Pathway to Japanese Literature

Mother—

At long last, I take up the pen to write this report I have long hesitated over. In truth, the general outline of what must be reported regarding Elder Sister’s circumstances had already taken shape in my mind approximately one month ago. Yet I stated, "I don’t know, I don’t know," in my recent letter and reiterated the same in my brief letter just one week ago. All of that was a lie. No—it was less a lie than something akin to hope. In other words, I had been clinging to the hope that Mother might someday forget all this. Yet judging by the state of the letter I received the day before yesterday—which seemed to have gone astray somewhere en route, taking over ten days to arrive—it became abundantly clear to me that far from forgetting, the more I delayed this report even briefly, the more I only intensified your anxiety. For three nights in a row now, you were visited by ominous dreams. Though your letter did not specify what these dreams entailed, their general nature was not beyond surmise from the context of your words. Faced with a Mother who was even visited by such nightmares, I could no longer cling to vain hopes. Moreover, now that I—Chie—had with my own eyes witnessed such a thing yesterday, the very day after receiving that letter from Mother, as if by prior arrangement, I felt there was nothing left but to relate everything exactly as it was and entrust all else to the hands of profound providence.

…………………………………………… But with Chie's clumsy pen, there exists no confidence whatsoever in accurately conveying even what was witnessed yesterday, let alone every change that had occurred in Elder Sister’s condition. If it were truly possible—taking even two or three days' leave for an ordinary homecoming—spending a whole night carefully explaining before telling Mother everything would undoubtedly have been best. Through spoken words—even imperfectly—Chie believed she could somehow manage to relay what had been seen and heard. What words failed to convey would have been supplemented by complexion or gestures—or perhaps voice and tears. ...The mountains of Shinshu must already lie buried deep in snow. When imagining how Mother spent this winter—having done away with both kotatsu and work pants—restlessness made sitting still impossible while simultaneously stirring an urge for stifled laughter. For Mother—this marked her fifth evacuation winter. She must have grown thoroughly accustomed by now. Though selfish Chie had fled swiftly to Tokyo at winter’s start post-war—for Mother—two or three more northern winters—which Chie herself could never have endured—had continued since. That cheerful Mother could not possibly have failed acclimation. Rather—she had splendidly “conquered” it. In her recent letter—“The glow in my cheeks has remarkably improved”—these words of hers—Chie believed wholeheartedly without reservation. After all—Chie’s Mother simply had to be that sort of person. That was precisely why she remained Chie’s Mother.

For some reason, I suddenly wanted to see your face. Every Saturday evening like this, whenever I write a short or long letter, I always feel this way—but tonight it is especially so. Of course, this is undoubtedly influenced by my feeling that it would be better to meet you even once and speak directly about Elder Sister rather than convey matters through my clumsy pen—but I sense this isn’t the sole reason either. Of course I want to see Mother’s “glowing” face again after so long, but I also wish you would take this opportunity to look upon my own healthy countenance. Moreover, winter vacation is right around the corner. Twelve hours there, eleven hours back, plus a day or two’s stay in between—you may wonder why I can’t find even that much time. But I swear to you this—I am not involved in any romantic entanglement. It is true that I remain a virgin still, and moreover, my belly has not grown big either. ...Whenever such topics arose, it was invariably Mother who would blush, while Elder Sister and I maintained composed expressions. It’s a memory from quite some time ago. As another incidental memory—this was still during Father’s lifetime, perhaps over ten years ago now—when the matchmaker Mr./Ms. C came to discuss Elder Sister’s marriage prospects, I recall you remarked, “…Surely she remains a virgin…” At that moment, Elder Sister and I—who had been secretly eavesdropping behind the door—found it so unbearably funny that our laughter became uncontrollable; covering our faces with both hands, we scrambled away into the back as if crawling. When I recall those days, it feels as if it were all a dream.

Soon after, Mr. and Mrs. C passed away, followed by Father, and eventually the father of the S family where Elder Sister had married also died. With deaths following one after another in such rapid succession, while we were preoccupied with that, the war on the continent had gradually expanded without our noticing, until finally Elder Brother Runyoshi crossed over to the mainland as a mobilized officer. Thus, when only Mother, Elder Sister, and that infant boy—Runotaro—remained in the S household, Chie first came to know that Elder Sister was not in fact her biological sister, but rather a cherished memento left by her deceased former mother. No—I did not come to know; I was made to know through cruel, inescapable means. Because the method was so excessively cruel, I managed not to feel a single one of them—neither the fact of our different parentage itself, nor the various emotions, surprises, resentments, or hatreds that should have naturally followed from it. I managed not to feel even shame. For the history of Chie’s heart, which has barely turned nineteen—would you say that was still somewhat fortunate, Mother? But that is not what Chie means to convey here. Whether in mind or body—if one is bound to be wounded regardless—I believe it is better to be thoroughly wounded sooner rather than later, while some capacity for healing still remains. ...At least... now that Chie has seen that dreadful figure with her own eyes yesterday, she cannot help but believe so.

…………………………………………… What am I doing? Is Chie wandering confusedly through her writing? Now I no longer have any fear. Moreover, before you, Mother, there’s no reason for Chie to hold back any reservations. Yes, that's right. Elder Sister is alive. She is indeed alive. Within this past month or so, Chie has seen Elder Sister many times with her own eyes. In fact, I saw her just yesterday as well. It was indeed a terrifying figure, but that is not to say there was anything like war-scarred contortions on Elder Sister’s face, nor that she had lost an eye, nor that she appeared as a louse-ridden beggar—or conversely, that she wore the garish attire typical of so-called career women so popular in postwar Tokyo. She was wearing a dark suit with a neatly fitted dark brown overcoat, no hat, and rather high-heeled shoes. Moreover, the way she extends both legs straight and walks somewhat hurriedly in short, brisk strides remains exactly as Elder Sister did in days past. Though she seems to have developed a slight stoop—perhaps imagined—her stature appears even more slender and taller than before; this may be because she has grown somewhat thinner. In such attire, the sight of her always walking briskly while leaning against Nurse F’s shoulder—Nurse F being a woman no less tall than Elder Sister—from a distance could easily be mistaken for a pair of respectable Western women and would draw no particular attention from passersby. ...If one could judge life and death by enumerating such points one by one, then Elder Sister is indeed living admirably... She is alive and walking.

It was simply that she was ill in some way. This was because Nurse F, who accompanied her, adhered strictly to her affiliated hospital’s regulations—she had never once removed her dark navy uniform or the matching cap with its white cloth—leaving no room for doubt. When Chie first caught sight of Elder Sister, they were that same pair as well. Moreover, since the location was within the grounds of St. Agnes Hospital, Chie immediately—

“Oh, she’s ill!”

I realized. I staggered to my feet and even made to give chase. I was happy. When I think back, it was a close call. If the spot where I had been sitting had been just two or three *ken* closer to the garden path, and if their steps had been slightly slower, I would surely have had time to catch up and call out, “Elder Sister!” And Elder Sister must have turned around and immediately realized it was me. And so I 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 unsteadily to my feet, something began tangling my legs. That strange, turbid moment of hesitation swiftly coalesced into a dense, distinct form and almost consciously loosened my legs. In that time, they steadily moved further away and soon disappeared around the corner of the white hospital ward.

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

“You already know that!” The cheerful smile of you saying that, Mother, flashes before my eyes. That smile is not the feignedly innocent kind people often put on, nor the evasive kind, nor anything resembling a dazzling smile. It is an unwaveringly bright, unwaveringly cheerful smile—one that is utterly sincere, possessing its own resolute spirit, and that only appears on the face of someone who has reconciled everything through their own conscience, always maintaining a refreshed state of mind: that very expression. To maintain such a refreshed state of mind, that person would strip off even their last undergarment and would not hesitate to cast it aside for others. In fact, they would even tear off one of their own arms or a thigh and briskly toss it to a starving tiger. This indescribably unburdened generosity! I, too, have inherited a fair amount of this from you, Mother, so I believe I understand it quite well. It exists solely for the satisfaction of one's conscience. No—rather, it exists for the triumph of conscience!

Chie inherited such a disposition from Mother; not only that, she even came to firmly believe in doing good, and thanks to that, she spent her girlhood cheerfully and contentedly. Happily—one might even say. For that, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude from the bottom of my heart. And yet, to be honest, ever since that turmoil in the S family—no, even from the very midst of that commotion—Chie has come to harbor a faint doubt regarding the meaning of such acts of kindness as I have just described. Over the daughter’s happiness, something like a shadow has cast itself. That turmoil, of course, refers to the uproar over whether Elder Sister would leave or not—a commotion that arose shortly after Elder Brother Runyoshi’s deployment—something that surely goes without saying now.

“It’s fine.” “Now that we’ve been stripped bare just as they demanded, what could there possibly be left for them to resent us for?!” Mother had comforted me in her usual cheerful tone—this was around the time the commotion had finally settled—perhaps having noticed something uneasy in my expression. At that time, I thought “I see,” and I clearly remember feeling as though I had done something terribly inexcusable.

“You were absolutely right.” Of course, I was still just a young girl back then, so I did not fully understand the true circumstances at the time—nor do I now—and moreover, I have no particular desire to understand. At any rate, even through a daughter’s intuition, I could sense that it was no ordinary divorce dispute. Nor was it entirely due to the other party’s mother’s malice, and setting aside those antiquated, foolish arguments about whether it aligned with family customs or not, even Elder Sister herself—now that I reflect calmly—had her own share of human flaws befitting her station. Of course, this is something that I, who had believed her to be my real sister and shared a room with her for years, can only now articulate by comparing it to my present circumstances.

Well, there's no use starting such a blame game now. In the end, I think no one harbored any malice. It might have simply been one example of how human relationships, once entangled, ultimately prove impossible to resolve. To have squabbled over whether to leave or stay while excluding Elder Brother Runyoshi—the very linchpin of it all—was something undeniably peculiar not only when viewed through today's lens, where even the warped notion of 'family household' had dissolved, but even by the common sense of that time. In the end came separation—and thereupon began Mother's unique brand of generosity. I cannot recall each detail precisely, but villas and rental houses seemed transferred one after another into the S family's name. Everything else too—from antiques and furnishings in the storehouse down to jewelry—felt nearly all scrubbed clean and carted off to Elder Sister's place. As possessions were sorted out with such brisk efficiency, even Chie felt something akin to exhilaration in her daughterly heart—one day while sifting through the last remaining jewelry box in her bedroom vanity—

“Well now, shall we set aside these things here for your dowry, Chie?”

When Mother would say such things, I felt a guilty sort of disillusionment.

Well, all those things were perfectly fine as they were. At that point, it was no longer mere generosity or fastidiousness—it had become, so to speak, a contest of women’s pride. Chie could sympathize with that sentiment, and thanks to it—without tasting any guilt or servility—she managed to ride out the fierce waves of recent five or six years up to this point. Between those who helplessly watched their property burn and those who cast it aside beforehand—though the difference seemed but a hair’s breadth—I came to realize lately while observing my classmates how truly vast those ripples had grown. Due to that decisive disposition of yours Mother displayed then—Chie was truly severed from both dependency and gambler’s mentality at precisely the right moment. This I feel deeply grateful for.

Ah, Mother’s smile flashes before me again. What are you smiling at this time? “There’s no need to go out of your way to thank me.” “Would you say, ‘I merely did what I wanted to do’?” Surely that cannot be the case. “Whether what I did was good or bad—well, don’t dwell on such things. Just study diligently.” “You silly child,” you say? Of course, that cannot be the case. Please forgive Chie’s presumptuous conjectures. It seems that in Chie’s eyes, Mother’s seemingly pained smile flickers. Did I hit upon it, or...? No, this cannot miss. If that were not so, how could you, Mother, be so concerned about Elder Sister’s whereabouts? How could you possibly be having nightmares about Elder Sister? Or perhaps…

……………………………………………

No—no， this after all cannot be Chie’s overactive imagination. Mother loves Elder Sister dearly. In the same way as your own daughter—no， even more than your own daughter—she loves her dearly. “But that’s only natural!” Mother would protest in a hushed whisper. I also believe so. That is precisely why you are my Mother. But you gave far too much. Because of that， you lost something precious. The retribution has come.…

Chie does not even consider blaming Mother. Whether humans can even blame other humans—Chie does not even consider such a thing. Guilt likely exists nowhere and in no one. There is only that which causes people to stumble.

Having written this far, Chie had at last steeled her resolve. Now then, Mother, what follows is Chie's formal report. Chie would likely not regret having written this report. When you read this, please do not come to regret it yourself! Chie not only prayed for this but had almost come to believe in 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—though you may not know of it—is a modestly sized hospital that quietly stands in a block near Tsukiji’s riverbank, surrounded by canals on three sides. Though small, it was a three-story white plaster building; yet when viewed from afar, so obscured was it by a rather deep pine grove that even the aged golden cross atop its roof went unnoticed unless one looked very carefully. In truth, even Chie had only faintly heard its name before being assigned there for her school practicum and had absolutely no idea where the hospital was located.

Though it was called a practicum, of course I wasn’t yet conducting examinations or treatments myself—it was mainly work akin to a nurse trainee—but as my three-month practicum period was drawing to a close, I encountered Elder Sister. In other words, Elder Sister had been admitted to the hospital just two or three days prior. It was entirely a coincidence. Now that I can finally confess, while being fully aware of your strong desire, Mother, to somehow uncover the whereabouts of Elder Sister and the S family members after they suffered war damage at that villa in Yushima, I did almost nothing. Of course, I did make a formal visit to the ward office to inquire. I also obtained a letter of introduction and visited a certain department at the Metropolitan Office. But both ultimately proved futile. It was true that government officials those days had softened their language somewhat, but this had only laid bare the hollowness and unkindness within, making those who witnessed it feel a nerve-wracking unease. They were making a great 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—is such a phenomenon not visible?

Be that as it may, with the documents burned and being told no registrations had been submitted, it ultimately proved futile. The most plausible scenario was imagining that Elder Sister and Mr. Juntaro had perished together in the flames. In that area around Yushima—where fires spread rapidly under such circumstances—there were said to be numerous cases of entire families burning to death... Chie had nearly convinced herself of this truth. Or rather, she had desperately wanted to believe it—it might be more accurate to say. This too might constitute a form of cunning. If that proves true, then please blame this Chie however you see fit.

Fortunately, Chie was said to be not unintelligent, and moreover possessed a certain composure indispensable in medicine—something rare in a woman—which seemed to have earned her a fair degree of trust from Dr. G. And so, from the start of this academic year, she had been permitted to reside at Dr. G’s home in a capacity akin to a substitute nurse from evening until night, thanks to which she had again been spared—at least for this winter—from the kind of part-time work struggles that her classmates were beginning to fret over. Among her classmates, there were those who—while positions like sales representatives at tailor shops or envelope addressers for political parties might have been somewhat acceptable—even went so far as to volunteer for work like cabaret dancers or artists’ models. In fact, there were even about three people who had been semi-openly working as kept women to fund their tuition from the very start. But everyone got along well, helping each other to get by each day. Their destinations would likely diverge in various ways, but as of then, she had no inkling whatsoever. There was only day by day.

Given that Chie was living such a life, you must understand she had neither leisure time for aimless searches nor any leads regarding Elder Sister's whereabouts. Had there been no accidental assistance, any prospect of encountering Elder Sister would have been utterly nonexistent. Therefore, since first glimpsing Elder Sister in the hospital garden and nearly missing the chance to speak with her thereafter, Chie could no longer view this meeting as mere coincidence but rather as the manifestation of some deeper predetermined fate. To think thus might indeed constitute another form of fleeting human consolation; nevertheless, Chie vowed inwardly to steadfastly observe this encounter's meaning and true nature. Once resolved—(I beg your forgiveness—) Elder Sister's subsequent fate and even your concerns regarding it became secondary matters at best. In short, Chie resolved to follow Elder Sister's trail without ever revealing herself.

Of course，Chie’s first step was to investigate Elder Sister’s hospital room and diagnosis. This could easily be ascertained by flipping through the medical records. The diagnosis was depression. It was also noted as mild but nearing chronic. The room was 318 on the third floor，located on the opposite side of the East Wing—nearly at its center—from the block of rooms 301 to 308 where I had been serving as a nursing trainee alongside my classmate K-ko at that very time. It also became immediately clear that Nurse F—someone nearly equivalent in rank to an assistant head nurse—was overseeing her care. At this hospital，they do not accept any externally hired nurses whatsoever；no matter how severe the patient’s condition or how long their hospitalization，it is always hospital-affiliated nurses who take charge.

Now, that third-floor East Wing was a somewhat mysterious section within St. Agnes Hospital that received a kind of special treatment. Among nurses, it was colloquially referred to as the "Sacred Zone," and indeed, throughout our training period—which was soon to reach nearly three months—it remained an area where we trainees were never once allowed to set foot. According to rumors, it consisted of large hospital rooms accommodating only specially treated patients—a sort of forbidden place. Though termed “special treatment,” it was clear from the hospital’s inherently religious nature that this did not merely involve worldly privileges like wealth or social pedigree. Yet considering how they did not exclusively admit severe cases either—after all, Elder Sister was briskly strolling through the garden—it might well have been a ward for those chosen through non-worldly privileges: namely, religious affiliation or testaments of devout faith. In any case, for Chie—who had discovered that Elder Sister’s whereabouts were unexpectedly close—this granted significant investigative advantages while simultaneously necessitating precautions to avoid detection.

However, it soon became clear that this required neither much worry nor effort. For a young woman, five or six years' time might perhaps prove more effective than any skillful disguise. Moreover, life in Tokyo over these recent three years was said to have contained transformations no less significant than those spanning twenty or thirty years before the war. Furthermore, Chie—at least during this practicum period—could not wear anything other than her plain gray trainee nurse uniform under hospital regulations. With an equally gray handkerchief-like headcloth pinned in place, there should be no fear of discovery unless Elder Sister—convinced Chie must be in this hospital—were to scrutinize every woman's face she passed. Thinking this, she felt relatively at ease. Chie deliberately used eastern staircases even when descending to the second floor, made her corridor movements as frequent as possible, and secretly sought opportunities to glimpse Elder Sister from afar.

Strangely enough，that second opportunity proved slow in coming． It seemed those attempting meetings here found encounters diminishing with growing urgency． Whenever Chietook deliberate detours through third-floor corridors toward eastern staircases or alternate ascending routes，both corridors and stairs remained devoid of human presence． There were mornings when sunlight stretched endlessly across gleaming linoleum floors． Times when white patient transport carts stood abandoned near Room 318’s corner． Yet neither Elder Sister nor Nurse F had appeared since that day． The “sacred zone，”already quiet，now seemed utterly desolate—an uninhabited desert． Unbidden，the thought arose：had Elder Sister perhaps been discharged？

At last, Sunday arrived.

It was indeed the second Sunday since Chie had been assigned to the third floor.

As it is a Catholic hospital, having a chapel goes without saying; however, rather than being a separate building in a corner of the garden, here it was assigned to a large hall extending from the central southern side of the third floor. That Chie only learned of the chapel’s location there after being assigned to the third floor speaks volumes about her lack of faith; on that first Sunday, just after the nine o’clock Mass had begun, she merely happened to pass before the chapel while delivering patients’ temperature charts to the medical office below and suddenly heard the pure sound of hymns. Upon descending, she ended up assisting in an acute appendicitis surgery for a certain young woman (Chie had made it a practice to volunteer for surgeries and autopsies that her classmates were rather disinclined to assist with. Currently under Dr.G’s guidance—who also served as chief of surgery at this hospital—) she completely forgot about the Mass afterward, yet those pure voices lingered strangely in her ears even during that day’s surgery, fading away only to suddenly reappear. She did not know what hymn it was, but its melody grew hazier by day even as its impression strengthened within her mind—gradually becoming clearly linked with a particular association. To put it simply: Elder Sister must surely have been among that Mass congregation. This association soon solidified into conviction……

It was the following Sunday. Unfortunately, one of the patients under her care developed a fever and began mumbling deliriously, while all the regular nurses—being believers—were away attending Mass, leaving her scarcely able to leave the ward; when she finally seized a moment to rush to the chapel, the Mass seemed nearly concluded, and through the doorless entrance she could discern only the uniformly kneeling backs of the congregation in the hushed sanctuary. To breach that silence and enter the chapel felt unthinkable. Chie suppressed the sound of her slippers, stealthily approached the corridor’s small window, and peered through the arabesque-patterned copper grating into the chapel. Then Elder Sister was there. Unexpectedly close by, just two or three people away from that small window, was Nurse F, her large upper body modestly bowed forward in kneeling. With her cheek pressed against that shoulder as if in intimate repose, gazing entranced toward the altar—the pale profile was immediately recognizable as Elder Sister. At the unexpectedness of her expectation being met—the moment Chie gasped and held her breath—Elder Sister’s face flashed as she turned toward her. Chie involuntarily froze in place. But it had been merely a trick of her mind. The congregation stood up all at once. Chie instantly pretended as though she had been kneeling just outside the entrance, then stood at the head of the flowing congregation and left the chapel.

Upon reaching the corner where the hallway branched off, Chie, passing by four or five trainee nurses and nurses, stood still there 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 though turning toward her once again. That too seemed to be just a trick of her mind, and nothing happened. Elder Sister’s figure was hidden by the crowd, and just like that, she vanished from sight. ……

……………………………………… In this way, Chie saw Elder Sister’s figure up close for the first time. It was merely a profile—no, rather something closer to a back view—but why was it that she felt Elder Sister had glanced her way twice? Of course, it was undoubtedly a trick of Chie’s mind. But even if it were a momentary illusion, there was some ineffable expression on Elder Sister’s pale face that had flashed before her twice. That face was pale and haggard. There was a certain sharpness and prickliness to her that had not been seen in Elder Sister five years prior. At the same time, there was a certain nobility and a distant gaze as though peering at something far, far away. Chie felt all those things at once. It might have been intuition or something like spiritual inspiration. The disheveled hair caught her eye. All of this—that none of it was mere delusion—came to be gradually confirmed in the days that followed.……

Mother.—

I will no longer hesitate and will tell you everything. The face of Elder Sister that Chie saw through the copper grating of that chapel was unmistakably the face of a madwoman.

The following day and the day after that as well, Chie passed by Elder Sister in the corridor. Both times were slightly past noon, winter sunlight filled the courtyard, and the corridor was by no means dark. But both times, Elder Sister did not notice Chie. It must be certain that the mouse-gray trainee nurse uniform made Chie’s figure nearly indistinguishable. But to tell the truth, Elder Sister did not have the sort of expression that would so much as glance at those she passed by. Those strikingly large eyes were fixed intently on some far, faraway place.

Then, four or five days later, when two of the third-floor ward rooms had become vacant, Chie was transferred to the affiliated maternity ward. This time, she was on night duty.

It was precisely during those night shifts at the maternity ward that I came to learn various detailed aspects of Elder Sister’s condition. I have now reached the point where I must tell you about it. You must not be shocked by any means. It was less an illness than what might be called fate. I will calmly write it down. To be startled and flustered before fate may perhaps be human arrogance. Please consider that.

Though called a maternity ward, where Chie had been assigned was the Charity Annex—a weathered wooden outbuilding standing alone at the southeastern edge of the compound, practically riverside in its proximity. When night deepened and silence fell thick around them, the sound of steam launches chugging up and down the river became unbearably intrusive. The night shift ran from nine until two, so during her watch, that noise proved effective at warding off drowsiness; yet when she finally withdrew to the on-call room to sleep, the dull rhythmic pounding would cling maliciously to her ears, making proper rest nearly impossible. Chie’s responsibility within that maternity ward lay in two large rooms commonly called the nurseries. Separated by corridors and heavy doors, neither the vigorous cries of newborns nor their destitute mothers’ soothing voices reached those chambers. These rooms housed only those unfortunate infants who had lost their mothers in childbirth or been separated from them soon after birth due to dire circumstances. There must have been forty or fifty cribs of varying sizes for these babies—all fitted with high iron railings on every side, resembling cages more than beds. This arrangement was necessary because six nurses had to manage both spacious rooms. Yellowish electric lights with deliberately reduced wattage cast a dim haze over the gloomy space. As midnight approached, the atmosphere grew eerily reminiscent of an abandoned mortuary. Though nearly every crib was occupied, not a single infant produced a healthy, full-throated cry. The babies who did wail—two or three at most in those vast rooms—did so with crushed-sounding, pitifully hoarse voices. After enduring roughly ten days of night shifts in those nurseries, Chie resolved never to repeat such an experience. The terror of childbirth, the burden of guilt in being born female... These truths impressed themselves upon her with visceral clarity. Every crib had been painted light blue—for reasons unknown.

The child in the large crib located relatively close to the window in the nearly central row of Room 2 had caught Chie’s attention from the very first night. It was a large boy, just under eight months old but appearing two or three years in size—a child with a bluish, swollen appearance that gave an unpleasant impression. 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—was severely delayed in intellectual development, and moreover had a habit of sleepwalking upright every single night without fail. That said, he did not cry or make a fuss. The time was almost always around 10:30 when he would soundlessly rise up and vaguely grip the railing. Drooling with vacant eyes, he stood motionless like a ghost rather than moving along the railings. On the first night and the second night, Chie had been distracted by a baby near the window who suddenly began crying and did not see this child stand up. Only some time after he had already risen unnoticed did she realize it, startling involuntarily. Fortunately, that night the veteran nurse still remained and instructed Chie about the child’s habits and handling methods. It seemed there was no particular danger in leaving him undisturbed. However, as was common with such hydrocephalic children, his leg development lagged severely; thus caution was needed when he released his grip on the handrail. If someone then supported his hands from behind, he would naturally lie back down in his original position. One must never panic and make noise or attempt to shake him awake... Such was the essence of the instructions.

As Chie and the veteran nurse who had been telling her such things stared fixedly, the child kept both hands on the railing, gazing unblinkingly into emptiness. They were large, vacant eyes. By daylight he was a child with beautifully clear, azure-blue eyes, but seen under the dim yellow electric light—perhaps due to this—they appeared as unsettling white orbs like those of a floating fish. His pupils were also quite dilated, but where they were directed was neither fixed on the ceiling nor the wall—and of course, it was neither the face of the nurse peering in from directly in front nor Chie’s face. It was as though there was something drifting about nearby that he was vacantly staring at, or so it appeared. That gaze, whether real or imagined, seemed to be shifting ever so gradually. But that movement did not seem any faster than the minute hand’s progress. "...Is he awake?" Chie asked in a small voice. "I don’t think so," responded the veteran nurse. "If only he’d laugh or cry properly, it’d be easier to handle…" It was exactly as the veteran nurse had said. After standing perfectly still like that for three or four minutes, the child eventually began gingerly thrusting his hips backward to lower himself, then gently released his hands from the railing and lay back down on his back once more. "Did you see the way he moved his hips? Even while he’s like that, this one wets himself, you know," said the veteran nurse as she parted the front of the child’s clothing with practiced hands and changed his diaper. The wet diaper passed into Chie’s hands indeed held a warmth from urine that seemed almost enough to make steam rise…

“Ugh, how dreadful—if I were to bear such a child…” The thought struck Chie suddenly, making her gasp aloud. “Forgive me for thinking this!” she implored inwardly, hurling the soiled diaper into the laundry basket in the corner while pressing her hands together in silent contrition. They said the mother confined to bed in the main building now hovered near death’s door.

It was the third night. Though the hospital fortunately had no blackout, that night the voltage seemed particularly low; even the already dim light bulbs all had their thin filaments glowing faintly red. By the time Chie came out after the shift change, all the children had settled into sleep, and even the window-side baby, who usually had trouble falling asleep, was strangely calm that night. From the neighboring room would occasionally come the faint, hoarse cries of what sounded like a newborn baby—frail and sporadic—only to abruptly cease. That only served to deepen the stillness of this room. That night, the usual veteran nurse was off duty, and in her place was a somewhat sharp-eyed young woman. Of course, since that night was their first meeting, even when Chie politely greeted her with "Pleased to make your acquaintance," she merely gave a single nod before briskly heading toward the child who had begun to fuss just then. Without paying any attention to Chie, who had timidly followed after her, she briskly took care of the diaper herself, laid the child down, and then sat in a chair by the wall to start reading a magazine or something. Since this person was so unapproachable, Chie felt all the more uneasy, and as she peered one by one at the faces of the babies breathing peacefully in their sleep, she even felt strangely resentful, thinking how it would be a relief if just two or three children would start crying at once to distract her.

Eventually, somewhere far off, a clock struck once. When she looked at her wristwatch, it was 10:40. Thinking it was about time for that child to start sleepwalking, Chie left her chair by the wall opposite the nurse and quietly approached the child’s bedside. His eyes were quite large and half-open, yet he appeared to be sleeping soundly. His mouth was half-open, and drool was coming out. She gently wiped it away with gauze. His bluish-swollen face appeared oddly translucent, giving an eerily adult-like impression, but upon closer inspection, it wasn’t such a bad countenance after all. She thought this child must take after his father. She somehow got that impression. She watched his face for a while, but there was no sign of him waking up, and he didn’t move a muscle. The space between his thinly opened eyelids was somehow like a blue abyss...

She had no idea how much time had passed like that. Five minutes—or perhaps it hadn't even been ten minutes—she thought. Suddenly sensing something white at the edge of her vision, Chie turned toward it. There stood the corridor window. Beyond that window, Elder Sister stared fixedly in their direction. That this pale visage belonged to Elder Sister—Chie understood instantly. There was no time for shock or panic. A white face floated distinct within the corridor's murky darkness. Had those features not borne Elder Sister's characteristic haggard sharpness, Chie might have screamed. She did not stir. She remained perfectly still. Staring back at that face while clinging to the awareness—somewhere deep within—that "It's alright; I'm backlit..." Still she resolved not to move or alter her expression. Though Elder Sister gazed hungrily forward with wide eyes, it became immediately clear she hadn't noticed Chie—her focus slightly askew. But when Chie discerned where those errant eyes fixed themselves, she nearly gasped aloud. The bluish-swollen boy had risen. Soundlessly—as though magnetized by Elder Sister's stare—he now stood clutching the railings while peering intently toward her...

………………………………………

With a rustling of fabric, someone approached directly behind her. Startled, she turned to find that young nurse. “She’s back again. Hmph, I’m sick of this,” the nurse said in a brusque, grating voice, flicking a scornful glance at Chie before roughly pulling the boy into a rear hold and forcing him onto the bed. The child offered no resistance, beginning to breathe steadily in his sleep like a rubber doll gone limp.

When she suddenly noticed and looked toward the window, the face had already vanished.

“Is this your first time? Well, that must’ve been quite a shock, ain’t it?” the nurse said in an unexpectedly familiar tone, glancing once more at Chie’s face— “She’s from the special ward—comes peeking in like that every three days without fail.” “Is there a child in this room connected by some bond?”

“Don’t be daft!” “Everyone in this room is just poor folks’ brats!” The nurse spat out her words, but in her eyes—which flickered once more toward Chie’s face—there was something like a pitying smile. And suddenly, “That one’s not all there, is she,” she said, tapping her temple with her index finger with a thud, “There’s even talk of a brain tumor.”

Chie was stunned. Or rather, it felt as if her skull had been struck by a hammer with a heavy blow. The nurse—whose eyes darted once more across Chie’s expression—muttered “Poor dear!” in a tone that seemed to pity her (though what she had misread), then... “Can’t blame you for being shocked—first time and all—but my, you got yourself all worked up... Though...” “Sure gives you the creeps, but truth be told, she’s a pitiable soul.” “Want to hear about her?” “Through some queer twist of fate, I happen to know her story rather well.”

As the conversation took increasingly unexpected turns, Chie had completely stiffened, unable to answer either "yes" or "no," and simply stared at Nurse H's face—this being the name of that attendant. Her lips were trembling unwittingly. Her complexion must have been quite pale as well. When she saw Chie's terrified state, Nurse H abruptly changed her demeanor, transforming into a chatty woman who seemed officiously eager to help. That was her true nature. In other words, Nurse H was one of those simple women commonly found in the world, her character a mixture of half cruelty and half kindness. Having encountered this unexpectedly timid young girl who seemed no match for her, she appeared secretly delighted at finding a perfect subject for warding off sleepiness—a fact discernible from how her small, single-lidded eyes, which until moments ago had been so unfriendly, now shone vividly with self-satisfaction. Looking back, it had been a strange night. Chie listened with rapt attention. Nurse H would occasionally cast sidelong glances at Chie's face, confirm the undeniable look of terror there, then resume her story with renewed assurance. A wind had risen, and the pine grove was rustling noisily. The temperature had suddenly dropped so much that both Nurse H and Chie went to retrieve shawls from the nurses' station and wrapped them around their necks.

The story that Nurse H told Chie that night was roughly as follows. Nurse H had been the daughter of a large pharmacy located in the same neighborhood as Elder Sister’s house in Yushima. Thus it appeared she had not only known about Elder Sister from the start but had also been aware of S’s brother and Mr. Juntaro for some time, all while being quite familiar with the S family’s circumstances. As for this coincidence, Chie did not know whether she should feel thankful.…

……………………………………… When the area from southern Hongō to Kanda was burned down, Nurse H had still been attending midwife training school, so her family’s main residence in Yushima also fell victim to the disaster, it seemed. "It was around when nighttime air raids had finally begun—a time when people still clung to that 'Oh, it's nothing serious...' sort of sentiment." That day, having returned home from school later than usual, Nurse H took her first bath in some time. Joking "Well, better get some sleep while I can," she crawled into her second-floor futon and had just drifted into that hazy state between wakefulness and sleep when— She said her younger sister suddenly shook her awake roughly, and at the moment she came to her senses, a noise—as if two or three bicycles had crashed down from the sky—kept resounding from the backyard. What followed was pure panic—they somehow managed not to miss a step on the dark ladder in their frenzy—and when they tumbled into the lower room, they found every last storm shutter in the garden had been removed without their noticing, making it so bright they wondered if dawn had already broken. In that glare, she claimed she hadn’t even recognized in that instant that the figures working busily were Mother, Grandmother, and the young maid. When her brother came leaping in from the veranda and began barking orders at her, she felt momentarily lucid—but that lasted only an instant before mindless terror took over again. ……“To the university! Escape to the university!”—someone’s voice boomed deafeningly in her ears as flashes engulfed everything like scattered fireworks. “To the university! Escape to the university!”—someone’s voice boomed deafeningly in her ears as flashes engulfed everything like scattered fireworks.

When Nurse H finally noticed the sea of flames, she was standing on the tramway near the university hospital, tightly gripping her mother’s hand. A tremendous noise erupted for a time, and she distinctly remembered an impossibly large serpent of fire slithering past with a roaring rush. Nurse H spent the night with her mother in the thicket of the university hospital. Around nine in the morning, Nurse H first met her younger sister and the maid, then encountered her brothers and younger brother, but it was not until nearly noon that they discovered Grandmother had burned to death inside an air raid shelter by the roadside……

For the time being, Mother and Nurse H went 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 beneath the cliff of the famous N Cathedral. She had long been a believer of that church, and through that connection, she received lodging within its grounds, serving in a role akin to a housekeeper for the bishop’s residence. Near evening on the day when Nurse H and her mother had just moved into that lodging with the two or three furoshiki bundles and rucksack they had finally managed to bring out, something unexpected and strange occurred at N Cathedral. Hundreds of burned corpses were transported into the main hall by trucks and handcarts in a steady stream. Nurse H apparently witnessed that very scene. Not only that, she even claims to have helped carry in about ten of them. In the end, she must have felt so sickened that she hurried home and burrowed into her futon, but…

As for why such a strange thing occurred, the reason was simple when considered afterward. In other words, the police authorities were overwhelmed by the sheer number of burned corpses requiring disposal. They likely couldn’t just cremate them on the spot without waiting for someone to claim them. It seems they first tried to accommodate them in schools and other buildings that had survived the fires within their jurisdiction, but when those could no longer hold all the corpses, they fortunately brought the remaining ones to this large hall nearby—that’s how it came to be. The priest who handled this negotiation was, according to Nurse H’s description, a clear-headed man with a large belly. Without even needing to confirm the intentions of the Bishop—who was then secluded with a cold—he answered the officials, “Very well. I shall take responsibility and accept them,” and at once had the main hall’s front doors swung wide open, it is said. It is said that the officials were instead so taken aback by this that they were left speechless.

The claimants came crowding in succession from the early hours of the next morning. The sound of their choked sobs and wails echoed off the high domed ceiling, and during those first two or three days, it was said to be indescribably eerie how these noises would occasionally filter out into the grounds. When crossing the premises for some errand, one couldn’t help but instinctively cover their ears—or so Nurse H recounted with a visible frown. But that was still preferable. After two or three days passed, most corpses had been claimed, though twenty or thirty still remained. They began to emit the stench of death. Of course, every window in the hall was firmly sealed with iron shutters. The large entrance doors too were now shut tight since nearly all claimants had come, eliminating concern about the foul odor leaking outside; yet despite the hall’s vastness, the sealed air—being early spring—held a stiflingly humid warmth. Thus, even when passing through the west gate farthest from the main hall, those aware of the situation sensed an uncanny stench somehow permeating the air.

Even the priest finally reached his limit and began insistently negotiating with the police about collecting the remaining corpses, but once that happened, no progress was made for days—the fourth day passed, then the fifth, until finally on the sixth day, a single truck arrived and carried them off somewhere, it is said. However, they still couldn’t manage to load them all, leaving about five or six bodies remaining; but as evening was already approaching, it was decided the rest couldn’t be transported until the following morning.

That evening, for the first time, Nurse H apparently ventured into the main hall. Nurse H recounted in gruesome detail just how horrific the scene had been. When I later thought back on it, what Nurse H had emphasized most in her story seemed to be none other than that hellish scene—so much so that it almost felt deliberate. As Nurse H recounted this, her cheeks clearly displayed both the innocent enthusiasm of someone telling ghost stories to frighten children and that triumphant look of hers. But tonight, Chie had neither the interest nor the need to relay every detail of this to Mother—for after that hellish scene came stories that would make any listener's hair stand on end a hundredfold...

……………………………………… That evening, seeing the sky had cleared completely and the hall remained quite bright, coupled with the rare absence of air raid alerts that day, Nurse H’s devout cousin proposed to the priest that they first clean the sanctuary long defiled by fleshly stains. “Since they will surely all be collected by tomorrow morning, perhaps the purification could wait until afterward,” the priest initially objected. But she countered: “That may well be so, but given how air raids grow fiercer by the day, who can say what tomorrow may bring?” “No—rather, first of all, even our own lives—who knows what tomorrow may bring?...” In the face of the devout housekeeper’s words—at once reasonable and impassioned—the priest ultimately could not help but agree. Nurse H was also made to assist with the cleaning. Once this was decided, the priest—still wearing his gaiters and air raid attire—removed his footwear and personally took the lead in the purification service.

There were four participants in the purification rite. Another person—a church servant named Mr. Furushima—had volunteered to assist. This Mr. Furushima was said to be a young man from a fishing village around Kujukuri, but strangely enough, he was missing one arm—and not just any arm, but his right one, gone from the very root. As for the cause of his disability, even Chie ultimately could not ascertain it, but it was said to have been severed during a serious illness in his childhood—certainly not due to any battlefield or air raid. Given his unfortunate upbringing—marked by inadequate education since childhood—it was only natural for him to find refuge in faith; but Mr. Furushima also possessed an innate, exceptional talent for painting. As for the path by which his artistic talent and devout faith led to this, I do not know, but he had been discovered by the priest and had resided at N Cathedral as a church servant for quite some time. This was because the priest, unusually for a clergyman, possessed skill in Western painting—primarily landscapes rather than religious art—that transcended amateur status. Chie had recently had the opportunity to discreetly view the priest’s paintings as well, and having been shown Mr. Furushima’s unfinished work in particular, she was seized by an inexpressible emotion. But let us set aside the matter of the paintings for now.…

That young man named Mr. Furushima was a mysterious person—the more one looked at him, the more enigmatic he seemed. He painted splendidly with his left hand. Not only that, but I had seen even brief memos he wrote, and his handwriting was so neat and precise that one would hardly believe it belonged to someone who hadn’t even completed elementary school. Moreover, with that left hand, he would grip a cleaning bucket and wash a cooking pot. Chie had never exchanged words with this person, but from a distance, she encountered him twice within the grounds of N Cathedral. On one such occasion, he was doing laundry at a well with a water pump, but the dexterity with which he used his single hand was so uncanny that it sent an eerie feeling through those watching. He was emaciated and rather short in stature, with sunken cheeks and a somewhat spoon-shaped beard of peculiar appearance. Because of this, despite being a young man, he somehow gave off an air of old age, though they said he was twenty-seven years old. He had sharp, piercing eyes. But those eyes had met mine just once—and in the very next instant after I startled, they were reverently cast downward. There had also been a time when I suddenly heard a voice through a door—a calm, gentle voice with each word trailing off—yet beneath it lay an oddly resolute spirit that seemed unshaken by anything.

...Putting that aside for now, with Nurse H joining them, the purification of the sanctuary proceeded smoothly by the four of them working together. Several bluish-black burned corpses discolored by death had been gathered into a corner of the left-hand outer sanctuary and covered with fresh straw mats. The iron shutters on both left and right outer sanctuary windows stood thrown open, letting the spring evening wind gradually dissipate the foul odor. All that remained was washing the concrete floor—spanning well over three hundred square meters—yet this proved an unexpectedly monumental task. Blood and fat that had seeped unnoticed from mounds of piled corpses left every inch of flooring impassable, it was said. Moreover, this grime resisted removal through mere surface scrubbing—the four people clutching stick brushes instinctively exchanged glances and heaved deep sighs, according to accounts. The golden sacred screen depicting various saints remained tightly closed of course. Yet sunlight from the setting sun streamed through the western rose window, its radiance flooding the inner sanctuary and reflecting off the high domed ceiling until the hall glowed with an almost dreamlike brilliance, witnesses recounted. Within this luminous space, even battle-hardened Nurse H reverently closed her eyes mid-story when describing how the blood's glaring hue persisted through every scrubbing—a sight she swore one could never forget across a lifetime.

It was said to have been around the time when the sunset’s color had grown quite dark. Suddenly, there came a shrill commotion of voices that echoed tremendously through the domed ceiling, causing Nurse H to startle and look around—whereupon she saw the diminutive Mr. Furushima, who had been desperately scrubbing the area near the left-hand outer sanctuary where corpses had been moved aside, now grappling with some unfamiliar figure as though engaged in a wrestling match. That strange voice, it seemed, was a scream Mr. Furushima had let out in his desperate struggle. The remaining three instinctively dropped their stick brushes and ran toward the sudden intruder. That was a rather tall woman wearing purple work pants. Without wearing an air raid hood, hair disheveled and face a translucent pallor, the woman turned sharply toward the three. That... was Elder Sister.

“Ah, Mrs. S!” Nurse H involuntarily cried out. This was because Nurse H had been thoroughly familiar with Elder Sister’s face from the same Yushima neighborhood. Moreover, just two or three days before the disaster, when Nurse H had been minding the shop alone one evening, Elder Sister—her face pale with worry—had apparently come to purchase a children’s fig enema. At a time when pharmacies across Tokyo were running short on everything—fig enemas being no exception—Nurse H, who would normally have curtly replied “We’re all out,” had apparently been moved by Elder Sister’s earnest expression and generously given her half a dozen from her own stock. Because of this incident, Nurse H’s eyes had grown all the more keenly observant.

At Nurse H's cry, Elder Sister fixedly stared at Nurse H's face, but her gaze was utterly vacant—devoid of any trace of emotion or discernment—a look that could only be described as dazed, it is said. Elder Sister, who had been staring at Nurse H's face with such eyes for some time, soon formed a faint, eerie smile on her pale face, released Mr. Furushima's arm—which she had been gripping firmly until that moment—and soundlessly slipped out toward the exit. The three who had rushed over blankly watched her retreating figure. When Nurse H suddenly noticed, Mr. Furushima had picked up the stick brush again without anyone's awareness—yet made no move to start scrubbing the floor—and was instead staring vacantly at one of the corpses before him...

According to what Mr. Furushima later confided to the priest, that evening had not been his first time seeing Elder Sister within the cathedral hall. Though he couldn't clearly recall how many times it had been, the figure of that sharp-eyed, slenderly tall woman with deathly pale skin had indeed appeared three or four times among those coming to claim corpses—or so his memory insisted. Of course, all women visiting N Cathedral to search for relatives' remains undoubtedly shared bloodshot eyes and pallid complexions. Yet only Elder Sister's face and eyes had seared themselves so distinctly into Mr. Furushima's memory—there must have been particular reasons for this. Why on earth was that? "It was her eyes," Nurse H reported Mr. Furushima had declared unequivocally. When Chie heard this, she involuntarily recalled with vivid clarity Elder Sister's piercing gaze through the corridor window barely an hour earlier. Yes—those eyes could belong to none other than her. Anyone who has witnessed that indescribable stare even once would never mistake its owner.

Even so, who on earth had Elder Sister been searching for? Nurse H said her grandmother had burned to death inside a roadside air raid shelter. From such associations, Chie tentatively wondered if perhaps Mrs. S’s mother’s whereabouts had become unknown. Of course, Chie had been aware from the very beginning that this line of thinking was likely nothing more than a fleeting comfort. That the one whose whereabouts became unknown was indeed Junitaro-san, who must have been six years old at the time, was something Chie could 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 Gotemba, rather than through evacuation? In truth, Chie had thought that Elder Sister, too, must have long vacated the main residence in Yushima and—even if not staying with Mrs. S’s mother, with whom she had fallen out—evacuated to some villa resembling a mountain cottage in Karuizawa or Goshiki or thereabouts, forcing herself to believe it so. But this was nothing but a fleeting, vain hope. In fact, was it not said that Elder Sister had come to Nurse H’s shop around that very time to buy a fig enema? And was it not said that she had likely wandered into N Cathedral itself more than once after fruitlessly searching various corpse collection centers? Junitaro-san must have had some illness. Junitaro-san, who was ill, and Elder Sister must have gotten separated in that chaos. Junitaro-san, held by some young, inept maid or another, might have burned to death somewhere together.

It was an ominous conjecture. This I understood full well. Yet I, Chie, had seen with my own eyes Elder Sister's solitary figure—had witnessed that dreadful gaze firsthand—and had heard Nurse H's account. This was no longer conjecture. Even so, Mother—must you still force that cheerful voice? Were you truly such a mother, Chie would resent you from the depths of her heart... According to Mr. Furushima's testimony, that evening as he diligently wielded a stick brush with his stiffened arm, he suddenly sensed movement in the outer sanctuary's shadows and started in alarm—so it was told. Might the dead have returned to life?—he had even fleetingly entertained such a delusion, they say. That presence was hers. Elder Sister had slipped in unnoticed and now bent over each of the remaining livid corpses to peer at their faces—so the account went. As Mr. Furushima stood transfixed watching her, Elder Sister—who had crawled forward until she reached his feet—abruptly seized his forearm with one hand while pressing her other palm against the short-statured man's jaw, forcing it upward with terrifying strength as she cried, “Ah, my boy... It was you... Truly it was you...” “Mother...” she managed before tears began falling like rain—so it was recounted. Mr. Furushima naturally panicked. That ordinarily unflappable young man screamed in frantic terror. Yet even so, they say Mr. Furushima—though startled and bewildered—retained enough presence of mind to meet for one brief instant the gaze of this woman staring intently down at him. Of those eyes' impression, Mr. Furushima later told the Priest—as previously noted—“Those were her eyes... Unmistakably hers...” As for who this “her” referred to—Chie had not understood when first hearing Nurse H's story. Nurse H herself likely hadn't known either. But eventually, later...

No, somehow my mind had become all tangled up. The window—the window—I think I'll open it...

………………………………………

Night air flowed in. It was night air as ghostly white as frost. The northern sky was painfully clear, and before she knew it, Mother’s beloved Seven Stars had risen near mid-sky. Midnight must have long since passed. Not a sound could be heard. Chie’s head perceived the piercingly cold night air seeping in as rather cool. For a while, Chie stared vacantly at the charred, blackened remains of the factory peering out from the shadow of the forest across the way.

My head has cooled down considerably. The core of my head is still strangely hazy and feverish, but just one more push remains. Unless I finish writing this letter to the very end and seal it, I likely won’t be able to sleep at all tonight. Just a little more left. Mother, please endure just a little longer.…

How much have I written? Ah yes, it was with the phrase "that person" that Chie had latched onto.

According to Nurse H, Elder Sister’s figure continued to be spotted intermittently within N Cathedral’s grounds afterward. The remaining corpses had all been removed by the following morning as promised, and after completing the cathedral’s purification rites, they firmly shut the front iron doors again under increasingly severe air raids—so naturally Elder Sister never regained entry to search for her child’s body within the sanctuary. By then, within those desolate cathedral grounds where passersby had grown scarce and makeshift air raid shelters lay scattered among the shrubbery, Elder Sister could only wander aimlessly. Had she merely paced back and forth for ten or twenty minutes at a time, it might have been tolerable—but there were reportedly instances when she roamed the premises for nearly an hour. Those who caught glimpses of Elder Sister’s behavior and gaze from afar unanimously asserted that her search no longer sought a child’s mangled corpse, but rather fixated unmistakably on Mr. Furushima’s living form. Of course Mr. Furushima became thoroughly terrified; the merest glimpse of Elder Sister’s purple work-panted figure would send him fleeing back to his room in panic. Still, there were said to have been one or two close calls where she nearly caught him at their encounters.

“Sex-crazed, isn’t she?… Even such rumors came to be whispered in hushed tones among those involved with the cathedral. Though if you ask us”—here she lightly tapped her own forehead with a fingertip—“we’d say that Mrs. S simply has something a bit off up here—well, we’d pretty much figured that much out, mind you.…” And so Nurse H, finally concluding her long account while forming a cold smile, once again uttered the name of that dreaded illness.

……A wind rose, rustled through the pine grove for a spell, and passed. A single plane entered from the direction of the sea at a rather leisurely speed and gradually receded toward the city center. Chie remembers well how those sounds made her keenly aware of the depth of the night. Having finished her account, Nurse H observed Chie’s face with a proud gaze, scrutinizing her intently. Of course, Chie's lips must have lost their color. Yet despite this, there lay in the depths of Chie’s heart something reckless—as though saying, "If you want to look, then look all you want!"—yet also a strange composure. It was a feeling of sullen defiance—as if sticking out her tongue behind someone’s back. It was true that something venomous—something one might call disgrace or humiliation—swirled in Chie’s stomach, yet the confidence that not even a cormorant’s feather’s worth of this had been detected by Nurse H was undeniably gratifying. “Yes, I am just a timid little girl, you see”—casting her eyes down meekly, Chie allowed Nurse H to sound her triumphant notes to heart’s content. That was at least a token of gratitude.

There was still some time before the shift change. Gradually, Chie too regained enough composure to speak and was able to ask about two or three points that failed to make sense.

“So, does that lady still come peering into the maternity ward like that because she can’t let go of that boy who vanished?……” “To put it briefly, well, that’s about the gist of it.” “But when it comes to whether she actually expects to meet a living child—that part seems rather doubtful.” “Even when she peers through the corridor window like that, her gaze isn’t restless like she’s searching for something—it’s more like she’s fixedly staring at one spot, yet somehow unfocused… In short, it’s the look of someone wandering between dream and reality.” “That’s precisely why it feels all the more chilling.…… Once, I asked Nurse F about it, and she said that despite appearances, the lady remains surprisingly docile.” “If you don’t provoke her and just leave her be, she’s easier to handle than ordinary people—that’s what Nurse F told me.” “People with schizophrenia being that calm are rare—apparently even the doctors say so.” “According to Nurse F, she doesn’t come intending to peer through windows from the start—during her nightly walk, when the maternity ward’s lights catch her eye, she unsteadily pushes open the garden’s glass door herself, as if drawn by something.” “Since that lady has bouts of insomnia, they take her out for an hour’s garden walk every night at nine.” “First she walks slowly through the pine grove.” “Then she goes to the riverside and sits on that bench—moonlit or pitch-dark—staring fixedly at the water.” “Sometimes motorboats would chug up the estuary towing barges heaped with black cargo, or disappear into the bay’s darkness—but whether those shadows entered her vision or those engine sounds reached her ears, she gave no sign.” “She wouldn’t budge an inch, just kept gazing at the river.” “At times she’d look up and watch one particular star for ages.” Then she’d suddenly stand and briskly head back toward the main building. When she reached the round lawn with the former director’s bust, whether she turned right or left decided if her walk grew longer. If left, she went straight to the back entrance, climbed wordlessly to the third-floor ward, collapsed onto her bed as if drained, and fell asleep without changing. If right, this maternity ward’s lights usually came into view first. There she’d gently push open the garden’s glass door herself. "That door’s a shortcut to the main building’s medical office—they don’t lock it even at night."

She walked down the corridor without making a sound, first lingering at the window of Room 1, then at Room 2’s. “For about two or three minutes each time, Nurse F would silently step back a few paces and watch.” Before long, the lady would take the lead again and briskly head back toward the glass door. She would stop on the stone steps leading down to the lawn and let out a long, deep sigh. “……And after that, she apparently falls asleep with utmost calmness.”

“So then, that lady isn’t specifically targeting that eerie child when she comes here? Earlier, right in the middle of peering in, when that child suddenly sat up, it made me all the more startled.” “……I wondered if there might be some resemblance between that missing child and this one—in the shape of their eyebrows or the set of their mouths……”

And Chie casually quoted Nurse H’s remark. The truth was, she retained only the faintest memory of Juntaro-san’s childhood face—a memory that had now grown so dim that while there seemed some resemblance in that child’s features, upon reflection there was none—and this very ambiguity made the eeriness grow increasingly unbearable, leaving her utterly overwhelmed. Nurse H must have had occasional opportunities to see Juntaro-san’s face until relatively recently.

“That’s not even remotely similar!” Nurse H answered flatly. “That boy had big, round eyes and rosy cheeks—nothing like that bloated, flabby child!” From her tone, one could infer that even equating that child with Juntaro-san was taken by Nurse H as something utterly objectionable. This was of course satisfying to Chie, while at the same time, Nurse H’s good-naturedly earnest demeanor struck her as somewhat comical. When Chie remained silent with her head bowed, Nurse H, still seeming unable to contain her irritation, began to say the following in a rapid tone.

“That bloated child sitting up earlier was nothing but a coincidence. It just happened to be around that drowsy time when they’re half-asleep, you see.” “There have been three or four such coincidences before, but that lady’s eyes—she wasn’t even looking at that child in the first place, you see.” “It’s a gaze that’s more… suspended in midair—aimless, yet somehow strangely poignant.” “In other words, she isn’t just staring at the children in this room or the next—it’s as though she’s gazing at all children as a whole…… if that makes sense.” “Once, when I was standing right inside the window and peered close into that lady’s eyes, she didn’t even glance at me being so near…… Don’t you think?” Here, Nurse H broke off her words, glanced fleetingly at Chie’s face as if testing the effect, then continued——

“See? Isn’t that right? She still shows up at that N Cathedral now and then too—like she’s just remembered to, you see!”

Chie involuntarily jolted. There was no doubt her complexion had changed as well. She inadvertently lowered her eyes, but when she timidly raised them again, Nurse H was already wearing an entirely altered expression, humming some popular tune under her breath. And when the shift change came, we withdrew to separate rooms.……

……………………………………

When told that Elder Sister still showed herself at N Cathedral, Chie couldn’t understand why she had been so startled. A chill ran down her spine for no particular reason, making every hair stand on end. There was something abnormal there. There was no doubt Chie had been profoundly unsettled.

That night, she could not fall asleep for a long time. Strangely, only the sound of the wind caught her ear. Nevertheless, she must have eventually fallen asleep, for she saw some sort of intricate dream. At first, it seemed she was wandering falteringly through the hospital garden. Chie alone under a terrifyingly bright moonlit night. The lawn appeared entirely white like a sandy beach, while the distant pine grove cast deep black shadows. Within those black trees, white patches dotted here and there—when looked at closely, each seemed exactly like Elder Sister’s form. Which one is the real Elder Sister?……The moment such a doubt took root, the dream began to spin into a dizzying whirl, vivid scenes spreading endlessly before me. Now all that remains is an uncannily vivid recollection: walking across what should by now be the vanished lawn of that Ōiso villa—Elder Sister’s face clear beside me under a moonlit night as we argued heatedly about something—while everything else has been cleanly forgotten.

Oh, let's stop with this dreary dream talk. The next morning—though it was nearly noon when she woke up—Chie found herself unable to stop thinking about N Hall rather than those dreams. Until then, Chie had merely looked at N Hall from afar, its great dome visible in the distance, never once having set foot beyond its gates. But now, she began to feel insistently that some profound mystery lurked within that sanctuary—and she could no longer contain herself. However, unlike duties in the main building, the maternity ward involved various chores, and since her responsibilities rotated constantly from the nursery to the delivery room and then to the labor room, opportunities to go out were scarce. Even so, she finally managed to slip out under some pretext and stopped by that hall as if out of breath. Perhaps because it was afternoon, the Main Hall’s doors were closed, but since scattered shadows of students and others were visible on the grounds, Chie also wandered for a while—pretending to take a stroll—around areas from the Main Hall to the small chapel and near the hermitage quarters by the back gate. It was at this time that Chie first caught sight of that young man named Furushima. Holding a bucket in one hand, he abruptly appeared from the side of the hermitage quarters. He was exactly like the physiognomy Chie had heard described by Nurse H beforehand. The moment the thought struck her, their eyes met. As for those eyes—it was just as she had written before. His haggard face with a scruffy beard was unexpectedly not pallid, and something resembling a smile floated upon it. In that instant—perhaps because there was something uncanny in Chie’s eyes as she inadvertently gazed fixedly—Mr. Furushima’s own eyes gleamed eerily, only to immediately adopt a modest downcast gaze as they passed each other.

It was a strangely searing impression. Why did Elder Sister cling to such a strange person?... Chie pondered on the crowded train home. Moreover, it was said she had even blurted out things like, “My boy! It’s my boy!” And that she had peered intently into that person’s glinting eyes. Had it been a momentary hallucination? Even so, when she pictured the scene of Elder Sister firmly grasping that emaciated, diminutive Mr. Furushima and peering down at him from above, she couldn’t help feeling an inexplicable sadness—and yet, something that made her want to laugh. Chie gradually began to feel as if even she were losing her mind.

A few days later, Chie went to N Hall again. Then once more, and yet again... On the train ride back, she would resolve never to pace about restlessly again, but after a while, that same mystery would gradually swell within her until she found herself wandering back, helplessly drawn in once more. 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 so. No—only once had the doors been thrown wide open, but on that day there seemed to be some sort of funeral underway, with foreign men and women in formal black attire hurriedly coming and going. Those foreigners, perhaps because of their formal attire, appeared all the more conspicuously impoverished. Chie stood in the shade of a tree for a while watching curiously, but Mr. Furushima's figure never appeared after all......

Amidst all this, the hospital training period came to an end, and Chie once again came to reside at Dr. G’s home. As for Nurse H—after that they kept missing each other at St. Agnes Hospital and ultimately never met…….

………………………………………

Yes, Mother, I cannot help but think how much better it might have been had we truly never met at all. Had that been so, Chie would have naturally grown distant from any news of Elder Sister, and perhaps fate's tides would have kept them so far apart they might never have crossed paths again. Chie had in truth been secretly wishing for precisely that. Yet in the end, that day we call yesterday arrived nonetheless. Yesterday brought rain pouring down since morning. To compound matters, an unseasonably tepid wind blew until the windowpanes grew utterly clouded. As noon approached, Dr. G seemed suddenly reminded of some urgent matter; handing Chie a thick sealed letter, he ordered her straightaway to visit a certain surgical hospital in Kanda O-chō and bring back the director's reply. Owing to the telephone line failures common on rainy days, she couldn't confirm the director's availability beforehand, yet assuming he'd likely be present, she set out—only to find him unfortunately absent, having departed late that morning at a patient's summons to Saitama Prefecture or suchlike, with his return not expected before five o'clock. The telephone line to G Hospital remained disconnected; though she nearly resolved to return later, reconsidering how three hours would swiftly pass in coming and going—and how the director might after all return unexpectedly early—Chie settled on waiting in a corner of the narrow tatami-matted waiting room. A surgical waiting room makes for no pleasant place. While one needn't fear malignant contagions here, even before touching the grime-coated pages of dog-eared entertainment magazines, they set one's teeth on edge. Had I known it would be like this, I should have brought a paperback—but such regrets come too late now. With no alternative, she shrank into the bench's farthest corner and attempted feigned slumber, yet found herself unable to keep eyes closed amid strangely crowded patients and the bustle of comings and goings. Before long, patients with dark blood seeping through provisional stitches became unavoidably noticeable—two here, three there. Had twenty or thirty minutes passed thus? Chie found herself addressed by that Nurse H.

It was a coincidence. No, it might be better to call it bad luck instead. Nurse H had taken leave due to a minor case of tetanus two or three days prior and was going to that hospital for treatment, so the story went. It seemed she had just had her bandages changed, and indeed, three fingers on her left hand were neatly bound together with new bandages. Nurse H also appeared surprised by this coincidence. As they talked for a while and Nurse H realized Chie had time to spare, she eagerly began to suggest giving her a tour of N Hall right then. It turned out N Hall was right nearby. “And there’s something I want to show you too, you know,” said Nurse H. The word “you” struck Chie’s ears like a thunderclap.…

“Why is that? Why me?” Chie almost retorted as she braced herself, but then suddenly reconsidered and held back. This overcaution sprang from her frail disposition. Nurse H was fundamentally kindhearted after all. This was simply another attempt to frighten Chie with ghost stories and relieve tedium. Truth be told, Chie might have actually felt relieved at having found such a convenient guide.

When they stepped outside, the rain was coming down hard in driving sheets. It only grew more intense by the moment—by the time they reached the wide straight paved road leading up to N Hall from O-chō’s intersection, they could no longer hold their umbrellas properly against the onslaught. The wind direction seemed to have shifted too; swarms of dusky leaden clouds crowded upward toward the northern sky. Against this backdrop, N Hall’s dome now loomed pitch-black before them, appearing to sway unsteadily like some living thing. Chie recalled Nurse H’s earlier words. "What on earth could she have meant by 'something I want to show you'?" This time unlike before, what unsettled her was not just the statement itself but its oddly vague phrasing—that trailing-off quality. "Ah well—it’s just Nurse H after all," she told herself. Maybe there was some bloodstain clinging to a pillar’s shadow that she wanted to proudly display—that must be all there was to it. "Alright—today I’ll act perfectly composed," Chie resolved with forced determination. Yet despite this resolve, anxiety coiled tighter in her chest with every step.

Before long, Nurse H turned into an unfamiliar side street. Then immediately, there was N Hall’s back gate. Despite having wandered the hall’s grounds several times before, Chie had remained unaware that there was a back gate in such a place. Passing between the white gateposts revealed an area resembling a small valley. On both sides stood residential-style two-story houses, while directly ahead lay broad, sheer stone steps. Atop those steps loomed N Hall’s gray, weighty mass. The great dome was no longer visible; only the frigid gray wall of its bulk rose oppressively overhead. The valley seemed to funnel winds where rain-beaten oak leaves and other large dead foliage lay plastered against paving stones. Chie nearly slipped multiple times (you know those old rubber lace-up boots I wore, Mother—the ones you recognize)—but when they began ascending what appeared to be stone steps, both involuntarily cried out. It was 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 down silently and slowly. Each time the wind blew down into this valley from both sides of the Main Hall, it created beautiful ripples on each step and sent up spray, yet despite this, the water was not blown off to one side. It continued to flow down slowly, step by step. The water formed a puddle of considerable size right at the base of the steps, then split left and right to flow across the earth—but by that point, it had gained such force that one could rightly call it a torrent. Even Nurse H, who must have been seeing such a spectacle for the first time, stood frozen in astonishment for a while, but soon made some joke-like remark and began ascending the stone steps, splashing through the puddles. Chie followed suit.

Of course, the current wasn’t strong enough to sweep one’s feet away. It was just slightly unsettling. The water flowed down ceaselessly. If I said it felt like stepping on the hem of a burial shroud dangling from the Main Hall’s edge, would you laugh at me, Mother? But Chie was in no mood for jokes. For some reason, her chest was pounding like a rapid bell. Of course, that pounding might also have been partly due to her desperate efforts to keep her umbrella from being snatched away by the wind that blew down almost ceaselessly from the direction of the Main Hall.

Even so, after climbing about ten steps and taking a break there, then climbing a while longer—when a sideways gust of wind swept her umbrella away—Chie's mind went blank. And then she noticed two women in dark rain gear coming down from above. "Oh, there are people up there!" I thought, but in that moment, it never occurred to me that it could be Elder Sister and Nurse F. Since they too were descending cautiously and leisurely, it took considerable time before we could pass each other. When the distance had narrowed to just two or three steps, and the black hems of their raincoats came into view, Chie's umbrella jerked sideways again—and before she knew it, she was looking up at Elder Sister's face from below. At that moment, she felt as if their eyes had met. A chill ran through her, and she hurriedly averted her eyes, but by then the umbrella had righted itself, concealing Elder Sister's upper body. Chie remembered how those feet had paused as if hesitating, remaining still for a mere two or three seconds. In those two or three seconds, it felt as though an eternity had passed. Perhaps it actually was a rather long time. Eventually, the two of them slowly descended past Chie. Neither had opened their umbrellas, holding them in hand instead, with Nurse F lightly wrapping one arm around Elder Sister's back.

When she noticed, Nurse H stood five or six steps above, looking down at Chie and laughing. She had closed one eye, her laughing face seeming to stick out a tongue. "See? It's just as I told you," her expression plainly said. Putting on an air of composure, Chie caught up to Nurse H—and thus forever lost her chance to call out "Elder Sister!" Soon after, Nurse H and Chie entered the Main Hall through a small side door immediately adjacent to where they'd finished ascending the stone steps. Though the latch bore no lock and opened easily when pulled, Nurse H tilted her head slightly in puzzlement...

……………………………………

Mother, I had at last entered that Main Hall I had long yearned to see—but none of the grand revelations I had braced myself for were there. I had felt that something like a key to unraveling Elder Sister’s secrets lay hidden there—that phantom key had gradually swelled in my mind until it became utterly unmanageable for a time—but now, seeing it with my own eyes, I found no secrets, no mysteries, no keys; such things had never existed here from the beginning. The hall interior lay chillingly cold in the faint afternoon light. The downpour’s presence had vanished as if forgotten, leaving only a silence that chillingly enveloped the surroundings. In that silence, I felt as though the scent of incense was drifting in from somewhere. Perhaps this was just my imagination. Not a trace remained of the metallic stench of blood I had braced myself for. The expansive concrete floor had been meticulously cleaned, leaving not a single bloodstain—let alone footprints or even a speck of dust. The only thing was that a short distance from where we had first peered in, there were scattered small water drip marks stretching all the way to the outer sanctuary on the right. It looked as if someone had carried a leaking bucket through here.

The Inner Sanctuary was blocked by a golden screen, leaving nothing visible, yet I somehow sensed a faint light lingering within. This made the area near its ceiling appear faintly veiled in a rosy haze. That alone held any semblance of warmth; everywhere else lay beneath a hollow expanse of diffused light. Even the statues of saints arranged upon the golden screen took on a garish, unnervingly artificial quality under that illumination, as though radiating falsehood itself.

“Look, that area over there is where the corpses remained until the very end,” Nurse H said, pointing to a corner of the Outer Sanctuary. It was where those traces resembling water from a bucket led. There were only five or six plain wooden benches stacked up, and of course, there was nothing noteworthy at all. Yes, this had been evident from the very beginning. It was simply that Chie had been foolish.

“If Mr. Furushima were here, we could’ve seen inside the Inner Sanctuary.” Nurse H said in a slightly apologetic tone, “Unfortunately, he seems to have gone out somewhere today.” “Normally he’d be studying in that room around this time... The Inner Sanctuary holds various magnificent treasures.” Now that she mentioned it, when they had earlier entered the dark corridor through the side door, Nurse H had lightly knocked on the door of a small storage-like room near the entrance and peered inside after receiving no response—it became clear she had been looking for that young man. Thus it turned out what Nurse H had earlier called “something I want to show you” referred to those treasures. “Oh!” Chie realized, nearly bursting into uneasy laughter. After all, Nurse H remained Nurse H, and Chie found her own excessive worrying almost laughable.

If the Inner Sanctuary wouldn't open, there was nothing to do but turn back as I was. When they were about to exit through the dark corridor again, Nurse H tried opening the door of that small room once more. Chie, too, peered in after Nurse H out of a sudden curiosity. The inside was still empty. "He must have gone out—his one good coat isn't here," Nurse H muttered, starting to withdraw her head, but upon noticing Chie peering in from behind, she quickly changed tack and...

“Why don’t we pop in for a bit? There are heaps of paintings that are so typical of him here. This storeroom is his studio, you know.”

Chie nodded. I felt a desire to see what kind of paintings that one-armed, peculiar young man painted.

The not particularly spacious room had about half of it taken up by piles of chairs and tables. There was one small window open, beneath which a shabby unpainted wooden desk was pushed up against the wall. In front of it was a single chair, over whose back was slung an oil-stained blouse that even Chie recognized. Near the entrance on the floor, a pair of oil-stained straw sandals with a shining black luster were neatly arranged. As for personal belongings, there were only those, and beyond that, the space was so densely packed with easels and canvases that there was no room to set foot.

“According to Mr. Okada and others, these paintings apparently have real promise, but I haven’t the faintest idea what they’re talking about...” Setting aside Nurse H, who was muttering such things to herself, Chie unwittingly came to stand at the room’s center, letting her gaze wander across paintings that leaned against one another or lay half-hidden—her eyes finding no fixed point to settle on. There were unfinished paintings that appeared to be self-portraits. There was a portrait of a white-bearded old man. There were almost no landscape paintings—most depicted figures or street scenes—but when Chie’s eye caught a rather large painting half-hidden beneath them, and she gently pushed aside the obstructing canvas, her attention became riveted to that surface.

What size number it might be called—it was a landscape-format painting measuring approximately four shaku by three shaku. In the foreground lay an emaciated, bony male nude stretched out lengthwise to fill the entire canvas. Directly behind him at the center sat a woman in black robes gazing at something like the Intermediate State. Behind her stretched a pale white band—whether glacier or stone wall—running horizontally across the canvas, while the background appeared to be a distant fir forest rendered in deep green. What drew Chie’s attention was, above all, that woman’s gaze. At first glance, those eyes seemed fixed on the Intermediate State, but upon closer inspection they were nearly shut. The faint gaze seeping through her overlapping eyelids appeared to be intently fixed upon the bearded face of the nude man lying below. With jaw thrust forward and head tilted back at an angle, that white face bore unmistakable profound sorrow. Though Chie knew little of art, she could infer at a glance that this was likely a painting expressing the theme of "Sorrowful Madonna." As she stared fixedly at that Madonna’s gaunt face, I began to feel it somehow resembled Elder Sister’s expression from that time. This 'that time' might have been when I peered through the nursery window one evening not long ago. It might have been that very moment when we had just passed each other in the waterfall-like cascade of the stone steps. No—it might have been Elder Sister’s expression reflected in Mr. Furushima’s eyes as he looked up from below, in that dimly lit corner of the cathedral’s Outer Sanctuary, when she suddenly clung to that young man. It seemed as though it could be any of those moments, yet also felt as though it were none of them.

“It isn't exactly a pleasant painting, you know.” “That’s so typical of Mr. Furushima…” said Nurse H in her characteristic raspy voice, who had somehow ended up standing behind me without my noticing. I unwittingly woke from my dreamlike state and hurried to move away from the painting. I took two or three steps, then suddenly turned to look back. At that moment, what caught my eye was the bearded face of that nude man by chance, and I thought I saw it wearing a faint smile. Of course, this must have been nothing but a delusion of my own mind. But that faintly smiling face’s resemblance to none other than Mr. Furushima’s own smile was certainly not a delusion of mine.……

Nurse H carefully returned the painting that Chie had earlier pushed aside to its original position, then came out after her and closed the door. Chie couldn't shake the sensation that her chest was heaving like waves, but Nurse H showed no sign of noticing as they exited through the side door,

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

Chie ran out toward the main gate through the still-pouring rain, as though fleeing from Nurse H, not even holding an umbrella. As she ran past the front of the Main Hall, she distinctly heard a tremendous sound—as though flames were swirling throughout its interior—reaching her ears. It was a roaring noise resembling fire engulfing the hall. Though it was mortifying, after that I became completely frantic. I have no recollection of how I eventually reached O Town Surgical Hospital. When I came to my senses, I felt something like nausea. I could no longer bear it and went to the restroom, but ultimately had nothing to vomit. It seems it had been just dizziness.…

……………………………………… Mother—

Mother—

I have nothing more to report. You may reproach me, saying, "In the end, you've understood nothing at all." That, too, is unavoidable. For even I, Chie myself, cannot comprehend it in the slightest.

In any case, this is all that I, Chie, have been able to uncover regarding the information about Elder Sister that you sought, Mother. I humbly wish to be excused from Elder Sister's matters henceforth. As long as Elder Sister continues to live in that state, this duty of seeking information about her cannot possibly be fulfilled. Chie, too, fully understands that much. But Chie lacks the strength to pursue this investigation any further. And having read this letter, Mother will surely never impose such duties upon Chie again—this Chie firmly believes. That is Elder Sister—dead. Chie now states this clearly. Elder Sister perished in those raging flames. Please, Mother, do believe this as well!

Despite having met Elder Sister so many times, will you condemn this Chie’s heartlessness for never once calling out “Elder Sister!”? “That’s precisely why they say Miss Chie is so strong-willed!” I can hear Mother’s voice resonating in the depths of my ears. If that be your reproach, then Chie shall gratefully accept however much you deem fit. After all, Chie is but a woman barren of sentiment—one who does naught but tally reality’s accounts on her abacus. This truth Mother has ceaselessly impressed upon me since childhood, and surely shall continue through all my days. Indeed—Chie must live. So long as she must live on, she cannot suffer entanglement with the realm of the dead. Chie may declare this much plainly……

But occasionally, there are times when I truly do feel sorry for Elder Sister. There are times when a feeling wells up within me—some urge to pray for Elder Sister. But when I boil down this feeling of prayer, it ultimately settles into the conclusion that I must not inflict upon Elder Sister the suffering of worldly bonds— To phrase it a bit more elegantly, that feeling of not wanting to harm Elder Sister’s happiness—perhaps it could also be expressed in such terms.

Mother—could these be words of hypocrisy? But I—if it's hypocrisy, then let it be hypocrisy. I have finally come to realize that we humans are prone to unknowingly sink into evils far more terrible than such hypocrisy. To name it clearly before you, Mother—even for someone like me—is an exceedingly painful thing. Well then, let us put an end to such talk.

I sense a thinning in the air as though dawn approaches. Today there is surgery for a uterine cancer patient beginning at ten o'clock in the morning. As Chie must assist Dr. G, she needs to sleep even an hour or two before daybreak. Farewell. With this, Chie concludes her account.

Even so, Mother—if our attitude toward the S family had not been so generous back then, we could have lived together peacefully again with our mad Elder Sister!…