intersection toward N Cathedral, it was impossible to hold an umbrella steady. The wind direction seemed to have shifted as well—I could see leaden clouds dark as ink swarming upward toward the northern sky. Against this backdrop, N Cathedral’s dome loomed blackly ahead, appearing to sway faintly. Chie recalled Caregiver H’s earlier words. "What did she mean by ‘something to show me’?……This time unlike before, it was that oddly vague phrasing that unsettled me." "Oh well—it’s just Caregiver H after all." "Probably some bloodstain clinging to a pillar’s shadow that she wants to proudly display." "Very well—today I’ll maintain perfect composure…" Such strange thoughts crossed Chie’s mind. Yet within her chest, anxiety continued its steady growth.

Before long, Caregiver H turned into an unfamiliar side street. Then immediately there was the cathedral’s back gate. Despite having wandered the cathedral grounds several times before, Chie had until now remained unaware of this back gate’s existence. When we passed between the white gateposts, we found ourselves in an area that felt like a small valley. On both sides stood residential-style two-story houses, while directly ahead lay broad stone steps rising steeply. Atop those steps loomed N Cathedral’s gray bulk – massive and ponderous. The great dome no longer entered her view; only the chilling gray wall of its torso towered oppressively. The valley seemed to funnel wind – rain-beaten oak leaves and other large dead foliage lay plastered against paving stones where Chie nearly slipped multiple times (you remember those old rubber lace-up boots she wore, Mother – ), until as they began ascending what appeared to be stone steps, both women involuntarily cried out. For they were not stone steps but a waterfall.

It was a strange sight. The water had spread across the entire width of the stone steps—some four or five ken—and was flowing silently, slowly downward. Each time the wind blew down from both sides of the main hall into this valley, creating beautiful ripples that splashed across each step, yet despite this, the water was not blown to one side. It continued flowing down slowly, step by step. The water formed a sizable puddle right at the base of the steps, then split left and right to flow over the ground—there already gaining such force that one could call it a torrent. Even Caregiver H seemed to be encountering such a spectacle for the first time, standing frozen in astonishment for a while, but before long she made some joking remark and began to ascend the stone steps, splashing through the puddles. Chie followed suit.

Of course, the force of the water was not enough to sweep one’s feet away. It was simply slightly unsettling. The water flowed down ceaselessly. If I said it felt like treading on the hem of a burial shroud hanging from the main hall’s edge, would you laugh at me, Mother? But Chie was in no mood for jokes. For some reason, my chest was pounding like a rapid bell. Though that may have also been due in part to my efforts to keep the umbrella from being snatched away by the wind that blew down almost ceaselessly from the direction of the main hall.

Still, after climbing about ten steps and pausing there briefly—then ascending further until a sideways gust snatched away our umbrellas—Chie’s head became exposed. It was then I noticed two women in dark rain gear descending from above. "Oh! There are people up there!" I thought—but never could I have imagined they might be Elder Sister and Nurse F; such a possibility didn’t even cross my mind in that instant. Since they too were descending slowly and cautiously with measured steps，it took considerable time before our paths crossed. When only two or three steps separated us，and I glimpsed their raincoats’ black hems，Chie’s umbrella jerked sharply sideways—forcing her against all intention to look up at Elder Sister’s face from below. In that instant，their eyes seemed to collide. A chill ran through her，and she hastily looked away—but by then，the umbrella had already righted itself，concealing Elder Sister’s upper body. Chie remembered how her feet had hesitated，remaining motionless for two or three seconds. Within those seconds，an eternity seemed to flow past. Perhaps it had truly been far longer. Eventually，the two women descended slowly past her side. Both held closed umbrellas，with Nurse F lightly supporting Elder Sister’s back.

When Chie came to her senses, Caregiver H stood five or six steps above, looking down at her with laughter—one eye closed in a face that seemed ready to stick out its tongue. “See? Just like I told you,” her expression declared. Chie feigned composure as she caught up, and thus her chance to cry “Elder Sister!” slipped away forever. Soon after, Caregiver H and Chie entered the main hall through a small crawl door beside where they’d climbed the stone steps. Though the latch lacked a lock and opened easily when pulled, Caregiver H tilted her head slightly in puzzlement……

………………………………………

Mother, I had now entered that main hall I had long yearned to see—but none of the grand things I had steeled myself to confront were there at all. I had felt that something like a key to unlocking Elder Sister’s secrets was hidden there, and this phantom key had gradually swelled in my mind until it became utterly unmanageable for a time. Yet when I finally saw it with my own eyes, there were no secrets, no mysteries, no keys—nothing of the sort had existed from the very beginning. The hall stood chillingly cold in the pale afternoon light. The storm’s fury had vanished as if forgotten, leaving only a silence that chilled the air. Amidst that silence, I thought I caught the scent of incense drifting from somewhere. Of course, this might have been merely my imagination. Not a trace remained of the bloody stench I had anticipated—none whatsoever. The vast concrete floor had been meticulously cleaned, with not a bloodstain to speak of—no footprints, not even a single speck of dust remained. There were only scattered small water drip marks a short distance from where we had first peered in, trailing all the way to the outer sanctuary area on the right. They looked like traces left by someone carrying a leaking bucket.

The inner sanctuary was blocked by a golden sacred screen that prevented any view inside, yet I sensed a faint light somehow trapped within. This made the ceiling area above the inner sanctuary appear faintly veiled in a rosy haze. That was the only place bearing any semblance of warmth; the rest lay exposed under a hollow expanse of diffused light. Even the saints' statues lining the golden screen projected an unnervingly gaudy, chillingly artificial impression under this illumination.

“Look, that area over there is where the corpses remained until the very end,” said Caregiver H, pointing to a corner of the outer sanctuary. That was where those watery traces from the bucket were leading. There were merely five or six simple wooden benches stacked up, and of course, nothing noteworthy caught the eye. That’s right—it was something that had been clear from the very beginning. It was simply that Chie had been foolish.

“If Furushima were here, we could have been shown the inner sanctuary,” said Caregiver H in a slightly apologetic tone— “Unfortunately, it seems he’s gone out somewhere today. He’d usually be studying in that room around this time… The inner sanctuary has all sorts of splendid treasures, you know…” Now that she mentioned it—when we had entered the dark corridor through the side door earlier—Caregiver H had lightly knocked on the door of a small storage-like room near the entrance and peered inside after receiving no response. This apparently had been her looking for that young man. So it turned out that what Caregiver H had meant earlier by “something I want to show you” was those treasures. Oh! Chie realized, nearly bursting into laughter. In the end, Caregiver H was indeed Caregiver H—and Chie couldn’t help but find her own needless anxiety rather absurd.

If the inner sanctuary wouldn't open, there was nothing to do but turn back. When we tried to exit through the dark corridor again, Caregiver H tried opening the door to that small room once more. Chie too peered in from behind H-san out of sudden curiosity. The inside remained empty. "He must have gone out—his good jacket isn't here," muttered Caregiver H as she began to withdraw her head, but noticing Chie peering in from behind, she promptly changed her tone and

“Why don’t we pop in for a sec? There’s loads of paintings that are so him here. This storage room’s his studio, you know.”

Chie nodded. She felt compelled to see what sort of paintings that peculiar one-armed young man might create. The room was not particularly spacious, half of it stacked with chairs and tables. A single small window stood open, beneath which sat a shabby unpainted desk pressed against the wall. Before it stood a lone chair, its back carelessly draped with an oil-stained blouse that even Chie recognized. Near the entrance lay a pair of straw sandals—stained with grime yet polished to a dark sheen—neatly aligned. These alone constituted his personal effects; the remaining floor space was so densely packed with easels and canvases that one could scarcely find footing.

“According to what Mr. Okada and others say, these apparently have considerable merit... but I haven’t the foggiest notion what they’re talking about......”

Leaving Caregiver H muttering such things to herself, Chie unwittingly came to stand in the middle of the room, her aimless gaze wandering over paintings that leaned against each other or lay half-concealed. There were paintings that appeared to be unfinished self-portraits. There was a portrait of a white-bearded old man. There were almost no landscape paintings—most dealt with figures or street scenes—but when her eye was suddenly caught by a rather large painting peeking out halfway from beneath them, and she gently pushed aside the canvases obscuring it, Chie found her attention unexpectedly riveted to its surface.

That was likely what they call a Number [size] painting—a horizontal composition measuring about four shaku by three shaku (approximately 1.2m x 0.9m). In the foreground lay the emaciated nude figure of a man, stretched across the entire canvas. Directly behind him at the center sat a woman in black robes, gazing toward some intermediate realm. Behind her flowed a pale band—whether glacier or stone wall—while the background showed a distant fir forest in deep green. What drew Chie's attention most was the woman's eyes. Though they initially seemed focused on that intermediate state, closer inspection revealed them nearly closed in sleep. The gaze faintly escaping through her overlapping eyelids appeared fixed upon the bearded face of the naked man below. With chin thrust forward and pale face tilted back, it bore unmistakable profound sorrow. Though unversed in art, Chie immediately recognized this as a painting titled Sorrowful Madonna. Staring at the Madonna's haggard face, she began sensing a resemblance to Elder Sister's expression during that time—perhaps when peering through the nursery window that evening, or during their recent encounter in the stone waterfall's cascade. Or maybe when glimpsing Sister's face reflected in Furushima's eyes during that sudden embrace in the cathedral's dim corner. It felt like all these moments yet none at all.

“It’s not a very pleasant painting. That’s just like Furushima, isn’t it…” said Caregiver H, who had somehow come to stand behind Chie, in her characteristic hoarse, grating voice.

Chie unwittingly snapped out of her dreamlike state and hurriedly tried to step away from the painting. After taking two or three steps, she suddenly turned to look back again. At that moment, what caught her eye was the bearded face of that naked man by chance, and she felt as though it had faintly formed a thin smile. Of course, this was undoubtedly a delusion of Chie’s mind. But that faintly smiling face resembled none other than Furushima’s own smile—this much was certainly no delusion of Chie’s mind.……

Caregiver H carefully returned the painting that Chie had earlier pushed aside to its original place, then came out after Chie and closed the door. Chie couldn’t shake the feeling that her chest was heaving like great waves, but Caregiver H showed no sign of noticing as she stepped outside through the side door,

“I’m sorry—couldn’t show you anything particularly interesting…” she briskly bid farewell to Chie.

Chie dashed out toward the main gate through the still-pouring rain without an umbrella, as though fleeing from Caregiver H. As she dashed past the front of the main hall, Chie distinctly heard a terrifying sound roaring violently within—as if flames were swirling throughout every corner of the building. It was a sound like fire itself churning through the hall. Though mortifying, after that moment I became utterly consumed by frenzy. I have no recollection whatsoever of how I reached the surgical clinic in O Town. When I came to my senses, something like nausea was churning within me. Finally unable to endure it, I went to the restroom—but found nothing left to vomit. It seems this had been mere dizziness all along...

……………………………………

Mother—

Chie has no further reports to make. You may perhaps reprimand me, thinking, "She has ultimately understood nothing at all." That too is unavoidable. For in truth, even this Chie herself has no understanding whatsoever. In any case, this is all that Chie was able to uncover regarding Elder Sister's circumstances that you sought to know.

With this I humbly beg to be excused from further involvement in Elder Sister's affairs. As long as Elder Sister remains alive in her current state, this duty of seeking her whereabouts cannot be considered fulfilled. Chie well understands that much. But further investigation lies beyond Chie's strength. And having read this letter Mother will likely never impose such duty upon Chie again—this Chie firmly believes.

That was none other than the dead Elder Sister. Chie now declared this clearly at last. Elder Sister had perished in those purgatorial flames. Please, Mother—believe this as well!

Though I met Elder Sister countless times, will you reproach me for never once calling out "Elder Sister!" in my cold-heartedness? "That's exactly why people say you're so unfeeling!" Mother's voice seems to echo from the depths of my ears. If that be your reproach, then Chie shall gratefully receive it without reservation. After all, Chie is an unfeeling woman who does nothing but calculate on reality's abacus. This you've told me endlessly since childhood, Mother, and I'm certain it shall remain so my whole life. Yes indeed—Chie must live. So long as I must keep living, I cannot afford entanglement with the world of the dead. This much Chie can declare unequivocally.……

But there are indeed times when I truly feel sorry for Elder Sister. There are times when I feel compelled to pray for Elder Sister in some way. But when I distill this feeling of prayer to its essence, it ultimately resolves to this: I must not inflict upon Elder Sister the suffering of worldly bonds any longer— To put it more beautifully—it might also be said that it is a feeling of not wanting to harm Elder Sister’s happiness.

Mother—is this a hypocritical thing to say? But Chie—if it's hypocrisy, then let it be hypocrisy. To that hypocrisy, Chie has at last come to realize how we humans tend unwittingly to sink into evils more terrible still. To name clearly before you what that evil is—however much Chie might wish otherwise—remains an excruciating matter. Well, let us abandon such talk. I sense the air growing thin—dawn must be approaching. Today there is surgery for a uterine cancer patient at ten in the morning. As Chie must assist Dr.G, she needs to snatch an hour or two of sleep before daybreak.

I pray you remain in good health. With this, Chie will conclude.

And yet, Mother—if our attitude toward the S family had not been so excessively lenient back then, we might have lived harmoniously again with our mad Elder Sister!…