Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

To Prosecutor Tsuchida Hachiro of the ×× District Court.

I, Shimaura Eizo—an undetained prisoner—send this letter to my old friend and former brother-like companion, Prosecutor Tsuchida.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, you must surely remember me.
Even if I—first interrogated by other prosecutors then transferred to a preliminary judge—was undoubtedly reported as the culprit behind that sensational murder of a beautiful woman that stirred public commotion, with my name proclaimed in newspaper columns, you at the same court must have seen my name in connection with this case and heard of it.

Had you met with me, perhaps there would have been no need to write this letter.
If only I had recalled sooner that my old friend worked at the court governing this prison holding me, I might not have suffered so long.
Then I could have recounted the terrible, bizarre experience I now commit to paper much earlier.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, I am detained here as a murder suspect.
However, perhaps I am not truly the culprit.
That's right.
Perhaps.
I grieve that I must speak thus.

I regret that I must resort to such a strange manner of expression.
Yet if you read this letter through to its end, you will assuredly comprehend my meaning.

The dreadful matters I am about to relate are not without connection to you.
No—it might even be said that you yourself are he who has tormented me so.
Moreover, were it not for you, none could possibly fathom this anguish of mine.
Thus on one hand do I resent you.
I curse you.
Yet simultaneously do I implore you.
I beseech you.
In the name of that friendship—so profound it beggars all comparison—I beg you believe what I say.

II

Tsuchida-san, please let me address you this way.
It should be permissible to call you so.

Tsuchida-san, for a moment, set aside that terrifying professional mindset of yours as a prosecutor and recall the past from over a decade ago.
Recall our student days—those tearful days of fervent emotion when we had just graduated middle school and overcome the next formidable challenge, the era of our dormitory life.

We were close friends.
Or rather, were we not something more than close friends?
Were we not the sort of duo where my figure would invariably appear wherever you were, and yours wherever I went?
The dormitory students had even dubbed us “Pearl”—a pair meant to be inseparable.

You are three years my senior—my elder brother in all but blood.
It was that elder brother who first sought out the younger.
Young as I was—no, immature would be more apt—I found myself crushed beneath the weight of your formidable character, soon becoming your irreplaceable sibling in spirit.
This much, you surely cannot have forgotten.

I believed there existed someone who truly understood my lonesome self.
Moreover, you showed me love.
I came to perceive you as both brother and lover.

You stood one grade above me.
Thus in academic matters too, you consistently guided me.
You were moreover an exceptional scholar.
I revered you, reaching the point of believing every action you took was inherently righteous.

This blazing friendship continued for two years.
For us, the opposite sex was nothing.
You graduated from school ahead of me two years later and entered the most prestigious school.
And what became of our relationship?

We parted suddenly.
It was far too abrupt.
And after that, we scarcely even met.
Tsuchida-san, the cause lay unquestionably with you.
It was none other than because you began passionately loving a certain beautiful youth one year my junior.

Have you ever considered what feelings the younger brother you cast aside through your fickleness carried from that time onward?

We had loved each other so deeply, and believed we understood each other completely—such was our relationship.
I was the one who believed our friendship would last forever.
Of course, for a time after you stopped regarding me, I had no choice but to be assailed by loneliness.

In my loneliness, I reflected on myself.
There, I gazed clearly at myself.
Having clearly found myself, I had no choice but to resent and curse you from the bottom of my heart.

You, with your vanity, will surely interpret these words in a self-serving manner merely because I have spoken thus.

You, having been abandoned by the man you loved, imagine the figure of a woman resenting his cruelty and undoubtedly make your characteristic devilish smile.
But you must not think that, for the reason I resent you lies entirely elsewhere.

Indeed, we were a kind of lovers.
And indeed, I was undoubtedly abandoned by that lover.
However, having been abandoned and separated from you, I was able to look at myself and, at the same time, saw through you entirely.

Tsuchida-san.
To put it in a word:
You are the most dangerous human being in this world.

You are the devil.
You are a terrifying devil who, not satisfied with merely devouring human flesh, will not rest until you cast their very souls into hell.

You were a top student.
You possessed a rarely seen brilliant mind.
(And you likely still are even now) But with that mind and that eloquence, what did you do and what did you teach the young people who approached you?
Have you ever once considered how you changed me—how you warped my very character?

You spoke with deep emotion and preached with tears.
Any irrationality, when it came from your lips, sounded rational.
Any sophistry sounded like proper logic when it came from your lips.
But after all, what was it?
Was it not merely to corrupt the pure souls that gathered around you?

When I first met you, I was an utterly pure, untainted boy.
When I parted from you—ah—I was already the devil’s disciple.

You often said.

“Life is not a path strewn with roses.”
“It is a battle—a battle one must fight.”

But what drove you was not battle—it was destruction.
A destructive urge.
You rejoice in destroying all things.
You torment and plague the youths who adore you, never resting until you’ve corrupted them.
Yet you yourself remain never corrupted.
That is what terrifies.
You are peril itself.

To put it another way—you make an uninitiated boy drink alcohol to torment him and merely wish to watch his suffering.
Yet that alone does not satisfy you.
You further desire to revel in witnessing that boy become stained by drunken depravity and sink into corruption.
All while never once touching the wine cup yourself.

Had you been some dissolute youth who drank and frequented brothels—this danger might never have existed.
For then all would have scorned you.
But you were deemed upright (though your avoidance of women stemmed from no moral compunction) and lauded besides as an exceptional scholar.
Therein lay your peril.
Those guileless good boys all trusted you.
They became your disciples.
What do you imagine became of them?
Prosecutor Tsuchida—I know another youth you cherished besides myself.
And I know full well what ruin claimed him.

I gained knowledge and sold my soul.
I can still endure having sacrificed my body for your perverse love, but when I think of having sold my soul, the bitterness becomes unbearable.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, I think I have rambled on too much with my bitter complaints.
If I were to keep saying such things, there would be no end.
The purpose for which I began writing this letter to you is not solely to reproach you, as I briefly mentioned earlier, so let us now proceed directly to my aim.

III

I do not mean to blame you, but there is one thing I must clearly state.
That is how my character was transformed by you.

When I first met you in that schoolyard, I was a weak boy who wouldn’t even harm an insect.
Yet you must remember how after that, every time we met, you would insist on telling me various terrifying stories.
By nature, I should have had no interest whatsoever in things like terror, the bizarre, or crime.

Because you had an extreme fondness for such things, you frequently introduced me to literature and knowledge in that realm. Looking back now, forcing your own such tastes onto me—the very act of making me drink poisoned wine—must have been your pleasure from the start. But the truth is, I knew nothing and simply believed everything you said.

At that time, books about terror and crime were not translated as extensively as they are now. Therefore, if we wanted to learn about them, we had no choice but to rely on original texts. Did you not bring books by Poe, Doyle, Freeman, and even Krafft-Ebing—authors I knew nothing of at the time—from who knows where, introducing many of them to me under the pretext of language study? Moreover, you simultaneously expounded on Carpenter, discoursed on Whitman, and presented Montaigne. Assailed by every weapon in this manner, I was made by you to construct a devil’s philosophy, received stimuli toward crime and the bizarre, and at the same time became your plaything.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, I am indeed one of the victims.
And it is precisely because I lacked your brilliance, passion, meticulousness, and that astonishing calmness you display in certain situations that I have been exquisitely caught in life’s trap.

Congratulations.
I was made your plaything without respite, and now I am suffering in this prison.
Yet you, as my mentor, advanced through life with your talent and wisdom—indeed without a single misstep.
I sincerely respect and marvel at you from the depths of my heart.
At the same time, I cannot help but think of the futility of the nation’s laws that remain utterly powerless against someone as dangerous as you.

You are a prosecutor, and I am a criminal.
How fitting these roles we bear!
Yet both you and I are people who cannot live out our days untouched by crime.

Through these ceaseless accusations, you must now grasp the chief reason I particularly disclose this criminal tale to you.
Had I not met you in my boyhood days, I would never have come to inhabit such a place as this.
You did not teach me crime.
You were the one who forged within me the very nature of a criminal.
This was the foremost matter I wished to declare.

Next, there is one more thing I wish you to recall—that autumn night when we spoke of our fervent friendship. You must surely remember it.
If my memory serves me correctly, at that time, the school year began in September.
Having recently entered school, I—perhaps as a result of being thoroughly tormented by entrance exam preparations—had become something like neurasthenic.

As for what I was unaccustomed to—the dormitory life—I could hardly sleep each night.
I attended class every day with a heavy heart.

It was precisely the night of October tenth. That night too, finding myself unable to sleep no matter what, I descended to the schoolyard around two in the morning. Amidst the autumn grasses of that dark schoolyard, I suddenly discerned a human figure.

That was you.

Until that moment, you and I had never once spoken to each other. Yet when two boarding students stood in that schoolyard overgrown with autumn grasses at two o'clock in the morning, it was hardly strange that some conversation should arise between them. We spoke with utter naturalness. The first thing I told you was how I had been enduring agonizing nights without sleep for nearly a month. At this, you appeared profoundly moved—for you yourself had already been suffering chronic insomnia for two full years by then. Beneath that darkened sky, our conversation turned toward sleepless nights; as our words flowed onward from there, we gradually discovered mutual affinity. By dawn's first light, we two stood bound together through friendship's exquisite bond.

However, unfortunately, I came to resemble you even in that painful illness. Every time I met you, I complained about my suffering. It was around that time that I came to know such names as Bromural, Adalin, Veronal, and others. And thus I learned to use them regularly. Of course, this too was due to your guidance.

Though this education ultimately produced something profoundly cursed (I will write of that later), however, this differed from your usual teachings—you yourself had indeed become its sacrifice. Lately, I heard from a certain friend that you now cannot sleep each night unless you ingest a terrifying amount of poisonous drugs. Such is the suffering. What I particularly want you to know is this.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, you must surely understand why I began speaking of these drugs.
As far as I know, on the grounds that I—this very self—killed my mistress Ishihara Sueko with a massive dose of poisonous drug (this being a sleeping drug), I remain confined in this prison even now.

Now I have finished setting down all the circumstances I wished you to know beforehand.
I shall now write about the crimes I committed and those I did not commit.
You ought to know I do not lie. Once again I call upon you in the name of that friendship.
Please believe me.

IV

As a matter of sequence, I must first recount the events from when you and I parted ways.
As I had mentioned before, that passionate friendship of ours came to an abrupt end at the very moment you entered university.
At that time, I was twenty years old, and you must have been twenty-two.

After you transferred your affections to a certain beautiful boy younger than me, I found myself plunged into the very midst of loneliness for a time.
At the same time, as I had previously stated, I discovered that I had already been instilled with your very soul.

It was also autumn of that year.
It was when I became acquainted with Ishihara Sueko, a beautiful woman.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, though I became your disciple in all respects, it seems that in matters of emotion alone, I did not accept yours as they were.
I felt a passionate love for Sueko.

Listening to other people’s love stories is not particularly interesting.
Especially for you, who have no interest whatsoever in the opposite sex and detest sentimentality, a tale of heartbreak must be particularly uninteresting.
Therefore, I will write only the main points of the story as simply as possible.

At that time, Sueko was two years younger than me—eighteen years old. She was a student at ×× Girls' School. I first saw her in the auditorium of Ueno Music School. You must remember. In those days, the Saturday concerts held at Ueno constituted virtually Tokyo's only authoritative music series. To be precise, there should have been another concert patronized by a certain renowned daimyo aristocracy, but you—who harbored extreme antipathy toward nobles—never once introduced it to me.

Sueko and I were both faithful members of the audience at those Saturday concerts.
We had perfect attendance.
I shall refrain from tediously recounting now how I came to know her.

From that autumn onward, Ueno’s grove—where you and I had once spoken of love—now became the place where Sueko and I spoke of ours. Having learned for the first time what it was to love someone of the opposite sex, I devoted everything to loving her. She, too, seemed to harbor no small amount of affection for me.

Had this love progressed happily, perhaps I could have purged that terrible venomous snake’s poison you instilled in me. For me—who knew the beauty and dignity of women, something you could never comprehend—Sueko would surely have been a goddess of salvation.

Yet this love truly met an unfortunate end.
Moreover, this misfortune arrived unexpectedly soon.
By year's end, a future husband had already been decided for Sueko.

Whether this was Sueko’s own will or not—what did it matter? At the time, she spoke of sacrificing herself for her parents, but of course, whatever it might have been had absolutely nothing to do with me.
The crux lay in her having chosen someone other than me as her husband.
I became angry.
I grieved.
And I cursed women.
Prosecutor Tsuchida, at this moment, the words you had spoken until then once again exerted their influence upon me.
I cursed all women.

What followed was too painful to recount.
I, who had been called an honor student, wandered the streets chasing every pleasure until even harsh sanctions were imposed for disgracing the dormitory's name.
But what did that matter?
What worth could there be in the admonitions of friends who understood nothing of my suffering?
When spring came and I turned twenty-one, I was finally compelled to abandon my studies altogether.

Because the drastic change in me—who until now had been called a prodigy thanks to you and regarded as upright—was too violent, a certain teacher who had trusted me advised me to take a temporary leave of absence and continue my education at all costs.
However, I harbored absolutely no such thought.
Resolutely, I threw that coveted hat with two white stripes to the ground and walked out through the school gate.
People were reveling in cherry blossom viewing, and the dormitory cherry blossoms were scattering wildly as if burning in the spring breeze.

My parents back home were shocked by my sudden actions and wept, begging me to repent, but I no longer had any lingering regrets, so I had absolutely no desire to return to my studies.
Finally, my parents grew angry and tried to summon me back to their side.
But how could I—once having been taught your devil's philosophy—ever tread the provincial soil of my hometown again?
I resolutely refused this and wandered aimlessly through the vast expanse of Tokyo.

For several years after that, I threw myself into all manner of occupations.
At one time, I was employed by a magazine shop and assisted with translations.
At one time, I was employed by a movie theater and took on the role of training professionals.
Thus, I wandered through every corner of Tokyo.

During this time, I barely managed to scrape by, yet even then there were two things I never went without.
One was alcohol, the other was sleeping drugs.
As my alcohol intake increased, so too did my drug dosage.
Especially as a result of living recklessly to escape the pain of losing Sueko, I could hardly sleep at night unaided.
And by that time, the amount of sleeping drugs I required each night had already reached more than double the average person’s dose—yet even that proved insufficient.

From that time until this year, approximately eight years passed.
You must know from experience, of course, how much the dosage of the drugs you continuously use had increased during this time.
To put it simply, the amount of sleeping drugs I recently took each night might perhaps have been just right for you—who also used them ceaselessly—but it was certainly fatal to others.

Now returning to the story—I who had lost Sueko and fled through the school gates—while hearing of my old friends’ gradual rise in the world sank ever deeper into depravity’s abyss. Then about two years ago now I began cohabiting with a certain woman.
That woman became my current wife—my wife who just yesterday was first permitted to visit me and came to see me (how gravely significant this meeting would prove for my fate will become clear later)—that wife being Tsuyuko.

She was not an educated woman, of course.
In truth, she worked at a café in the outskirts.
This woman was two years my junior, but during my nights of drinking, we somehow grew intimate.
Tsuyuko loved me.
It was not I who loved Tsuyuko.
She was utterly faithful.
She was kind.
Thus two years ago, I ultimately resolved to make her my wife and began our cohabitation.
This marriage was not born of love—at least not on my part.
It was because I required her fidelity, her kindness, her body, and the modest savings she had accumulated.
Prosecutor Tsuchida, I declare this without shame.
I was a petty demon.
But if it served my solitary growth alone—what matter if one or two women were sacrificed?

Tsuyuko, who had no parents, had no one to rely on but me.
Even after becoming my wife, she remained utterly obedient, chaste, and virtuous.
She was a woman who wouldn’t utter a single word of complaint even when I drank or brought home women.
With such a lovable woman as my wife, it finally seemed to me that a peaceful time had come.

V

For about half a year since gaining a good wife, relatively peaceful days continued for me—save for my father back home passing away during that time.

When I received word of my father’s critical condition, I hurried back to my hometown, but he passed away before I could arrive.
As the heir, I had acquired property—modest but enough for us to live on—and so I returned once more to Tokyo.

After that, I was again employed by a certain magazine company I had previously worked for, earning a modest income through foreign language translations.
From that time until now, I had been renting and living in a small house in the suburbs.

In this way, outwardly, this young couple seemed able to live out their lives peacefully and uneventfully.
Even I myself had thought so.
However, alas, that was entirely a fantasy.
I had forgotten that I was the devil’s disciple.

About half a year had passed when I somehow began to feel dissatisfied with my wife.
Since I had not married her out of love in the first place, I did not particularly care for my wife, but I harbored not a shred of hatred toward her either.
However, after we had been living together for a while, my wife began to get on my nerves unbearably.
The case of a newlywed couple who, despite having gotten along well at first, gradually come to get on each other’s nerves is a common enough occurrence in this world, and it may seem not the least bit strange.
But in my case, it was entirely different in meaning.

As I mentioned earlier, Tsuyuko was truly chaste and virtuous, obedient, and kind as a wife.
Yet what I began finding unbearable was precisely that chastity, obedience, and kindness themselves.
I came to detest Tsuyuko's docility.
Her very virtue began irritating my nerves.
Her goodness above all else started driving me to madness.

At this moment, I sensed the seed you'd planted finally beginning to sprout within my heart.
I grew terrified of myself.
I felt compelled to act.
But how could I possibly escape this uncanny torment?

“Prosecutor Tsuchida, I believe that you—who have no interest in the opposite sex—remain undoubtedly single to this day. Therefore, you may lack all conception of what it means for a husband to suffer under a detestable wife. Yet by the world’s common sense, you who were my mentor must surely comprehend this unbearable hatred toward one who lacks any particular faults—nay, who possesses actual virtues.”

I tried to abandon my wife.
But Tsuyuko refused to leave me.
"If you’ve found a woman you like outside, bring her here—I’ll stay by your side even as a maid," she insisted, refusing to listen.
When verbal expulsion proved impossible, I tried every method to make her leave voluntarily.
Yet these too ended in utter failure.
The physical and mental abuse I inflicted had no effect.
No—she clung to me ever more desperately with each step.
I reached the point where I could no longer endure her presence.

If she had shown even slight unfaithfulness, selfishness, or rebellion toward me, perhaps I would not have been driven to such fury. But Tsuyuko persisted in her chastity and obedience. For instance, were I to leave home without a word and return after three or four days, she would not voice a single complaint. That very night after we shared the bed, she would bow her head and earnestly seek my affection. When I beheld this pitiable figure of a wife, an inexplicable revulsion would seize me—a hatred so intense I felt I might tear Tsuyuko limb from limb and devour her on the spot. Even when I fabricated errands to send her out into raging storms, she never once frowned. At last I could bear no more and struck Tsuyuko's face with a resounding slap. Still she did nothing but weep and beg.

I made my wife’s body and spirit into objects of amusement through every means and turned them into playthings.
And so I made every effort to make her give up, but it was utterly futile.
In the end, after tormenting my wife to the fullest extent, I myself became unbearable, and I even came to think that I might instead be possessed by her living spirit.

“Prosecutor Tsuchida, if you had been in my position, with your clear intellect, you would undoubtedly have found a far better way to escape this predicament.
However, not being blessed with innate talent, I could only find a way to escape this predicament through a terribly prosaic method.
That was the only way.
Namely, death.
It was to die.
And according to our philosophy, she was to be killed.
There were times when, upon hearing her often say that she would die if abandoned by me at midnight, I would retort, ‘Why don’t you just try dying?’
However, at that time, I had said it merely to torment her, and I never thought it would actually be realized.”

However, as days gradually passed, I began to seriously consider this matter.
I imagined the scene of Tsuyuko’s death.
In cases of death by illness, suicide, or murder—I envisioned these scenes in my mind as a pastime during sleepless nights.

How many nights did I spend lost in such devilish imaginings while listening to the pitiable Tsuyuko breathing softly in sleep beside me?
And now I would gaze with a smile at Tsuyuko’s sleeping face—a face that could satisfy me only through her dying or being killed.

“How about that?”
“Prosecutor Tsuchida, I can rightly say I’ve splendidly inherited your soul.”

VI

However, at that time, I had only been killing my wife through fantasy.
The thought of putting this into practice had not even crossed my mind.

Yet at this juncture, an event of grave consequence arose for me.
Namely, my reunion with Ishihara Sueko.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, you who despise women would laugh at how I kept thinking of my first love without ever forgetting her, even while hating her.
But that is a difference in our personalities—there’s nothing to be done.
Even after losing Sueko at twenty, I always continued to think of her.
Therefore, even during my wanderings from place to place, I kept track of the famous businessman she had married—so I knew he had been cruelly crushed in the Great Kanto Earthquake and nearly all from her hometown perished save her.

However, even so, as a man, I did not feel inclined to visit Sueko myself, and even if I had wanted to visit her, I did not know where she lived.

However, near the end of last summer, I suddenly encountered her in a certain town in Yamanote.
It was then that I first learned she had been living a lonely life in a town in Yamanote with only a maid for company since her husband’s death, and that after the earthquake, everything had fallen into dire straits—her marital home, of course, and even her hometown had been utterly ruined.

We relived our old stories once more.
And so we returned to those bygone days.
I loved Sueko truly, and she too loved me in turn.
Thus from autumn through winter last year did our fervent love blaze anew.

Of course, I told my wife Tsuyuko about this matter.
Because I thought that if I told her, no matter what, my wife would abandon me.
However, this was a misunderstanding.
Tsuyuko had only ever said, as she had always maintained, that I could love any woman however much I pleased—so long as I did not abandon her.

Taking advantage of that situation, I hardly returned home around the end of last year.
And so I settled completely into Sueko’s house.

Fortunately, Sueko had no children.
To Sueko—who did not clearly know I was married—I made a promise that we would surely become husband and wife in the future.
You must be wondering why I didn’t simply abandon Tsuyuko under these circumstances.
You are entirely correct—it was simply that Tsuyuko’s living spirit terrified me.
To put it another way, I felt I could never escape her as long as Tsuyuko remained alive.
Therefore, no matter how long I stayed away from home, I inevitably had to return and confront Tsuyuko’s pitiful yet detestable face.

The time when I finally decided to kill my wife Tsuyuko was in February of this year.
In January, an abnormality occurred in my wife’s body; even when February came, that condition did not change.
Tsuyuko appeared to be pregnant.
She was carrying my seed.

How unfortunate.
Any husband in the world—no, any human being—would undoubtedly rejoice wholeheartedly at his wife carrying his seed.
And yet I cursed my wife’s pregnancy.
My hateful, hateful wife had come to carry my seed.
That self knew himself all too well.
My wife carried the devil’s seed in her womb.
The mere fact that my detestable wife had become pregnant was terrifying enough.
And yet it was the devil’s seed.
I resolved.
I must kill my wife quickly and escape this terror.

The reason I resolved to kill my wife Tsuyuko was, of course, in part to escape from Tsuyuko's living spirit.
As long as Tsuyuko lived, no matter where I went, I could not escape her living spirit.
Now that she was pregnant, as long as Tsuyuko drew breath, I could not escape my fate at all; were I to vanish from her sight, she would likely refuse to die until safely delivering that child.
Ah, that she should give birth to my cursed child!
The very thought filled me with terror.
This second self born of Tsuyuko would hound me through life's every corner.
I could not—would not—let my wife bear this child.
I had to bury Tsuyuko and the spawn in her womb together in darkness.

However, it is also true that I was simultaneously driven by a morbid fascination with killing Tsuyuko.
The resolve had settled.
Tsuyuko must be killed.
When and how to kill her—this remained the problem.

Seven

After making this resolution, I spent all my time—except for moments of indulgence with Sueko—considering methods of murder.
I began scouring every book to devise ways to kill.
I reread all the books you had taught me during your high school years.
I researched how to commit murder most skillfully.

At the first step of that research, I encountered the major premise that humans must discard their conscience. When I examined the history of crime and observed how crimes are exposed, I found that the most dangerous thing for a criminal is his own conscience. They commit crimes bravely; yet after committing them, they become extremely cowardly. If they had maintained the same audacity they displayed when committing their crimes, their crimes would likely not have been discovered—as demonstrated by many criminal cases.

Now, regarding this point, I was exceedingly optimistic.
I am a child of the devil.
I must have nearly lost what is called conscience.
And yet, to what extent I had lost it was ultimately a problem that could not be determined without having committed murder.
Therefore, I realized that agonizing too much over this was foolish.
Act bravely—and be even braver after committing the crime—this I commanded myself.

Next came the method of murder.
This was the most crucial problem.

Criminals appearing in some murder cases and detective novels went to great pains regarding the disposal of corpses.
I first considered the foolishness of this matter.
I realized that unless one could obtain the sort of drug Dorian Gray used to dispose of the painter’s corpse, it would be extremely foolish to exert one’s mind there.
A corpse should be left as a corpse.
As long as it was not recognized as a murder case, that sufficed.
Moreover, I also considered that any attempt to actively make it appear like a suicide would be extremely dangerous.
If one was not extremely careful, this would stir up a hornet’s nest.
Therefore, one had to confine oneself to simply concluding that it was not a murder case.

Next came the question of where would be the best place to kill my wife. Through extensive research, I concluded that home was the safest option. Deliberately taking my wife out to kill her was extremely dangerous. It went without saying that the home—being one's daily residence—was the most certain place.

Therefore finally, the most ideal murder method had to be one that, even if the first attempt failed, would never be noticed by the victim. If I failed in the first step, I had to put on an innocent face and wait for the second step. If I failed in my second attempt—I had to then target yet another opportunity with a third. In this manner, I had to repeat however many times it took until finally achieving the objective.

Could such a method truly exist?
You, who could almost be called a genius in such matters, must have already discerned the perfect method you would undoubtedly have adopted were you standing in my position.
However, I did not notice this ideal method that lay within reach.

Thus, February of this year came to an end, and March reached its midpoint.

During this time, I only returned to Tsuyuko once every ten days and otherwise spent nearly all my time living with Sueko.
In the end, I even set up personal belongings and such at Sueko’s house and was living there.

However, the opportunity had finally come. And yet, unexpectedly, the method to kill Tsuyuko manifested itself as a sort of suggestion from Tsuyuko's own lips.

Eight

It was precisely on March 25th.
I had returned to my wife’s house from Sueko’s place after a long absence.
I do not know what Tsuyuko was thinking, but she welcomed me as ever without uttering a single word of complaint.
After an unappetizing dinner facing Tsuyuko for the first time in ages, I remained as ever engrossed in books on murder research.

Around this time, I absolutely could not sleep unless it was midnight, so I ordered Tsuyuko to go to bed first around eleven o’clock.
As always utterly obedient to me, Tsuyuko silently laid out the bedding first, bid me goodnight, and with endearing diligence wordlessly settled into bed.

Around one o'clock at night, when I took my usual powerful sleeping drug and went to bed, Tsuyuko—who was supposed to be asleep beside me—began sobbing quietly after some time. Assuming this was yet another of her usual entreaties, I remained silent in distaste—when suddenly Tsuyuko addressed me:

"You, I just can't sleep at night lately—last night I didn't sleep a wink at all, and still tonight I'm not the least bit sleepy."

I was just brusque—

“I see,” I said, making no effort to continue the conversation.

But when I suddenly recalled Tsuyuko’s earlier words—“I haven’t been able to sleep at all lately”—a terrible inspiration flashed through my mind like lightning.

"That’s it."

I involuntarily shouted in the darkness.

This is it, this is it—the method I had thought through endlessly, devised through relentless effort until now lies in exploiting these words.

Very well—your life has but one day remaining tomorrow; your suffering has but one day remaining tomorrow.
From tomorrow night onward, I shall grant you release!

At this juncture, I must relate how potent a dose of poisonous drug I must ingest to sleep and through what means I procure that substance.

However, I imagine this must differ little from your present condition.

Needless to say—though you are likely the same—I could no longer steal even a moment’s sleep with the sleeping drugs ordinary pharmacists dispense to the public.
The very idea that one might commit suicide using Calmotin struck me as laughably absurd.

In the end—that didn’t work, this didn’t work either—about two years ago I visited a certain well-known doctor.
That person prescribed me a certain powdered sleeping drug.
However, according to that expert’s theory, in cases such as this (insomnia, for example), a patient knowing the drug’s contents would significantly diminish its efficacy; for this reason, he absolutely did not inform me of the contents and instead specifically provided it to a nearby pharmacist.

From what I briefly heard, it was something like a sleeping drug cocktail—apparently a mixture of various medications had been compounded. So at first, I faithfully received three days' worth at a time from that pharmacy and used it accordingly.

However, you—being my senior in insomnia—would likely infer that the relationship between pharmacy and patient could not continue unchanged.

After about half a year had passed, the daily dose gradually began losing its effectiveness.
I grew desperate.
I tried taking two days' worth at once.
It produced an extremely good result.
But what excuse could I give to collect the drugs from the pharmacy a day early?

This is the method such patients tend to employ.
You have probably had this experience as well.

“I spilled a packet and lost it.”

With such pretexts as I have mentioned, I skillfully deceived the pharmacy at first.
The second time, this method did not work.

“I’m going on a trip for about a week.”

For such reasons, I received more again.
And so I began using two days’ worth or even two and a half days’ worth at once.
No—if I don’t use it, I can’t sleep.

Even a pharmacy is a business.
Moreover, since it was a household of a patient they regularly supplied, they generally trusted us.
In the end, even when ten days’ worth ran out every three days, they did not lodge any particular protest.
In this way, the amount of poisonous drug I used each night reached a dreadful quantity.

By that time, patients became so anxious—so unbearably anxious—unless they constantly stockpiled extra amounts at home.
As the money I paid each month to that pharmacy for the poisonous drug grew larger, my head came to require ever greater quantities of sleeping drug.

Especially since last autumn, when I began living at Sueko’s place, I started feeling the need to keep a supply there as well.
I, who had gained absolute trust from the pharmacy, ended up having them fill two small jars to the brim with that white poisonous drug—placing one at home and another at Sueko’s residence—and began freely gulping down three or four teaspoonfuls myself.

“Mr. Tsuchida, I hear your dosage has been steadily increasing as well.
“Where this is heading—even someone as wise as you seems unable to foresee it.”

In this manner, the amount of drug I had been using lately amounted to nearly ten times the daily dose prescribed by the doctor two years ago. The daily dose of sleeping drug prescribed to me two years ago had already been several times stronger than an ordinary person's usage. Ten times that amount. What effect would this have on a frail, pregnant woman?

I considered that point.

Even if making Tsuyuko drink it didn't kill her, it would undoubtedly induce a fatal phenomenon. And the method to make her drink it was utterly simple. Tsuyuko, who likely had no knowledge of drugs, would undoubtedly feel reassured and drink it herself were I to demonstrate taking a certain dose before her eyes. This was an extremely natural method and a simple matter.

And even if she were to vomit or otherwise fail to achieve the intended effect, since I myself would be ingesting that very amount and would demonstrate doing so at that time, there would be no risk of arousing even the slightest suspicion in her. In other words, even in the unlikely event of failure, there would be no danger. And when the goal was successfully achieved, they could only conclude that she had accidentally ingested a large amount. Even if I were to have a mistress named Sueko and found myself in a situation where I might kill my wife, who could possibly produce evidence that I had deliberately made her ingest it? In that case, it became purely a matter of conscience. Even if I were to be investigated, as long as I persistently denied everything, I could escape.

My plan had taken perfect form.
Now all that remained was its execution.

Nine

“Tomorrow I will kill my wife”—driven by this abnormal feverish agitation, I passed the night of the 25th without sleeping a wink.
When dawn came, it was the 26th.
That morning, I hurried to Sueko’s place.
Since I couldn’t stay there that day, I resolved to at least see her face in daylight.

After gazing at Sueko’s beloved face, I tried to leave in the early afternoon—when she suddenly spoke.

“Oh, must you go already today?
“Won’t you stay the night?
“I’ve been struggling terribly with sleeplessness lately...”

I was startled. I was astonished by this strange coincidence. However, I absolutely had to return that day due to work obligations—and with those words, I took my leave from Sueko. Looking back now, this was my eternal farewell with Sueko.

Because I returned in the early afternoon, Tsuyuko—who had likely assumed I would not come back again for some time—greeted me with what seemed like extreme delight.

I, too, believing this would be our final parting in this world, treated her with as much tenderness and kindness as I could muster.

And so the accursed night of March 26th arrived.

I proceeded with the matter with as much careful preparation as possible.
I am not a doctor, so I cannot say for certain, but through my own experience, I knew that sleeping drugs are more effective on an empty stomach.

At dinner time, to my wife,

“If you eat too much, you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Because I had given her this warning—perhaps moved by this kindness—Tsuyuko ate only one bowl of rice.

At last, the night arrived.
It was time to act.

Even at that moment, I was still calculating what dosage would prove most certain.
Yet ultimately, being someone devoid of pharmaceutical knowledge—even had I possessed any, since I remained ignorant of what drug I was actually ingesting—I could not form even a rough estimate.
Thus I resolved first to administer only my usual dose—ten days' worth for me: five teaspoons.

It was exactly half past ten at night.

"I hear you can't sleep. Why not try taking the drug I take? I'll take some now too - so you take some as well."

I uttered these words as naturally as possible.

"Yes."

The obedient Tsuyuko replied while preparing the bedding.

Perfect. This will do.

When Tsuyuko, having finished preparing the bedding, faced me across the brazier, I took out the familiar jar and first demonstrated by abruptly swallowing five teaspoons of the powder myself. However, even I—on such an agitated night—lacked confidence that this would let me sleep. After finishing one more spoonful, I took out the paper and gave Tsuyuko exactly five spoonfuls of the drug. Tsuyuko silently watched the drug when, at that moment, an idea suddenly occurred to me.

Looking back now, that idea I had at the time was precisely what would lead to my great undoing, yet in that moment, I considered it a truly brilliant inspiration.

It went like this.
After I took the medicine and fell asleep, I would ensure someone casually noticed that my wife had remained awake.
Then should any suspicion arise that I had made Tsuyuko take the drug, it would inevitably work to my advantage.
I abruptly,

“Hey, could you go to Omiya and buy three Ea-shippu cigarettes for me?” I said.

Omiya was a tobacco shop located about two blocks away from my house.
There should always be the owner present at that shop without fail.
This owner was my Go rival, with whom I would often battle over black and white stones during our leisure hours.
Therefore, in most cases, it was I myself who made a habit of going to buy cigarettes.
Thus now, if Tsuyuko were to go make the purchase, the owner would surely offer some polite remark like—

“What has happened to your husband today?”—he would surely say something along those lines. Then Tsuyuko would, “He has already gone to bed tonight,” she would certainly respond. Even if I were to be investigated later, the Omiya shop owner would testify that my wife had gone to bed after me. If that were done, it would likely be concluded that my wife had mistakenly ingested a large amount of the drug. I thought it was a truly splendid idea.

When Tsuyuko was ordered by me to do this task, she remained as obedient as ever; she wrapped the given powdered drug in paper, folded it, and briefly tucked it into her obi.
I was persistently staring at that drug.
In just a little longer, that would enter Tsuyuko’s stomach, and everything would be over. Humans really are such fragile things, I thought to myself as I gazed at that dreadful paper package of drugs peeking halfway out from her obi.

Tsuyuko soon stood up and went out through the kitchen to fetch the cigarettes.

In the meantime, I entered the bedroom and got into my own bed.
Beside me lay my wife’s bed awaiting its occupant.
All while thinking this bedding would be cradling a corpse by tomorrow.

I was waiting in bed for Tsuyuko to return.
However, I noticed the drug was beginning to take considerable effect on me.
An unbearable drowsiness washed over me.
That day, I had taken a larger dose than ever before.
To make matters worse, having indeed lost my appetite and eaten little for dinner, I was now terribly hungry.
While faintly hearing my wife return and clatter the kitchen door shut, I apparently fell into a deep sleep.

I didn’t know how many hours I had slept—I awoke abruptly. At first, I simply lay gazing at the ceiling with an indeterminate heaviness pressing against the back of my head—a sensation invariably accompanied by headache whenever I took slightly more sleeping drug than usual.

When I suddenly checked my wristwatch, it showed four-thirty. Raising my head revealed the storm shutters fully opened.

I remained dazed for some time until sunlight filtering through the shoji screens made me wonder whether this might actually be evening.

The moment I thought that, last night’s events abruptly rose in my head.

I prepared the drug—I should have made her take it!

That’s it!
I should have tried to kill Tsuyuko!

My wife?
Tsuyuko?

I looked around me.
My wife should have been sleeping in the same room as me, our futons laid out side by side.
Yet there was no trace of Tsuyuko—not even her futon remained.

Failure?

I bolted upright. Then I abruptly pulled open the sliding door to the tatami room.

There I clearly recognized Tsuyuko—who had just emerged from the kitchen—her demeanor that of an industrious wife.

Her face bore its usual faint trace of melancholy yet remained perfectly calm. The moment she saw me, she suddenly spoke:

"You're awake? You were sleeping so soundly I kept quiet until now. It's already five in the evening."

I tried to say something.
But my tongue was parched, and I couldn’t speak for a moment.

“You… were you able to sleep last night?”

“No, I didn’t sleep very well.”
“But you took the drug, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did take it, but…”
“What… uh… did you take only what I prepared?”

“Oh, if you drank that much, you’d die!”

Tsuyuko, with an utterly adorable smile and an expression that seemed to half pity my ignorance, said this.

“You know—you may not realize this—but you’ve been taking far too much of the sleeping drug while you were away all this time! Because *I* couldn’t sleep at all… I went to get medicine from our usual XX Pharmacy.”
“Because I thought that if I used any of your medicine, you would surely get angry again, I asked the pharmacy staff about it at that time.”
“I was shocked when I heard how much you were taking.”
“They said you should ask them to reduce the dosage even a little.”
“But if I carelessly mention it, I’ll get scolded again, you know.”
“So I stayed silent while worrying.”
“About yesterday’s dose—I split it into ten portions and took one. If someone took all of it, they might die.”
“But somehow I was anxious last night and couldn’t sleep well. You fell asleep right away, didn’t you? …Oh, right—the airship I bought last night is on your desk.”

I felt as if struck on the head.
Oh, poor, pitiful Tsuyuko does not realize she was nearly killed—does not realize the terrifying husband who tried to kill her stands before her.
Prosecutor Tsuchida—had this incident ended here, my attempted murder—for I lack legal knowledge and do not know whether this act of mine should be called attempted murder, though I will provisionally name it so—might have concluded as a mere comedy unknown to anyone.

However, in reality, the facts proceeded along a course that was far, far more terrifying to me.

Ten

Tsuyuko knew about the drug—she knew and had kept silent until now! I failed to kill Tsuyuko. Fortunately, because the method I had devised was flawless, Tsuyuko remained unaware that she had been nearly killed. But I had been flawlessly outsmarted.

When I thought this, far from pitying Tsuyuko who knew nothing, I came to hate her more and more until I couldn’t bear it. The thought even occurred to me that she might have known what I’d done and deliberately put on such an act, and now I couldn’t bear to face Tsuyuko even for a moment. I, ignoring the startled Tsuyuko, changed out of my nightclothes no sooner than I had thrown the Eership she bought last night into my sleeve, then stormed out of the house in a fury.

My heart burned as if on fire.
I’d failed to kill my wife!
That she remained oblivious brought me no relief—only frustration and fury so unbearable it choked me.

I wandered aimlessly, though I distinctly recall visiting two or three disreputable cafés and guzzling harsh liquor.
At last, I went to Sueko’s house.
To see beautiful, darling Sueko.
When I reached her doorstep, evening had likely already deepened to seven o’clock.
Drink had made my steps falter and stagger.

When I reached Sueko’s house, I noticed something unusual.
In an area that should usually be completely deserted, a car stood parked.
And a crowd of people were milling about there.

At first, I didn’t realize they were surrounding Sueko’s house.
When I finally arrived at her house, I discovered a large crowd encircling it.

I froze in shock.
Something pierced through my chest.
Something had happened.
I tried to shove through the crowd clustered before the latticed gate and force my way in.

Just as I reached the lattice door at the entrance, a man in a suit and someone in what appeared to be a police uniform came out while talking.
I clearly remember the words the man in the suit said to his companion at that time.

“This is utterly reckless!”
“Whether it’s negligence or suicide, that’s your job to investigate—but drinking such potent drugs straight from the bottle they came in is utterly reckless.”
“She probably drank it with that teaspoon, but what a rough way to do it. No use, of course—her heart’s stopped.”

I immediately realized something had happened to Sueko. Pushing through the startled crowd, I rushed into the room I knew so well.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, you must surely know what I found there.

Beneath bedding that burned like fire, beautiful Sueko lay fallen like a white statue, as if asleep. She was fully on her back, her right hand stretched out across the tatami.

When I regained awareness, a man standing beside me had seized me by the collar.

“Who are you?”

“I know this woman.”

Even as I answered this way, I was staring at Sueko’s corpse as though devouring it with my eyes.

I had discovered there the result of the murder method I had so painstakingly devised.

Strangely, at this moment, I felt no sadness at all over losing someone I loved.

I merely saw before my eyes a mysterious mass of flesh that pleased me.
And yet it was the result of what I had planned and planned.

When I thought this, I became unbearably agitated.
My chest grew queasy.
And then, without thinking, I shouted loudly:
“This isn’t a mistake? She was killed! She was forced to take the drug! That’s right—as if she’d drink it by mistake!”

Leaving the astonished onlookers behind, repeating these words over and over, I rushed out of Sueko’s house.

Eleven

Sueko was dead.
I had lost my beloved—forever!

Like a man whose soul had been ripped out, I returned home that night.
But how could she have been at my wife's residence?
How could she exist in this anguish-ridden world?
I resolved to escape this accursed realm at the earliest possible moment.

That night, all alone, I hurled myself into a train from Iidamachi Station.
I set out for that remote village in Kiso where you and I once traveled during summer vacation, to bid my final farewell to this world.

It was exactly the night of March 27th.
I settled into the train all alone and finally regained myself.
And then I tried to think through how that result had come about.

The reasoning was utterly straightforward.
It was Sueko who had absolutely no knowledge of drugs.
She must have always been watching me take the drug at her house.
The ignorant Sueko must have imitated me and taken that potent drug last night to endure a sleepless night alone.
Because she had not gotten up even by today, even by evening, the young maid, alarmed, rushed to fetch a doctor.
That must have been what caused all that commotion.

For over ten hours, rocked by the train, I thought about many things.
And now, belatedly, I fell into a sentimental mood over having lost Sueko forever.

However, recalling the mysterious allure of Sueko's corpse-like flesh, I imagined various women's figures and bodies in the dark train.

I arrived at × Station in Kiso on the morning of the 28th.
I entered the small inn you and I had visited together.
And then I thought about my own future.

That astounding coincidence!
The hated wife and the beloved woman!
And then—when will I ever truly be able to sleep?

I could no longer endure this suffering.
I must either die or go mad to escape this suffering.
I resolved.
I resolved to either leave this world by March 28th or go mad.

For that purpose, the poisonous drug I possessed was perfect.
I intended to drink an entire flask.
Would I manage to die? Even if I failed, I should not regain consciousness in my own body.
I thought this.

I resolved, finally, to leave behind a written record of my crimes.
And so, over the course of that entire day, I recorded the plan I had devised to kill Tsuyuko.
Around ten o’clock at night, I finally finished writing.

Just before I was finally about to take the drug, I thought once more.

There’s no need to leave a suicide note.
The idea of leaving behind a crime that would never be discovered held more interest for me.
Having thought this, I burned all the suicide notes I had written—no, I thought I had burned them all.

Yet, at this very moment, another unfortunate coincidence befell me.
At that time, after all, I lacked mental composure.
I thought I had burned everything—yet failed to notice that a part of it had not yet burned.
Moreover, that part was the section from when I resolved to kill Tsuyuko until I began putting it into action.

Namely,

"I was determined to escape from her no matter what.
"I had to kill her no matter what."

starting from the part that says,

"She likely had no knowledge regarding drugs—therefore, even if I made her take it, she shouldn’t notice"—"I demonstrated by drinking it myself.
She silently watched this.
I measured the dose myself and gave it to her."

is where it ends.

Had I written "wife" or "Tsuyuko" instead of "her," this would not have become evidence of murder suspicion regarding Sueko's unnatural death.
It was because I had not written the name that I caused an unexpected result.

Having finished writing, I drank down the entire flask of the drug I had all at once.
Bidding a final farewell to this detestable world while listening to the flow of the Kisogawa River as a funeral dirge.

Prosecutor Tsuchida, had I been able to die like this, how happy I would have been.
However, my sins do not seem to have ended with this.

Twelve

From that moment, I immediately fell into a roaring sleep.
How many hours I slept, how many days I slept—I had absolutely no idea.
When I awoke and, while suffering a headache so severe I thought I would die and nausea, looked around my surroundings, I found myself—as I later realized—at the police station near × Station in Kiso.

Ever since I uttered those suspicious words at Sueko’s place, the officials must have been pursuing me.
The inn in × Village, Kiso, must have been alarmed by my prolonged slumber and reported it to the local police box.

In any case, I awoke from a torturous sleep in an unfamiliar place.
After waking up, I was truly miserable.

“You must be aware of the discomfort that follows taking even a little too much sleeping drug.” However, I had taken twenty days’ worth or perhaps even more of the drug all at once. That I revived borders on miraculous. Therefore, even if I were to say I had utterly lost all memory and comprehension at the time, you would not find it remotely strange.

In any case, in such a strange state—bereft of soul and all else—I was put on a train.
Looking back now, I realize I had been sent back to Tokyo.

Up until then, no matter what I was asked, no matter what I was questioned about, I did not answer clearly.
No—I could not answer.
Everything felt like wandering through fog—I could not comprehend myself, and to put it bluntly, I could not even clearly recall who I was.

After returning here as well, for some time it seemed a doctor had been monitoring my body, but finding no abnormalities in my vital signs and perhaps judging that I could speak coherently, I was soon brought before a detective.

The first thing presented to me was several sheets of the suicide note I had written in Kiso.

“You remember this, don’t you? This was written by you, wasn’t it?”

I stared at it in silence for a while.
Indeed, there was no mistake in my own handwriting.
I finally managed to recall only the circumstances under which I had written it.
However, no matter how hard I tried, I could not recall any memories beyond that.

“Hey—don’t play dumb.”

How many times did that detective say this to me? But I was not feigning ignorance. At that time—no, until yesterday—I had been unable to recall clear facts. I had been deprived of all thinking and memory by that potent poison.

After being shown my suicide note, I began turning things over in my mind alone in my prison cell. Then suddenly there floated into my head Sueko’s deathly figure—so pitiful one could weep. Her right hand outstretched, lying face-up on the floor as if asleep where she had collapsed.

Ah, that woman was dead.
I had tried to kill her.
That's right—I had been planning to make her take the drug.
Then it occurred to me...

My pitiful brain raced desperately, but ultimately settled on the possibility that I might have killed her.

Having thought this, I traced my dim memories and spoke of my feelings.
However, I was unable to provide any answers regarding such complicated matters as when I had first come to know Sueko or why I had killed her.

It must have been proven that I visited Sueko’s house that day.
I had unawares been transferred into the hands of the preliminary judge.

However, how could I possibly state anything more detailed than what I had already said even to the judge?
I had no choice but to answer the judge’s questions with either yes or no.

I myself had no idea whether I had killed her or not.

If I had been in the outside world, I would surely have recalled everything much sooner through stimuli from my surroundings.
However, I was confined inside a prison cell all day.
Even when I tried to recall, I was not even given the opportunity.

However, yesterday, an abnormal event occurred.

It was the fact that my wife Tsuyuko had finally been permitted to visit and came to see me.

It may seem unbelievable, but until then I had not recalled the very concept of a wife at all.
I could not even recall.

When I faced the despondent Tsuyuko, I was merely seized by an inexplicably eerie feeling when suddenly my eyes became riveted on her obi.

She had paper tucked into her obi.
In hindsight she had probably been seeing a doctor regularly—the wrapping paper from that powdered medicine protruded halfway from her sash.

Something flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning.

That's it—that's it—the obi!
That paper!

I had clearly seen it before.
I had definitely seen it before!

When?
Where?

I turned to stone yet kept staring at that paper.

I went mad—a death-crazed frenzy—wringing out my brain matter.

That's right—I tried to kill this woman! This woman—Tsuyuko! She was supposed to be my sacrifice!

Then came surging forth a storm in my head—thunderclaps, lightning flashes!

Without uttering a single word to Tsuyuko, I fled back to my room.

I mustn't forget—what I've just remembered!

I spent all day yesterday and all last night straining to recall everything.

Mr. Tsuchida—and so, through a night of recollection and contemplation, I traced what has become these horrifying facts I have written thus far.

That's right.
This is indeed the undeniable fact.
I tried to kill my wife.
It was neither an attempt to kill Ishihara Sueko nor an actual killing.

According to my reasoning, Sueko died by accident.

When I recovered all my memory, I recalled that you, my old friend, were precisely in this court's prosecutor's office.

Of all people, you may be the only one who would believe what I have told you thus far. To you, the fact that there is not a single falsehood in these words I speak must seem believable. Even if it is a fact that appears impossible to credit, a fact remains a fact. There ought to be no way to alter it.

As I mentioned earlier, I intend to meet promptly with the judge and explain all circumstances.
By doing so, suspicion of murder against Ishihara Sueko will likely be cleared.
It must be cleared.
However, my legal responsibility toward Tsuyuko remains naturally inescapable—nor have I any desire to escape it.

Having written at length, I apologize for troubling your perusal.

Mr. Tsuchida, I appeal to you thrice in the name of that friendship.
Please believe me.
And believe what I tell you.

(Published in the April 1929 issue of *Shin Seinen*)