Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

It was long past ten o’clock, yet his wife Nobuko still hadn’t returned.

Tomoki stood up restlessly.
His gaunt, bony face twisted strangely, an expression of pain rising vividly.

No matter where he went or how he tried—with the year-end bearing down and him having defaulted on every obligation—there wasn’t a soul who’d lend even a penny to him now.
He knew this all too well.
That’s why when Nobuko, shivering in just a lined kimono against the cold, said she’d go raise funds, he argued how futile it was and stopped her.
Yet from Nobuko’s perspective, clinging to that threadbare hope—this desperate urge to claw their way out of their impossible situation—wasn’t unreasonable at all.
In the end, though knowing it was a wasted effort, Tomoki had no choice but to send his wife out.
And so it unfolded exactly as he’d foreseen: his wife still hadn’t returned.
She must be battling hunger and cold even now, dragging exhausted legs through some desperate endeavor.

He imagined his lovely wife wandering the town—rejected here, refused there, trudging with exhaustion—but before he knew it, the vision had transformed into that of the usurer Tamashima: a fox-like face sharp with cruelty, tucking an old briefcase under his arm as he trudged along.
Tears welled up in Tomoki’s eyes.
He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to brush it away, but his clenched fist trembled violently from agitation.

That spring, he and his wife had contracted a severe influenza in succession.
Tomoki, who had long been unemployed and had already defaulted on loans from relatives and friends, exhausted all options and borrowed fifty yen from Tamashima.
From then on, with a body not yet fully recovered from illness, Tomoki would shed blood-like sweat while earning meager sums—only to have Tamashima take most of it as interest.
Far from decreasing, the debt swelled month by month until principal and interest combined totaled over two hundred yen.
Tamashima never slackened his collection efforts, and as year-end approached, he came practically daily to roar at them.
That the Tomokis went three days without proper food, faced year's end penniless, and were left with no path but to wander the streets—one might well say this was all Tamashima's doing.

While waiting restlessly for his wife’s return, Tomoki’s heart seethed with curses for Tamashima.

Sss, sss—the last candle hissed with an eerie sound as it burned toward extinction.
The swaying flame cast his shadow—a demonic apparition—across the crumbling wall of their room, a space more desolate than any henhouse, making it stretch and shrink grotesquely.

As Tomoki kept cursing Tamashima, something suddenly crossed his mind.
He jerked upright and scanned the surroundings, then fixed his gaze on a single point.
His expression grew increasingly terrifying.
His face turned the color of parched soil.

“Ungh.”

He groaned painfully.
From both temples，thread-like sweat dripped steadily.

“Ugh.”
“I'll kill him.”

He finally murmured his final words.
He had resolved to kill Tamashima and be done with it.

He derided his own cheap life—something to be traded for Tamashima’s.
However，he had no other way to live.
When he pictured that fox-like Tamashima—his limbs twitching and trembling at his feet，crimson blood flowing as his breath faded into a pitiful end—he felt a touch of pleasure.
If he killed Tamashima，couldn’t that save several people suffering under him?
He also felt this way.
All these various thoughts had finally made him resolve to kill Tamashima.

Once he had resolved this, he needed to slip out of the house before his wife returned. If he saw his wife’s face, his resolve might weaken, or it might end up causing her unnecessary pain.

I have caused you long hardship.
I no longer know how to go on living.
I will kill that vampire-like Tamashima and then commit suicide.
If you were alone, you would find a way to survive.
Erase this spineless husband from your memory forever and live a life worth living.

He considered leaving such a suicide note behind, but it struck him as too trite an act for a husband. Moreover, if it were discovered too quickly and someone stopped him before he could kill Tamashima, that would be disastrous—so Tomoki resolved to let his wife know nothing.

Tamashima's house stood empty, yet its locks appeared formidably secure.
Rumors suggested nighttime vigilance grew even stricter, making infiltration methods the immediate challenge.
The means of killing presented a greater dilemma still.
Tomoki lacked not only a dagger but even the simplest Higonokami-style pocketknife.
Money for such purchases naturally didn't exist.
Had he possessed even ten sen of such funds, he'd have bought potatoes to stave off starvation and postponed Tamashima's murder until tomorrow's concerns.
Contemplating his lack of any proper murder weapon, Tomoki could only produce a bitter smile.

The candle flared up brightly for an instant, as if making a final effort to burn, then rapidly dwindled until suddenly it went out.

Tomoki lumbered out of the pitch-dark room.

II

The street was bright and bustling with year-end sales.
The display windows were lined with various luxurious items, each bearing a price tag that Tomoki could not have afforded even once a month.
It was nearly eleven o'clock, yet crowds of people bustled about, their hems whipped up by the dry winter wind as they hurried to and fro.

Tomoki, mingling among these people, showed no distinguishing features beyond his somewhat shabby attire.
His somewhat murderous expression went entirely unnoticed by the people trudging through the year-end rush, their legs worn to stumps.
That he too appeared as nothing more than one of the people busily walking through the year-end rush was a blessing for him.

He himself, however, constantly felt pursued by unseen forces. Pulling his hunting cap low over his brows, he strode forward in a perpetual half-crouch.

Tamashima’s house loomed in a murky back alley—though his trade required no night dealings, even at year’s end, its gates stood bolted tight amidst the sleeping silence.

As Tomoki drew near the house, his limbs began trembling strangely, his lips turning unnaturally dry. He drifted back and forth before the gate several times.

The courage to knock never came. Even with some pretext to meet the man, empty-handed he remained powerless. Should he lunge at an opportune moment, Tamashima—old yet robust—might well overpower him instead. Only through securing a weapon could he hope to strike unawares—ambushing the usurer in sleep or from behind offered the sole path to success.

Tomoki tried the side door and back gate, but they didn’t budge an inch.
It was still too early to scale the gate.

Tomoki paced back and forth before Tamashima’s house, gripped by unutterable agitation and anxiety.
Whenever passersby drove him away, he retreated to the main street.
He would circle the street and return to the house.

The night deepened, and the cold grew more intense.
Yet no opportunity to slip inside was granted him.
Still, his courage did not waver easily.
He stubbornly kept circling around the target house.

On what must have been his nth time entering the dimly lit alley where Tamashima’s house stood from the direction of the main street, something struck Tomoki’s foot. When he looked, it was a small cloth-wrapped bundle. Tomoki picked it up absentmindedly. Inside was something that felt like a light sheaf of paper.

The thought struck him—Could it be?—and Tomoki jolted.
He had often fantasized about scenes of picking up money.
There had been many times when he thought there was no other way than to pick up money.
He had often imagined how overjoyed he would be if he found money.
He had fervently longed, on multiple occasions, for the miracle of picking up money and being able to escape his dire straits.
But his fantasies had ultimately remained fantasies—that miracle had never materialized.

However, could it be that today of all days—this very day—that very miracle had finally occurred? While thinking this and being assailed by a peculiar anxiety, Tomoki opened the cloth-wrapped bundle. From within emerged a paper-wrapped bundle. And then—

What a miracle!

The contents of the paper-wrapped bundle were indeed a wad of banknotes.

Tomoki's hands trembled violently. He frantically stuffed the banknotes into his coat pocket. Being an amount he'd never handled before, he couldn't properly estimate it, but there appeared to be at least five hundred yen.

Tomoki broke into a frantic run.
In any case, staying there terrified him.

When he reached a place several blocks away, he let out a sigh of relief.

What should I do?

Should I turn it in?
If they identify the owner, I might get ten percent.
But if they don't find them quickly, it'll stay locked up.
Then maybe I should just deduct a finder's fee upfront?
No—that'd backfire if they notice.
Might as well keep all of it?

With five hundred yen, we wouldn't need to die.
No reason left to kill Tamashima.
This could turn everything around—maybe our luck's finally changing.
Someone who drops five hundred yen won't miss it much anyway.

"I'll keep it."

Tomoki finally made up his mind.

He felt as though his surroundings suddenly brightened.
Hope surged up from his parched chest.

He suddenly remembered his wife.

Having returned to the pitch-dark house and discovered his absence, what was she doing now?
Or was she still wandering the streets?

Quickly, quickly—I must tell her the good news.

Tomoki ran toward home, his heart racing.

III

The house was pitch dark.

Tomoki groped his way into the room and tried calling out, but the wife had not returned.

He left the house and bought two candles at a nearby hardware store.
Trembling, he pulled out one of the ten-yen bills from the money he’d found and handed it over, but the shopkeeper showed no suspicion and gave him change.
Then he went to the grocery store.
He bought soft bread, butter, and a can of ham.
Then, at the fruit store, he bought bright red ripe apples.
He returned home with his throat making gulping sounds.

The thick, pure white Western candle provided pleasant illumination for the first time in ages.
He frantically bit into the bread.
Then he sank his teeth into the apple.

When his stomach was sufficiently full and a little space emerged, he found himself desperately craving cigarettes he hadn't smoked in ages. He went out again and bought some. Sitting cross-legged, he took a deep drag and was flooded with an indescribable sensation. The self that had resolved to die just moments earlier now felt like a complete stranger.

His wife still hadn't returned—what could have happened?

Though maintaining an air of composure, he secretly yearned to see her face that very instant. He wanted to share this joy with her immediately. But his wife showed no sign of appearing.

He was growing slightly uneasy.
Hadn’t some mishap occurred to her?
Could it be she’d been hit by a car?
Or perhaps, unable to secure funds, hadn’t she conceived some reckless scheme?
His anxiety grew steadily stronger.

Could it be that she had given up on him and run away?
While absolutely certain such a thing couldn’t be, Tomoki found his thoughts veering inexorably toward darker possibilities.

No—she must still be wandering from acquaintance to acquaintance, clinging to that futile hope.
Tomoki reconsidered.
But even so, it was too late.
What if she’d been hit by a car—Tomoki was beside himself with worry.

At that moment, he suddenly noticed something different in the room.

In the middle of the room, on the floorboards, stood a short half-burnt candle.
When he had left earlier, the final candle had already burned out—as evidenced by a separate remnant on the floorboards where a puddle of wax held a charred wick tip that barely resembled a proper point.
This half-burnt candle must have been brought by someone after his departure.
Undoubtedly, it was Nobuko.

Then his wife had returned once.
And since he wasn't there, it seemed she had gone out again somewhere.
Where on earth could she have gone?
Even if she had gone out, with nowhere to go, she should have returned by now.
He grew increasingly anxious.

He considered going out to search for her.
But with no leads to follow, they might miss each other.
Fretting under helpless unease, he surveyed his surroundings.

Then, something resembling a letter placed in the corner of the room caught his eye for the first time.
Startled, he practically leaped to grab it.

That was indeed Nobuko’s left-behind letter.

Tomoki hurriedly read through it, but his complexion instantly turned pale.
The letter had contained the following.

“I visited every place that held even the slightest hope.
But just as you had told me at the beginning, they all came to nothing.
I returned home in utter despair.
Where had you gone? You were not home.
I took out a candle stub from my sleeve, lit it, and waited motionlessly for your return.
What a desolate feeling it was.
We must leave even this storage shed of a house tomorrow.
Not a single sen saved, nor any path to obtain even a sen granted to us.
I sat and thought.
Many things came to mind.
I could no longer shed tears.”

In the end, we cannot go on living.
I have made up my mind.
If there were no hindrance like me—after all, you're a man—you would surely find some path to go on living.
I have made up my mind.
I will part from you.

Even if I say I will leave you, I know well that I cannot go on living without you.
Therefore, I will die.
I intend to kill that detestable Tamashima and then die.
Tamashima is said to be cautious, but since I'm a woman, he'll let his guard down.
I will meet him under the pretense of having come to repay the money and, seizing an opportunity, stab him to death.

For all the love you have given me over these long years, I offer my deepest gratitude.
When occasion permits, please remember this wretched soul.
May you live a life worthy of being lived.

Nobuko"

Tomoki rushed outside in a frenzy without reading to the end.
His feet abruptly turned toward Tamashima’s house.

His wife had thought the same thing as he.
Even the wording of the letter—wasn't it precisely what he had considered leaving written for his wife?
She had headed toward Tamashima's house just as he departed.

It might already be too late.
She might have already killed Tamashima.
What a terrible thing!

But even she couldn’t easily slip into Tamashima’s house.
Especially being a woman.
She might have been overpowered by Tamashima.
Please let that be true!

“Don’t act rashly, Nobuko.”
Tamashima no longer mattered.
“If killing were necessary, I would’ve done it before you.”
“Ah—because I let him get away, you might’ve committed murder.”
“How dreadful—please, let her not have killed yet.”
“Let it be in time.”

Tomoki ran and ran, muttering deliriously under his breath like a madman.

IV

Ah, it's hopeless!

A light was shining from the second floor of Tamashima’s house.
There was a gap in the sliding door, and when pushed, it opened without resistance.

Ah, Nobuko had gone inside.

Tomoki pushed open the sliding door, ran through the courtyard, and frantically scanned the area, fearing Nobuko might have collapsed there clutching a bloodstained dagger.
But nothing met his eyes.

There were no traces of blood that had dripped at the entrance either.

Had the tragedy not yet occurred?
Was Nobuko safe?
Had she been restrained by Tamashima?
Ah, even that would be fine.
Please let her be safe.

Since Tomoki knew the layout of the house, he dashed up the stairs and charged toward the room that served as Tamashima’s parlor.

And suddenly, the sound of struggle resounded.

Tomoki burst into the room like a ricocheting ball.

There he saw Nobuko—where had she gotten it?—flashing a gleaming dagger as she pressed toward Tamashima with fierce momentum.
Tamashima stood pinned against the wall, arms thrust forward as he emitted an incoherent shriek.

“Nobuko, stop!”

Tomoki roared.
Yet whether she heard him or not, she stepped forward determined to strike.
Tamashima released a throttled cry like a wrung-neck bird.

Tomoki lunged at Nobuko.
With his right hand, he firmly grasped her hand that held the dagger.

Nobuko thrashed violently while whirling around.
When she saw Tomoki’s face,

“Ah!
You?”

With a cry, she let the dagger clatter to the floor, then suddenly went limp as all her taut strength drained away, sagging against Tomoki’s chest.

“This is madness! Madness!”

Having narrowly escaped mortal danger and let out a sigh of relief, Tamashima contorted his ashen face in terror and shouted.

“What madness?”

Tomoki glared at the pale Tamashima with hate-filled eyes and roared.

“What’s this ‘madness’ you’re spoutin’? How in the world could such madness exist? You don’t repay what I lent ya and try killin’ someone? It’s so damn absurd I can’t even speak!”

“If you can’t speak right, then shut your trap! A bastard like you deserves dyin’!”

“This is pure madness! Not even a damn apology—just spewin’ whatever comes to mind! I ain’t puttin’ up with this no more! I’ll sue!”

“Hmph, sue away for all I care. I ain’t scared of you no more!”

“I ain’t scared myself, but you should fear the authorities!”
“I’m not scared.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. You’re gonna end up in jail!”

“I don’t care.”

“This is insane.
This is insane.
Quit yappin’ and hand over the money!”

“Hmph.
That desperate for cash?
If I pay up, you’ll quit your bellyachin’, yeah?”

“Give me what’s owed nice and quiet-like, I won’t breathe a word.”

“Fine then—I’ll pay.
Hand me the IOU.”

“Your woman already ripped up that paper.”

Tamashima said with a pitiful look.

“Oh, she tore it? Hmph.”

Tomoki quietly lifted Nobuko and asked.

“Did you tear it?”

“Yes.”

Though her face was as pale as a corpse’s, she answered with relative composure.

“Even if the IOU’s torn up, you remember the amount owed.”

Tomoki said to Tamashima.

“Yeah, I sure remember.”

“Then go ahead and say it.
If the IOU’s gone, you wouldn’t have to pay back a thing—but unlike a lowlife like you, I hate that sort of thing.
I’ll pay you back, so tell me the amount owed.”

“What? You’ll pay me back?”
“This ain’t some dream, is it?”
“The total amount owed, principal and interest combined, comes to 228 yen and 46 sen.”

“Alright.”

Tomoki pulled out a bundle of banknotes from his pocket and began counting them with unsteady hands.

“Here’s 230 yen.”

“This ain’t some dream, is it? When I thought you were gonna take my life, getting repaid like this—ain’t nothin’ more blessèd. You ain’t plannin’ to make me drop my guard and stab me again with that dagger, are ya?”

“Shut up! Stop your blathering and take it already!”
“This feels... ominous.”

Tamashima apprehensively accepted the banknotes and counted them with practiced hands. And then, once he perceived that Tomoki had fully repaid the money and bore no ill intent whatsoever, his previously despondent demeanor vanished without a trace—suddenly brightening his face, he began to beam with satisfaction.

“It’s all here,” he said. “Please wait—I’ll get your change now.”

“I don’t need your surplus,” Tomoki snapped. “Keep it.”

“Huh?! Is that for real?” Tamashima exclaimed in astonishment. “Mr. Tomoki, even in your poverty, I always thought you were somehow different from others—and sure enough, you’re truly impressive! Most impressive!”

“Shut up!” Tomoki barked.
“Is that all you have to say?”

“Ain’t got nothin’ more to say.”
“I’ll thank you proper.”

Tamashima bobbed his head in a bow.

“Fine! Now I’ll have my say!”
“You bastard! You’ve tortured me long enough!”

Tomoki clenched his fist and struck the side of Tamashima’s bowed face.

Tamashima staggered, his features twisting in pitiful dismay,

“Ow!
“Ah—so this counts as my change, eh?”

“What the—!”

Irritated, Tomoki struck Tamashima once more.

“Nobuko, let’s go home.”

Tomoki urged Nobuko and withdrew from Tamashima’s residence with the leisurely air of a triumphant general.

V

Upon returning home, Tomoki briefly explained to Nobuko how the money had come into their possession.
He did not, however, say that he had kept the money he found for himself.
He said he had unexpectedly found a large sum of money and received a reward from the person who’d lost it.
Nobuko naturally believed that.

“How wonderful.”

She said with a face radiant with joy.
However, Tomoki's face was clouded.

After spending a night steeped in anxiety, Tomoki decided to set out on a journey early the next morning, urging Nobuko along.
He had felt somehow terrified at the thought of staying put in Tokyo.
After paying the back rent to the landlord and putting their affairs in order, the two boarded a train bound for the Shōnan region.

However, Tomoki was still not liberated.

That night, at the inn, Tomoki picked up the evening paper and let out a startled cry.

“What?”

Nobuko looked up at her husband's face in surprise.

“D-Dreadful! Tamashima was killed.”

“What?!”

They read the boxed article while pulling in the evening paper.

According to the evening paper’s report, the usurer Tamashima—who lay cold in a second-floor room this morning—had been discovered by a deaf elderly servant.
A dagger had been stabbed into Tamashima’s chest.
The time of the crime was between 1 and 2 this morning, and it appeared to be the work of a robber.

“My goodness, how shocking. So he was killed right after we left, then,” Nobuko said breathlessly.

“Yeah. The storm door was open, the entrance wasn’t locked—so a robber must’ve gotten in.”

“First you tried to kill him, then I tried—and though we spared him—to finally have a third robber do it… He was truly fated to die, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. He was one unlucky bastard.”

“Divine punishment, isn’t it? But it’s good we didn’t kill him.”

“But we might be suspected.”

“That’s true. Suddenly money comes in, we suddenly go on a trip, plus we did go to Tamashima’s place after all. The circumstances are too perfectly aligned for us not to be suspected. If we’re summoned by the police, what should we do?”

“There’s no helping it. We’ll deal with that when it happens.”

Tomoki said offhandedly to reassure his wife, but the anxiety in his heart was no ordinary matter. No—his anxiety had already passed beyond that. He was trembling with fear. Alright, even if the suspicion of having killed Tamashima could be cleared, the fact that they had embezzled the found money couldn’t be concealed. If they concealed it, the suspicion that they had killed Tamashima would only grow stronger. Depending on circumstances, they might not even be able to clear themselves of the suspicion that they had killed Tamashima.

“Darling, are you all right?”

Nobuko asked with concern as Tomoki suddenly fell silent.

“It’s nothing.”
“I’m tired.”
“Let’s just go to bed.”

Tomoki had the maid prepare the futon and lay down.
However, as fear following anxiety only intensified, he couldn’t fall asleep.

After daybreak, every time footsteps echoed through the corridor—his chest tightening with dread that it might be detectives—Tomoki rose with eyes swollen from sleeplessness and hurriedly scanned the morning paper.

There awaited an unexpected stroke of luck.
The newspaper reported that the criminal who had killed Tamashima had already been apprehended.

“My, how fortunate.”

Nobuko stroked her chest downward and said happily.

However, Tomoki was not yet fully liberated.

According to the newspaper report, the man who killed Tamashima was named Takeyama Kiyokichi, a young employee at a small liquor store.
The night before, under his employer’s orders, he had gone to collect payment from a client, wrapped over five hundred yen in paper bills into a cloth bundle, placed it in his pocket, and ended up dropping it on his way home.
After realizing his loss, he searched frantically, but it seemed someone had already picked it up—nowhere to be found.

His employer’s household had been on the verge of bankruptcy due to the ongoing depression, so without that money, they had no choice but to face utter ruin. Kiyokichi, who knew the circumstances all too well, thought there was nothing left but to kill himself in apology, and wandered about in a daze. Before he knew it, he found himself standing in front of a large house. He realized it was the house of a notorious usurer named Tamashima, located near his employer’s residence. He had been wandering about in a frenzy, but it seemed he was still thinking about the lost money—retracing the route he would have taken from the collection site back to his employer’s house.

A house like this must have five hundred or a thousand yen just sitting here at any time.
He looked up at Tamashima's nameplate when the thought struck him.
Then, when he absently glanced at the storm door, he found it slightly ajar for some reason.
As if pulled by some unseen force, he pushed against the storm door.
The door gave way without resistance.
He lurched inside.
The entryway too stood inexplicably open.
Guided by lamplight seeping from upstairs, he climbed the staircase.
He swayed into the illuminated room.
There sat Tamashima awake, who immediately began shouting at him.
In his frenzy, he grabbed the dagger lying fallen nearby.
And with it, he stabbed Tamashima dead.

The bills on the desk caught his eye.
He stuffed them into his pocket.
He set his eyes on the safe and tried to open it, but that proved impossible.
Gradually growing terrified, he fled the house, and while wandering aimlessly, he aroused a patrol officer’s suspicion and was placed in the nearest police station’s detention center—where around noon today, he finally confessed to having killed Tamashima.

“My, what a pitiful person.”

Having finished reading, Nobuko said with a pale face as she sighed.
However, she still did not seem to have noticed her husband’s lie.

Tomoki raised his corpse-like pallid face, fixed his gaze on one spot, and stammered out, “It’s destiny. Destiny, that bastard, is always setting traps and lying in wait. That’s what life is.”

“So…”
Nobuko said while somewhat scrutinizing her husband’s demeanor.
“So the people who fall into those traps are what we call unfortunate, I suppose.”

Tomoki, however, did not attempt to answer that.
He then let out a deep sigh.

(“Detective”
(May 1931))