Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Quiet Reading Life

The door to the “Waiting Room for Visitors” that the reception guard had pointed to directly across was tightly shut.
Ryuko, concerned about the creaking of her new clogs’ teeth against the floorboards, quietly approached and placed her hand on the door.
When the heavy door half-opened, she immediately saw comrade M’s pale face directly ahead.

This waiting room was located to the right of Tokyo Prison’s main entrance—a long, narrow chamber about three ken deep that ran alongside the packed-earth floor of the entryway.
Excluding both the doorway leading up to the corridor—reached by turning left upon entering—and the main entrance itself, narrow wooden benches for visitors had been installed along all three walls of this nine-shaku by three-ken elongated room, arranged like shelves.
On the south side facing the corridor doorway, high on the wall overlooking the front garden, a single large window had been opened.

M was sitting directly opposite the entrance.
Inside the room lay two or three pairs of umbrellas, geta, and slippers, but aside from M, the only visitor was a woman crouched in a corner with a three- or four-year-old child strapped to her back in a filthy swaddling cloth so stained its stripes were indistinguishable.

“Already finished?”

Finding the room unexpectedly quiet and sparsely occupied, Ryuko spotted M in the hushed chamber and immediately sat down beside him to ask.

“No, not yet.”
“I’m scheduled for the afternoon—right now Old Man S is meeting with Mr. Y.”

“Old Man S?”
“Right, so you’re meeting Mr. W then?”

“Ah, I was supposed to meet Mr. Y, but Old Man S arrived first and went through the procedures—”

M explained to Ryuko that the procedures had diverged slightly from what everyone had decided yesterday.
Then the two of them discussed how they had learned yesterday that four individuals awaiting trial here had been taken to court and, wanting at the very least to let them know they were all together in spirit, had stood for half a day before the temporary cells there—as well as various matters concerning the unexpected imprisonment of those four.

“Mr. M, is that place also where prisoners are kept?”

The side of a building that towered high, pressing down upon the low roof across the courtyard visible from the open corridor entrance suddenly caught Ryuko’s attention. It was a sturdy wooden structure that at first glance recalled an old feudal-era prison. The dark brown paint weathered by rain and wind into an antiquated hue; the small attic windows near the roof’s ridge on those log-stacked exterior walls—their square frames fitted with horizontal bars like animal cages, barely admitting light—all seemed to manifest precisely what E habitually called a “prison.” So Ryuko asked M, who had once been detained in this prison’s holding cell alongside many comrades.

“No, that’s different.”
“That must be where the guards and such are stationed, I suppose?”
“The place where prisoners are kept is farther beyond that.”
“The places our comrades go to are mostly called the Fourth and Eighth Cellblocks—they’re in the building on the far left.”

While giving a detailed explanation about the location and structure of the cells—invisible from where they were—M seemed to naturally recall various matters and proceeded to share stories of his carefree life in the cells.
That was something Ryuko had also often heard from E.
As Ryuko listened to M’s stories and recalled various episodes she had heard from E about this place, she could almost vividly picture E sitting cross-legged in one of these solitary cells, absorbed in his reading.

“Six months or a year…”

Whenever prison became the topic of conversation, E would say that.

“Secluded living isn’t so bad once in a while.”
“Ah…it’s been ages since I last read a book…”

When overwhelmed by trivial matters and worn thin from exhaustion, he would often speak with deep earnestness about how solitary cell life—truly quiet and free from all disturbances—allowed one to immerse oneself completely in reading.

“When we met E at N Police Station the other day, he was laughing about how he might manage two or three months of reading. But what about the other three?”
“At N we were all together and kept each other’s spirits up, but separated like this…they must feel so anxious and despondent.”

Ryuko thought of E—who had spent over half his twenties in prison and had grown not just accustomed but even intimate with that life—while simultaneously feeling concern for the three others now experiencing such things for the first time.

"No need to worry—they're all perfectly fine."
"Besides, they're still awaiting trial—plenty of clothes layered on, blankets wrapped tight, decent meals delivered too."
"When Mr. H met Mr. U earlier about the care package, he said if it contained world history and a dictionary, that'd be more than enough."
"Mr. W's the same—if anyone's downhearted it'd be Mr.Y—but really, no cause for such concern."

“That Mr. Y—he was already subjected to Mr. T’s relentless sarcastic criticisms and snide remarks just yesterday.”
“If even Mr. T is like that, then who knows what the others are saying.”
“I don’t know how Mr. Y—who was supposed to head in a different direction—ended up with our three, but he’s quite the character to have as a comrade.”
“Mr. T’s making it sound like E forcibly dragged him along, but isn’t it true that E and Y had only just met that evening at the gathering?”
“But I can’t imagine they’d go out of their way to drag him along like that.”

Y was a young man who had recently come from the provinces through the offices of Mr.T and Mr.K—currently recognized as leaders of Japan’s socialists—and was working at B Company managed by Mr.T. E and Mr.T had maintained deep connections in various respects until then, but over the past five or six years, as E’s anarchist stance became increasingly pronounced, they had grown unable to reconcile both ideologically and emotionally. Naturally, aside from old comrades entangled in past factional ties who remained carefully neutral, those gathering around the two men had changed in composition. While Y’s name had long been known to them, he had first met E just several days prior at a gathering of comrades—and late that night on their way back from there, they were stopped by N Police Station in Asakusa. It was no surprise that E and U and W were together since they all lived in the same house in Kameido, but that Y—who should have been returning to Hibiya—had been with them was something others simply could not comprehend. However, they couldn’t believe E or W had deliberately dragged him along. Yet when Ryuko met Mr.T two days prior, he had criticized E’s recklessness in a tone implying E had intentionally brought them there—or at least made clear his underlying assertion that E had acted rashly while accompanied by Y. “E’s recklessness” had long been the sole criticism against him among Mr.T’s circle. However, there was in fact a proper reason behind this recklessness of E’s. Even when shown Mr.T’s true intentions, Ryuko felt contempt rather than anger—but when confronted with Mr.T further obscured by petty emotions, she could not help but feel a complex mix of hatred and indignation.

II. Incomprehensible Imprisonment

As for why E and the others had been imprisoned, those who knew the true reason were none other than the imprisoned themselves.
Of course, anyone with a modicum of sense knew that the irresponsible reporting in newspapers was utterly unreliable.

“What did you do?”
“What on earth—”

When she met him at N Police Station—while he smoked leisurely after a meal and advised her about care packages and other matters—she waited for pauses in his speech to try asking.

“It’s nothing serious—”

He laughed and did not respond to her question.
The other three, regarding that matter as well, merely smiled in silence and said nothing.
And Ryuko, too, did not ask anything further about it.

In ordinary people’s lives, that would never pass as “nothing at all.”
But in the lives of E and Ryuko, this was less a commonplace occurrence than a minor calamity that would inevitably descend upon them whenever opportunity arose—and always under some new pretext.
It was something so inevitable that it could not even be received as a mere misfortune—it had reached a point where it was considered almost a matter of necessity.
And she had long since resolved not to indulge in any exaggerated worry or agitation over it.
And all she had to do in such situations was exert the utmost camaraderie and devote herself entirely to those confined in unfree places.

Mr.T was supposed to be the most understanding person regarding such matters—indeed, she had heard he actually was such a person. However, the Mr.T before Ryuko showed not a trace of the magnanimity befitting a leader who supposedly possessed such warmth. He dumped before her—in a whining, sarcastic manner—the nuisance and discomfort of receiving complaints brought this time by Y’s associates. Then, in a tone that made one wonder why he bothered mentioning it at all, he told Ryuko how even the XX Incident from several years prior had been another commotion led by E: how everyone had dismissed their sentences as mere five or six months at most—maybe two or three—yet ended up serving terms of two years or even two and a half years.

Depending on interpretation, one might think he resented Ryuko’s unexpected composure toward this first experience and threatened her out of petty spite—or that he meant to imply how much “E’s recklessness” might yet again burden others this time. When Ryuko heard such words, fresh resentment surged within her. Even if Y—who knew nothing—had been caught in the crossfire, that stemmed from Y’s own carelessness in approaching dangerous people and places—it had nothing to do with Mr.T’s concerns. If they found it burdensome, they should simply refuse it. There was no need to parade these grievances before Ryuko as if clinging to them. She felt antipathy welling up toward Mr.T as he sat before her, speaking with that sarcastic air.

But that wasn’t all.
Mr.T seemed to feel rather resentful toward Ryuko—who, encountering him for the first time in such circumstances—would not seek any guidance whatsoever from him, though he himself was thoroughly versed in these matters, and instead persisted in trying to accomplish everything alone.
He grilled her about every detail regarding care packages and other trivial matters.

“I don’t know what you plan to do about meals or anything like that, but there’s no need to send them three times a day in his case.”
“They don’t eat that much anyway, so it’d be better for them to eat the prison food at least once.”
“And as for money—it’s not like that’ll last anyway. If you start off too generously and then can’t keep it up, your initial kindness will amount to nothing—”

“Well...”

This wasn’t an unreasonable point.
She had indeed considered this much from the beginning and had been cautioned by E too.
She had settled on sending meals twice daily—light bread with milk in the morning and a slightly better boxed dinner in the evening.
When looked down upon—as if they thought the money wouldn’t last—her resolve only hardened further: she would do whatever it took to sustain everyone through their pretrial detention.
Each exchange with Mr.T steadily intensified her antipathy.
Unable to endure even minor insults of this sort, Ryuko nearly thought to hurl her boiling emotions before this old man.
Yet another sentiment—that she mustn’t stoop to vulgar displays—made her recall her long-complicated ties with E, finally quieting her agitation.

Just then, another comrade appeared there and offered to go with her to the prison entrance.

Once outside, when she heard her comrade's gentle words of comfort, all the varied emotions Ryuko had been enduring until now surged up at once, and hot tears streamed ceaselessly down her cheeks.
She covered her face with a handkerchief many times as she walked down the street.
And now, for the first time, she could profoundly feel a desolate helplessness—something she hadn't experienced in the four or five days since everyone had been taken away—amidst the tears that had overflowed during that time.
The antipathy toward Mr.T had, over the past two or three days since then, inflamed Ryuko's emotions with every object touched and incident encountered.

Even now, Ryuko was remembering it.

“They’ll say something or other anyway.”
“Let those who want to talk say what they please. Moping won’t help Mr.Y either.”
“No use talking over spilled milk.”

M lit a cigarette and spoke calmly.

“Mr.T isn’t the sort to speak without understanding things... but when it comes to E, he strangely changes.”

Ryuko stayed silent and looked down.
And she resolved to keep tending to everyone herself by whatever means she could, at least while they remained in pretrial detention.
Especially regarding Y’s care, her determination to wholly exclude Mr.T and his people grew stronger alongside her rising resentment.

III. The Sound of Hell’s Gate

“Clang—!”

The heavy door at the entrance to the room right next to the waiting room was slammed shut with violent force, making a thunderous noise.
Ryuko involuntarily furrowed her brows.

“Oh, what an awful sound!”
“It’s like a sound that makes your whole body cower.”

It was truly a menacing sound.
_That must be the sound of them confining the prisoners_, Ryuko thought.
_That noise surely threatened and sneered at the prisoners’ souls more certainly than any verdict._

“When I hear that sound… truly… it’s been a while since I last heard it.”

M said with a smile, responding to Ryuko’s words.

"But it still doesn’t cut it. The solitary cell doors are made so much thicker and sturdier—they’re beyond comparison. They make a far heavier sound—much heavier—and without those keys going clank-clank, you don’t get the real feeling."

M began speaking in a tone that now vividly recalled his distant prison life through that sound.

“Since you’re sitting all alone in a cramped solitary cell all day long，getting out even for a little while is such a pleasure，you know．The walk to the meeting area is quite a distance，so strolling around and looking here and there along the way—now that’s refreshing and feels good．”

As the two were talking, the large frame of Old Man S—who had finished his visit and was returning—blocked the corridor entrance.

“Oh—!”

The old man called Old Man S among comrades—his plump, ruddy face wearing its usual gentle smile—descended the stone steps and approached Ryuko.
After receiving Ryuko’s bowing greeting, the old man politely inquired after her well-being.

“How about… Mr.Y? Is he holding up well?”

After waiting for the greeting to end, M immediately interjected from beside them.

“Uh, yes—he’s doing quite well.”
“He asked me to convey his regards to everyone, and also said he’d like some books sent in.”
“Uh—”

“Ah, I have brought that today.”
“I included the collection of Maupassant’s short stories and Gorky’s Kamrade that Mr.Y himself requested, along with a dictionary.”
“If it takes longer, I intend to add something else.”

When Ryuko said this, Old Man S nodded deeply while—

“Ah, I see. Then that should suffice—after all, when one sits there all day like that, having something to read becomes paramount.”

“That is correct.
And isn’t he cold?”

“Uh… yes—he said he’s quite comfortable since he’s wearing plenty of layers and has a blanket.
However, there’s no heating after all.
He asked whether it had been in the newspaper—when I said it had, he went ‘Well that’s just fine,’ or something like that.”

“That would cause problems if published, wouldn’t it?”

M laughed while flicking the ash from his cigarette.

“However, this opportunity might let Mr.Y make a true resolution.
And then, Mr.S, are you heading to Company B next?”

M said with a slightly more formal tone.

“Ah, yes.
“I intend to do so.”

“Well then, when you go to Company B, could you please make sure to explain that I was supposed to meet Mr. Y, but since you were scheduled to meet him first, I ended up meeting Mr. W instead? Otherwise, with so many insensitive people around, they’re bound to start complaining that we only make a fuss over those close to us while neglecting the ones on their side.”

“Understood.”
“I will convey it properly.”
“I must say—our comrades are rather more sensitive than ordinary people after all. Yes, understood. I will convey it properly.”

The old man nodded several times and said.

“I humbly ask for your favor.”

“Yes, I will certainly convey that.”
“Well then, I’ll take my leave now. When you meet Mr. E, please kindly give him my regards.”
“After all, when things come to this, you become the one who works hardest.”
“Well then, I humbly ask for your continued kind consideration in all matters.”

Having said that to Ryuko, Old Man S stood up and left.

“Aaaah…”

When Old Man S’s figure disappeared from view, M—keeping his hands tucked in his sleeves in a slovenly manner—stretched his body and let out a large yawn.

“Looks like the rain’s stopped.”

Through the single high window streamed a faint, uncertain sunlight.
From the beginning, only a woman sat rigidly on the bench beneath that window with a child strapped to her back, keeping the room hushed.
The chill creeping up from the hem of her kimono where she sat pressed against the floor was distinctly perceptible to Ryuko.
E had caught a cold.
Since early last autumn, that cold had lingered stubbornly and wouldn’t go away.
Yet there he sat in that unheated cell—he must be freezing.
E—who above all else lacked any tolerance for cold—how was he managing to sit there?
Ryuko grew intensely worried—this time about E’s health.

“Hey Mr. M, is it okay to sit with the blanket spread underneath?”

“Yes, that’s perfectly fine.
“Is everyone each getting one?”

“Yes, but this cold without any heating is unbearable—he must be freezing.
“And on top of that, E still hasn’t shaken off that cold from last year.”

“It’s fine while he’s there.
“Anyway, with his state of mind being different there, he’ll shake off a cold—and besides, it’s already March now.
“If it had been a month earlier, it wouldn’t be like this.
“This is just the right time.
“From now on, two or three months or even five or six months would be the best time.”

M stood up and, slowly pacing back and forth in front of Ryuko, said.

IV. Ah... A common-law wife, huh?

“Might I inquire what time it might be now?”

Suddenly, the woman sitting in the corner turned and asked.
Ryuko searched her coat pocket, took out her watch, and looked at it.

“It’s twenty minutes to one.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you ever so much.”

The woman stretched out her legs as if in pain and placed them on her dirty geta.
The child on her back was pressing his large, shaven head against his mother’s back and sleeping soundly.
With that mother’s hair—showing no trace of comb marks, devoid of oiliness, left unkempt—and her dirty nenneko jacket, to Ryuko’s eyes she could only appear as either a day laborer’s wife or a street vendor’s spouse.

“We’ve been waiting an awfully long time, haven’t we?”

M addressed the woman in his usual gentle tone.

"Yes, since we've been here since morning, it's quite a long wait."
"Given it's still early afternoon, we'll likely be waiting a good while longer, won't we?"

"Oh, it should be soon now."
"When it's one o'clock, they should let us meet."

"Ah, I see. Thank you ever so much."

The woman fell silent at that.
At that exact moment, a man in Western clothes stood at the reception window.
The reception clerk seemed to be processing the visitation procedures while persistently questioning something.
Ryuko immediately stood up and went over.
As soon as the man received the numbered tag and withdrew, Ryuko took his place.

“Who are you here to see?”

The elderly reception clerk glared at Ryuko’s face in a thoroughly arrogant manner.
In the wide room, faces here and there before large desks placed in rows peered curiously over the old man's shoulder at Ryuko's face.
Ryuko glared back irritably at the old man’s arrogant question while casually stating E’s name.

“Ah, Mr. E—I see. And you are?”

The old man suddenly changed both his attitude and choice of words as he spoke.
Ryuko silently held out her business card.

“And what would be your relation—”

“Common-law wife—”

With that, Ryuko involuntarily tried to let out an awkward smile.

“What’s there to boast about not being a proper wife? Just look—getting hauled into court or coming to visit prison ends up making you a common-law wife anyway.”

E often made such jokes about their relationship whenever he spoke of it in front of friends or the like.

“Oh, stop it!”
“Oh, quit your fussin’—it’s the truth!”

“I hate being called a common-law wife.”

“Even if you hate it, isn’t that the truth?”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing—I’m just saying—”

“Then if they call you a common-law wife in court, will you file a protest?”

“Oh, being called a common-law wife—that’s not it at all.”
“That’s just how I say it!”

“Is that so? Well, aren’t you something.”

They had said such things over and over.
And a few days ago, when she went with a certain friend to deliver a care package to the Metropolitan Police Department, she was again asked the same thing by the officer in charge there.

“What are you to Mr. E?”

The policeman stared fixedly at Ryuko’s face as he spoke.
Even though they knew everything—Ryuko thought as she—

“We live together.”

she replied ambiguously.

“Ha ha, I see. So you’re his common-law wife, then.”

The policeman wrote it down with an utterly serious air.
When Ryuko heard the policeman’s words, she felt a ticklish discomfort while watching with strange fascination how this officer—who needed to pry into every last obvious detail before accepting anything—had foolishly swallowed her ambiguous answer without further questioning and labeled her a “common-law wife.” Then she suddenly recalled E’s usual remarks and nearly burst out laughing.
And at the same time, when she thought about how she had never seen the term “common-law wife” anywhere outside the scandal pages of newspapers, the phrase somehow struck her as unbearably vulgar.
That night after returning home, and the next day too, whenever Ryuko recalled it, she felt strange.
But in the end, as she steadily exaggerated that feeling, a perverse curiosity began to gradually show its face.
And before she knew it, she had become able to calmly say “common-law wife” from her own mouth.
However, immediately after saying it so calmly, she felt her face flush red.

When Ryuko received the "Number 72" tag and returned to the waiting room, nearly ten visitors who had entered from the outer waiting area were already there.
And from behind, groups of three or four came trickling in one after another, until before anyone knew it, the once-hushed waiting room was packed full, with no seats left vacant.
Ryuko returned to her seat and immediately took out her watch to look at it.
It was already well past one o'clock.
In the corridor, clerks and guards began coming and going.

“Clang!” The sound of doors near and far made Ryuko’s brows furrow repeatedly.

V. Innocent Faces Unable to Perceive Hell

Half the people in the waiting room were women: a shrewd middle-aged mistress of a household with sharp, perceptive eyes; a spirited-looking wife of about thirty-two or three; what appeared to be a waitress from a small eatery wearing a soft cotton-padded haori with an apron; a woman from the backstreets carrying a child on her back; a sunken-cheeked country barmaid type with heavily powdered white makeup; a young middle-class wife dressed tastefully in two layers of striped cotton kimono; and twelve or thirteen others—some chatting nonchalantly with companions, some sitting pale and worried in silence, some looking around nervously, others discreetly eyeing people's clothing and hairstyles.

The men were all talking and laughing together over relatively carefree conversations.
Sitting immediately to the left of the stone steps leading up to the corridor was a forty-four or forty-five-year-old man with dark skin and drooping eyebrows—a man whose face at first glance resembled that of a ward office clerk, yet held a slightly comical appearance—who kept fretting over the geta he had left discarded on those stone steps.

“What in the world’s taking so long? They oughta be comin’ out any minute now.”
“Can’t stand it when folks walk off in others’ slippers and never bring ’em back.”
“Visiting hours’ll start any moment now.”

The man groaned loud enough for everyone to hear, speaking to no one in particular.

“What’s wrong?”

Right beside him, a large man who looked every bit like a fishmonger proprietor interjected.

“Well now, I left my slippers here when the owner of these geta came earlier and walked off wearing them without returning at all. I stayed quiet thinking he’d come right back, but it’s been nearly thirty minutes now and he still hasn’t shown up.”

The man said with a slight pursing of his lips, yet in a tone that seemed more pleased about having struck up a conversation than about its actual content.

“Is that so? Well now, then he should be coming any minute now.”

The boss made a face as if to say “How trivial” and spoke.
And he immediately began talking with the young man in a bird-hunting hat who was with him.
The first man, seemingly disheartened by the boss’s attitude, lowered his half-risen hips back down.
And he began talking to what appeared to be his companion—an old man around sixty who looked like a country fellow.

“It’s truly a massive building, what with that wall enclosing several blocks square,” he said. “Well I don’t know how many people they’ve crammed in here, but it must be something tremendous, eh? Just providing meals and clothing for them all must be quite a task.”

The man said loudly while making his comically startled eyebrows even more exaggerated.

“Yep, even the government’s gotta have its wasteful expenses,” replied the country fellow. “That’s one hell of an amount even just for a single day’s worth—folks like us could never manage that.”

“Sure, it’s wasteful,” he said, “but just imagine the mess if this place didn’t exist.”
“Still though—must feel pretty good puttering through this big compound in that automobile.”
“Folks like us could work our fingers to the bone and never drive a car through these brick walls.”

“Ain’t no joke at all.”

The boss cut in again.

“There’s all kinds of automobiles, you know—that one ain’t for carrying people at all, I tell you—”

The boss, puffed up with pride, leaned toward the man and said.

“I tell you, it’s for hauling people! Just take a look next time they’re loading or unloading somewhere—any spot’ll do.”
“The handcuffed bunch get crammed in squeaking tight.”
“I don’t know about other automobiles, but the ones that come here are strictly for hauling human cargo, I tell you.”
“Riding around in automobiles might sound impressive and all, but me—I’ll pass, I tell you.”

At the boss’s overly serious objection, everyone burst out laughing.
M and Ryuko exchanged glances and burst out laughing too.
The boss himself let out a hearty laugh as if completely carefree, surveying everyone’s faces.
Just then, a shabby-looking guard passing through the corridor paused briefly, glaring with pale eyes that seemed to demand “What’s going on?” before moving along.
When Ryuko saw that sallow, gaunt face twisted in vicious spitefulness, she was instantly seized by revulsion.
Once more she scanned the room’s occupants.
Yet nobody appeared to take particular notice.

The man in the corner and the boss kept up their idle chatter, keeping everyone amused.
The people surrounding the boss grinned as if they'd forgotten this was an unpleasant prison waiting room, disarmed by his guileless banter.
Yet the women clustered near the entrance couldn't quite mask their anxious expressions after all.
Rather than listening to the boss's jokes, they seemed wholly focused on waiting for the hour when they'd be summoned into the visitation room.

“It’s already about two o’clock. Can’t they hurry up already?”
“I’m starving.”

The young man beside the boss said with a thoroughly weary expression while letting out a big yawn.

“Quit your whining. Once it’s time, they’ll properly let you meet ’em—the honorable officials ain’t but just finished their midday meal. Your stomach could be growling all it wants—you think the authorities would give a damn about that? Their bellies won’t empty out till evening comes.”

The boss immediately adopted a joking tone and glared at the young man.

“Boss, yours probably isn’t empty though—”

“Hey now, when did I ever say my stomach wasn’t empty? I’m absolutely starving! The ones whose stomachs aren’t empty are the honorable officials’. You’re really built to be one hell of a bungler, aren’t you?”

“Hmph.”

The young man made a resigned face, put his hand into the pocket of his overcoat, and looked up at the ceiling.

“But it really is taking so long. I’ve been here since seven in the morning, you know.”
“It’s completely exhausting when a brief meeting takes an entire day.”
“When you have to take a day off work and spend the whole day coming here, it’s hardly as straightforward as calling it ‘brief’.”

The first man spoke up again.

“It’s not something that can be handled so casually—the authorities are meticulous about everything—”

“If they’re so meticulous, they should’ve started by now—we were only supposed to wait till one.”

The pockmarked old man in a black apron, about fifty years old who had been sitting on Ryuko's side of the room, spoke up for the first time.

"That's true.
While they keep dawdling around, the day'll end up getting dark.
Won't they hurry up already?"

The young man said, puckering his lips in discontent.

"After being forced to wait endlessly like this, you finally get your meeting and can't even talk for five minutes—it's enough to make you sick, I tell you.
You can't even have a proper conversation at all.
Even if they let us meet for five or ten minutes, it ain't like they'd get punished or nothin'."

This time, the boss too joined in and began voicing complaints.

“Last time I came, I couldn’t talk proper-like and only got half my business done—that’s why I brought two folks along this time. Figured if we took turns talking and jogging each other’s memories between us, maybe we’d dodge those ‘oh right!’ moments later on. Trying to hash out all sorts of matters in their measly official time—how’re you s’posed to—”

The man shook his head repeatedly.

“How long is the actual permitted visitation time, I wonder?”

The pockmarked old man asked no one in particular.

“Well...”

Everyone exchanged glances, but no one knew.

“Public phones give you five minutes—but whatever they do here will be even shorter.”

The boss had everyone laughing once more,

“Say, what time is it? Should be starting any minute now.”

He looked back toward the entrance with an expression that seemed to say he’d tried his best to endure.
This time no one said anything aloud, but when suddenly addressed like this, their faces returned to tense expressions that seemed strained with expectation.

6. The Pickpocket’s Shame

Ryuko had become aware that the chill in her lower body was steadily sapping her physical strength.
M listened to everyone’s conversations while laughing, alternately standing and walking around.

“Visitation rooms are truly fascinating things, aren’t they?”

Ryuko said in a low voice when M sat down beside her.

"Indeed, you wouldn't get this sort of feeling anywhere else."

M nodded as he said this.

"E always insisted we should attend trial observations and prison visits whenever possible—between yesterday's courthouse and today's here, I've completely understood," Ryuko said while looking around.

The people here were undoubtedly those who had some connection to prisoners—whether unconvicted or convicted—held within. They might be parent and child, husband and wife, relatives, friends, or acquaintances. And some of these prisoners might be fraudsters, others thieves, others robbers and murderers, and still others arsonists. One could only wonder what kind of eyes society viewed those prisoners with, and to what extent their associates were ostracized, humiliated, hated, and despised by so-called society. Thinking about that while looking around at the people here was fascinating. Ryuko silently contemplated such things. Before entering this place initially, she had imagined how the prisoners’ associates entering or about to enter this room must be cowering in shame. She herself had nothing to be ashamed of. For if any of her comrades acted even slightly as they pleased—without restraint—it was considered almost inevitable they would be thrown into prison. They acted contrary to the government’s will. That the government suppressed those actions was a foregone conclusion. Therefore, as one of their comrades, she did not consider going there dishonorable or something to be ashamed of. Rather, everyone treated having been imprisoned and recounting the experience to others as a kind of pride. And just as treatment within prison naturally differed, society’s gaze too drew a clear distinction between ordinary indecent crimes and political offenses. All these various things existed naturally within Ryuko’s heart. And so she passed through the prison gate without hesitation. However, she wondered with what feelings the many people had passed through this gate and with what feelings they were looking at each other’s faces in the waiting room.

But there was nothing of the sort. Even if they were somewhat stiff and reserved, none appeared mutually embarrassed as fellow visitors. No one cowered shamefully in corners—yet neither did they face each other with desperation nor exchange sympathy. They seemed to maintain a natural composure, unconcerned with each other's circumstances. Ryuko marveled that strangers waiting together here felt more at ease than in any ordinary waiting room. While much credit went to the chatty foreman lightening the mood, what truly astonished her was how little contempt or hostility—particularly between women of differing appearances and bearing—could be detected among those silently exchanging glances in corners. What moved Ryuko most profoundly was everyone's attitude toward the disheveled woman who'd been there from the start, her grimy child strapped to her back. Though their shared plight explained some solidarity, all eyes remained fixed on this poorest soul. Yet through their demeanor, Ryuko clearly perceived not one person looked down on that wretched poverty. The flanking women either teased the awakened child on her back or leaned close to the wife's soiled face to murmur kindnesses.

When they had first entered this room, everyone had worn expressions of unease and faces full of worry, appearing unaccustomed to their surroundings. However, as thirty minutes and then an hour passed, everyone’s feelings had relaxed somewhat—if not completely—and their strained demeanor had gradually faded away. The people who had been sitting silently huddled against the cold had also, at some point, begun talking with others; and even if they couldn’t show familiarity, they seemed relaxed enough to join everyone in laughing loudly at the boss’s jokes.

The man who had first spoken up—with an air of having remembered something forgotten amidst the conversation—now grew increasingly preoccupied with the slippers that had been taken away.
"If I get called now, I’ll be in real trouble,” he blurted out in a deliberately comical tone meant to amuse everyone.
However, before that man could finish speaking, the man who had taken the slippers emerged in the doorway.

“Ah, oh how grateful! Now I can finally relax.”

The man turned toward everyone and said in a shrill voice.
Everyone also found themselves laughing as they looked at the man’s feet.
The oblivious man swapped the slippers with his own geta while looking around at everyone with a puzzled expression that seemed to ask, “What’s the matter?”

“Because you went off wearing those slippers without a word, this person here was quite worried.”

The foreman immediately pointed at “this person” with his chin as he explained.

“Oh no, I really...—”

The man, terribly apologetic, bowed deeply to the foreman, then immediately turned flustered toward the slippers’ owner.

“I’m terribly sorry. Truly, I’m so—”

He lowered his face, turning bright red.

“Not at all,” said the slipper owner. “Well really—as long as you made it in time for going up there, that’s all that matters. Ah, it’s nothing.”

When apologized to, the man himself also turned red without resistance and returned a bow.

“Ah now,” continued the owner dismissively. “Even if they were lost—they weren’t mine to begin with! From the care package delivery see? Even latecomers get their visits anyway.” He waved a hand through prison-chilled air still vibrating with recent laughter. “No call for apologies.”

By the time everyone laughed at the foreman’s joke again, the embarrassed man had already stepped out through the entrance.

Exactly at that moment, at the doorway of the corridor where the slippers had been neatly removed, stood a short-statured, small-built old prison guard with white hair and an arrogant expression befitting his role.
Everyone, upon seeing this, suddenly stopped laughing and, with tense faces as if to say "Here he comes!", looked up at the old prison guard’s face.

VII. A Pitiable Child Who Yearns for His Father

“Number forty-eight!” “Number forty-nine!”

A terrifyingly powerful, resonant, guttural, and spiteful voice startled Ryuko.

Ah, so that’s the voice they use to summon prisoners.

Ryuko immediately felt that.
Where in that small body was that voice with its unpleasant pressure stored?
While feeling disgust as if wanting to cover her ears at that specially oppressive voice honed over long years, Ryuko stared fixedly at the guard’s face.

After calling five or six people into the corridor, the guard cast a slow, unpleasant glance over those left behind through the glasses perched on his small nose, then followed everyone into the depths.

“They’ve kept us waiting so long—it’s already half past two. Once it hits four, it’ll be getting dark.”

“Oh, once they start, it’ll be quick. After all, each person doesn’t take more than five minutes anyway.”

M maintained his usual carefree composure.

“But really, it’s something else. Even we who’ve waited half a day like this find it dreadfully tedious, but once you’re inside—unable to speak, uncross your legs, no conversation, no smoking—well, on days like that it’s simply unbearable.”

The pockmarked old man spoke to a man standing as if left behind, staring blankly at the geta left on the stone steps by those who had been summoned. The man who had waited since morning naturally believed he would be first for afternoon visitation. Thus he had anxiously monitored the slippers too. When the prison guard appeared, he was first to rise from his seat in anticipation. Yet ultimately the guard withdrew without calling his number. He stood vacantly. But when addressed by the old man, he turned with a start—his blankly comical face swiveling—and responded at once.

“It’s truly unbearable.
“Well, let’s just resolve to never end up in a place like this again in our lives, ha ha ha...”

“But you never know when or why you might get thrown in.”
“There’s such a thing as misfortune.”
“But really, no matter what you say—even if it’s him—six months or a year you could endure, but five or ten years becomes quite the ordeal. There must be some like that even here, but what on earth are they thinking?”
“Can’t endure being stuck in such cramped conditions.”

The foreman immediately interjected.

“Yeah, well—you’ve got to act like you were born in this place, otherwise there’s no enduring it.”

“Born in here—no mistake about it. Once you resign yourself that far, you’ll manage alright.”

“Ah, no matter what—resignation’s the key here. Without it, there’s no living through such bitter suffering in life.”

The old man twirled his short pipe with his fingertips, thrust his head toward the foreman, and spoke as if he'd attained enlightenment.

Now and then guards passed through the corridor.
Not a single one walked past that doorway without a glance.
With cold, malicious eyes they looked over the waiting room slowly as if searching for something.
Each time they did this, it got on Ryuko's nerves unbearably.

“They look at us with such nasty eyes as they pass by. Why must they make those eyes? In those bastards’ eyes, once you pass through this gate, everyone looks like a prisoner already. They don’t need to treat even visitors like inmates, for goodness’ sake.”

Ryuko, unable to contain this antipathy on her own, told M.
She once again recalled the unpleasant pressure of the old prison guard’s voice.
The long, narrow room with high ceilings; the cold room of earth and stone—the bureaucratic mentality that made people wait for hours in this winter cold, or even all day, without so much as a single brazier, was hateful and unbearable to Ryuko.
But once they step outside this fortress—what miserable smallness they would display?
At that thought, Ryuko couldn’t help but be overcome by an ironic smile.
At the very least, they—these men who wanted to flaunt whatever authority they could wherever possible—their sole pride lay in those shabby clothes, hats, and swords: such utter absurdity.

A child’s crying could be heard in the distance.
As she thought this, an incendiary wail drew steadily closer.
Everyone turned toward the corridor in unison with startled expressions.
Then at the doorway appeared the mother’s pitiful figure—eyes brimming with tears, halfway to sobbing.
On her back writhed a child in a tattered baby-carrying coat worn through at the bottom, their upper body arched crimson as they thrashed limbs and screamed hysterically.

“Nooo!”
“Nooo!”
“Daddy!”

The child cried out with every ounce of their voice.
Ryuko’s chest involuntarily sank as if struck by something heavy.
Unbidden tears welled up.

“Daddy’s waiting at the gate, you know.”
“Now, hush, hush—come on, you mustn’t cry.”
“You’ll get scolded, you know. Right?”

The mother kept trying to soothe him while planting her feet on the dirty wooden clogs.
But it was impossible to imagine that voice ever reaching the child’s ears.
The waiting room filled completely with the child’s hysterical screams.
Two or three women near the entrance covered their faces as though unable to endure it.
Even the typically easygoing foreman wore a somber expression, merely looking back and forth between the child’s face and the mother’s flustered one.

“There, there! Poor dear!”
“Did he catch a glimpse of your father’s face?”

A middle-aged woman who appeared to be a merchant’s wife stood near the entrance and spoke while placing her hand on the torn sleeping robe.

“Yes, he caught just a glimpse.”
“And besides, this child has always been a daddy’s boy from the start.”

The mother said while finally letting loose the tears she’d been holding back.
The child on her back continued to call for his father while arching back and thrashing, so she couldn’t properly adjust the torn sleeping robe to put it back on him.
The child continued crying as he finally made his way to the gate.
As they neared the gate, he thrashed so violently that he nearly made his mother lose her footing.

“Oh, if he keeps crying like this, you poor mother won’t be able to bear it.”
“Poor thing.”

“The mother must be at her limit too, but more than that—who knows how the father inside must feel.”
“Once that crying lodges in your ears, you can’t endure it.”

M peered into the back as if searching for the old man’s face and said.

“There’s no rule allowing people to bring children here.”

The pockmarked old man made a bitter face as if chewing on gall and spoke.

"Really now! Letting him catch even a glimpse does wrong to both father and child alike! I'll never bring my own kid to such a place again."

The housewife standing nearby—her spirited eyes swimming with tears—nodded vehemently in agreement.

"If only they'd come an hour earlier," interjected a fifty-two or fifty-three-year-old man who'd kept silent until now. "His child would've been fast asleep then! It's just bad timing—that's why things turned out this way."

The fifty-two or fifty-three-year-old man in the cotton crested haori with an apron tied around him, who had been sitting silently in the corner without uttering a single word until now, suddenly spoke up.

“Well now, the ones locked up in here—truly unfilial sons, neglectful fathers, wives left weeping.”

Immediately, the old man lowered his voice and fell silent after saying that.
Even amidst this, people began returning from the back in ones and twos.
Before long, the elderly guard from earlier called in the next group of people and left.

“Oh, number fifty-four just went in. I’m number fifty-three—what’s going on? Isn’t it following the proper order?”

The man beside M stood up in a fluster and spoke to no one in particular.

"It’s not following the proper order."
"It’s gotten completely out of sequence."
"I’ve been here since morning and still haven’t been called."

The man who hadn’t been called even a second time grumbled.

"Well now, that’s taking far too long. What could that mean?"

"I’ve grown completely exhausted from waiting. Honestly, if there’s going to be this much delay, I might as well leave and come back later—but after waiting this long already, it’d be downright foolish to go home now."

8. The Thief's Young Wife

As the number of people in the waiting room gradually decreased, everyone began speaking in unison.
Before long, M was called in and entered.

After M left and some time had passed, a forty-five- or forty-six-year-old woman with a ruddy face and rough masculine bearing—looking every inch the disreputable broker’s wife—descended the stone steps wearing a peculiar bitter smile and went to retrieve her small bundle from beside the corner bench.

“Did you get to meet him?”

The wife holding a baby who had been guarding that bundle asked in a somewhat hushed, gentle tone.

“Yes—a quarrel broke out in the visitation room. Utterly ridiculous, I tell you.”
“I don’t give a damn about anything anymore!”

Having spat out those words in a rough tone, she clattered the teeth of her geta against the floor and stormed out without so much as a backward glance.

“Hey, he’s not as haggard as I expected, is he? If anything, he’s actually put on weight compared to before.”

“Really, I thought he’d be much weaker, but if it’s just six months or a year, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, I’ve also started thinking I should just resign myself to that point—he himself keeps telling me not to worry anymore anyway. But I do want to secure a proper lawyer for myself. Having a good lawyer really does make one feel reassured, you know.”

The group of women companions sat back down in their original spot while talking about such things.

“I tell you, that wife has real grit! To speak out so decisively like that—I was astonished.”

“Is ‘the wife’ that red-faced one?”

The man in the crested haori interjected.

“Yes, that’s right. They were arguing for quite some time. I’m amazed the guards let them carry on like that for so long—truly astonishing.”

“What happened?”

“They say that husband was sentenced to seven years for theft.”
“When he appealed, that wife got called as a witness and messed something up in her testimony, so it became thirteen years.”
“That’s why they’re saying the husband got furious and deliberately colluded with someone to make it look that way.”

“Thirteen years for theft? They actually hand down sentences that long?”

“They say he’s got five or six prior convictions, and he’s only been with that wife for about a year and a half—no wonder folks doubt where her loyalties lie.”

“If you just sit quietly like this, all sorts of unnecessary thoughts start swirling through your mind.”

“That’s right. If only they could have phrased it more skillfully and gently—but instead, that wife ended up getting so furious she started yelling her head off.”
“Such dramatic behavior is simply beyond ordinary people, isn’t it?’”

“I’m truly astonished.”

The two women continued eagerly discussing the resolute wife’s rough words toward her husband and kept gossiping about them.

"Oh, it didn’t go well at all—he’s never once cried or anything like that before."

The older woman immediately furrowed her brows and stood up, whispering something when she saw the figure of their thirty-year-old companion—the wife with a marumage hairstyle who had been clustered with them until moments before—appear at the doorway.
The wife kept her eyes—red and swollen from crying—lowered as she descended, covering her nose and mouth with a handkerchief.

“How did it go?”
“Didn’t it go well?”

Immediately, the two people in front approached.

“Oh yes, thank you very much.”
“The truth is, he says appealing isn’t worth it, and we’ve arranged to hire two or three good lawyers, but no matter how much I urge him to appeal, he won’t listen.”

“My goodness, why ever would he do such a thing? He must know how terribly worried you’ve been.”
“So if he doesn’t appeal, the sentence will be finalized soon, then?”

“Oh yes, there’s still about a week left, but—”

“Then why don’t you try having the lawyer and others persuade him once more?”

“Thank you very much. But since he himself seems to have already made up his mind, I think it’s probably hopeless. I’ve resigned myself too—if it were two or three years, I could manage somehow—but when I think about how to go on raising a child for ten whole years, I truly lose all sense of what to do.”

Having said that, the wife covered her face and began to sob violently.
The two of them, unable to offer comfort, could only stare blankly at the trembling wife from her head down to her shoulders.

“Ten years may seem long, but listen—if it were ten more years ahead for decrepit old folks like us, that would be daunting. But ma’am, ten years for someone young like you will pass in no time.”
“Having children must make it quite difficult, but being inside doing hard labor isn’t such an extraordinary matter.”
“Now, if you could just take that into consideration and live patiently.”
“Don’t let your thoughts get the better of you in haste.”
“After all, a human life is long—all sorts of things happen.”

After some time, the old man—who had moved his seat to the opposite side without anyone noticing—leaned forward and said in a calm tone.

“Thank you very much.”
“Once it’s been decided, I intend to look after my child with that resolve.”
“I’ve subjected you to such a shameful display.”
“Although I had steeled myself since earlier, I still can’t seem to shed these sentimental notions—”

The wife modestly wiped her face and greeted Old Man S.
And then she left with the two women companions from before.

“What a pitiable situation. Ten years—that’s awfully long. But if he appeals, there’s a chance it might get even longer? What on earth did he do?”

The man in the crested haori said while looking at Old Man S.

“Well…”

Old Man S shook his head at these words and fell silent.
With the boisterous leader gone, the man who had been fretting over his slippers also grew despondent as he waited endlessly without being called.
The waiting room suddenly fell silent.

Before long, M also returned.

“How was Mr. W?”

“Oh yes, he was well and smiling.”
“He said he plans to take his time studying from now on.”

After they talked a bit, M promised to meet again tonight and left first.
The hands of Ryuko’s pocket watch already pointed to nearly four o’clock.

“Hey you, this estate and buildings are something else, but just the daily expenses here must be astronomical. And all that comes out of our taxes.”
“Actually raising thieves and arsonists here is downright idiotic.”
“Who knows how many of these places there are across the country? Add ’em all up and it’d be a staggering sum.”

“Can’t be helped—these are taxes we pay to keep peace and order. Without this, we couldn’t live secure.”
“But really now, if there were no bad eggs in the world and these places vanished too, the burdens in various areas would shrink quite a bit, eh?”

“That’s not true at all.”
“But the problem is, bad guys keep increasing in number—it’s a real nuisance.”
“The day those bastards get thrown in here, while they’re inside, they’re draining the nation’s economy, and once they’re out, they go right back to causing trouble and making people suffer—they’re just human dregs, really.”
“It’s rare to find any of those bastards who actually reform.”

The two men who had been drifting in and out of the entrance for about thirty minutes—both around thirty years old with thin patchy beards and narrow eyes, their cunning faces marked by buckteeth and square jaws like upstart petty merchants—no sooner sat down beside Ryuko as M departed than launched into brazen chatter.
Their arrogant attitude that belittled others—whether utterly inappropriate for the setting or outright contemptuous—combined with their imprudent talk instantly ignited Ryuko's fury.
She nearly resolved to rip the skin from their faces and began turning toward them.
But just then she noticed Old Man S sitting diagonally across—staring fixedly at the men engaged in their vulgar prattle with an unmistakably sardonic gaze.
His mouth twitched as if straining to speak.
Seeing this, Ryuko held her tongue.
Those narrow hawk-eyes.
That nose and mouth, that vulgar contour, that pompous bearing—how could anyone believe such a man remained blind to injustice?
Ryuko kept her eyes burning with accusatory hatred locked upon them.
When both men met her gaze and the old man's stubbornly fixed stare, they flusteredly exchanged glances.
Then abruptly they began a different conversation—disjointed and awkward, as though clashing mismatched sentiments against each other.

IX. E's Face at the Small Window

Ryuko was called much later than her assigned turn, close to five o'clock.
The usual chief guard waited for Ryuko to enter the corridor and said.

“From now on, you must not come to visit by conspiring with accomplices.”

In any situation until now, Ryuko had never been addressed with such rough language.
Moreover—the grating word “accomplice” angered Ryuko.
The guard waited for an ordinary response from her.
However, she remained silent and composed, starting to walk ahead of the guard.

“Got it? If you come with accomplices, we won’t let you meet. Even if we do, it’ll get delayed—that’s your loss.”

However, Ryuko continued walking composedly.
At the end of the corridor, immediately after turning the corner, stood a row of doors about three feet wide with handles, numbered 1, 2, 3.

Following the instruction—“Number 72 goes before Number 1”—she took her place before that door.
She drew out a small notebook from her pocket.
It contained matters she had noted earlier—things she must not forget to discuss when meeting E.
As she quietly arranged the notebook’s pages, an elderly mother met her son in Number 2.
Their voices carried clearly to Ryuko’s ears.
The son kept apologizing while issuing instructions about household affairs during his mother’s absence.
Just as their conversation neared its end—or perhaps before it properly concluded—the partition door slammed shut.
Yet the son continued shouting his remaining words through the closed door.
The mother offered brief replies until a guard’s rough voice cut through their exchange.
The hard-of-hearing old woman finally pushed open the door and stumbled out.

As they crossed paths, Ryuko was summoned inside.
It was a dim, three-foot-square box.
Directly across from her on the other side of the partition was something resembling a meshed post office window, its door shut.
In the narrow passage between that window and the box Ryuko had entered stood the chief guard alone.

“Number?”

“Seventy-two.”

“Your name?
Oh—what’s this? E?
Huh? Mr. E—that’s unusual. Since when has he been here?”

The Chief Guard asked with a look of surprise while feigning a semblance of familiarity.

“He’s been here since the day before yesterday?”
“Probably.”
“Why did you come?”

“I don’t really know.
It’s something about obstruction of official duties, though.”

“Huh? Alone? Anyone else with you?
U, W—don’t know them. Huh? Didn’t realize Mr. E was here.”

The Chief Guard kept tilting his head.

“He’s still not here. Please step outside for a moment—it’ll be right away.”

Ryuko went back outside.
However, immediately from the opposite direction came footsteps and the sound of E coughing.

“Very well.”

When permission was granted and she reentered, the chief guard promptly opened the window.
E’s eyes flashed sharply in the darkness—then his smiling face jutted abruptly forward.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Ryuko spoke awkwardly, uncertain how to begin.

“No—I’m not cold.
What do you want to do? Is there anyone at home?”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you don’t hurry and state your business, there won’t be any time left.”

The Chief Guard urged while gripping his pen.
Ryuko hurriedly spoke while checking the notes in her notebook, trying to cover everything about the past two or three days and all matters needing discussion—leaving nothing unaddressed.
E crossed his arms and listened silently while nodding.
When she finished stating her business, Ryuko suddenly found herself feeling dazed, uncertain what to say next.
There were various things she wanted to talk about.
But what should she talk about?
Didn’t she have any time left?
Thinking this, a creeping anxiety began rising within her.

When he noticed their inconsequential conversation continuing, the Chief Guard immediately placed his hand on the window handle.

"Do you have anything else to discuss? If not, I'll shut this now."

"See you later."

"Ah."

E's smile was immediately hidden.

"While awaiting trial, you may meet daily. Do come again tomorrow."

Having completed his duties, the Chief Guard spoke to Ryuko in an even more relaxed tone. However, Ryuko left those words behind as she stepped outside the door. To have waited half a day in that freezing cold room only for such a brief visit felt utterly ridiculous. Moreover, wherever he went and before whomever he stood, E always carried himself exactly as he pleased—so much so that it verged on arrogance—yet seeing him now constrained in that cramped manner, Ryuko couldn't help but feel something both pitiful and infuriating. However, when she recalled the old mother who had been shouted at by the guards, forcibly separated, and made to leave quietly, she had to resign herself to being grateful that they had at least shown some restraint in handling her case.

When she reached the waiting room, Ryuko hurriedly descended the stone steps.

In the room, five or six people who looked cold were still talking with hunched shoulders.
Outside was growing dim.
Ryuko was reminded of the nursing child who waited while being watched over by male comrades' hands, the image searing itself into her mind.

Ah—I'm late—

As Ryuko exited the gate and began walking briskly, within her mind the long route home unfolded itself anxiously alongside the figure of the child.
At the same time, she bitterly resented having wasted half a day waiting.

[Kaizō, Volume 1, Number 6 – September 1919 Issue]