Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

It was a cold afternoon.

While buffeted by the river wind, I crossed Azuma Bridge and hurried toward Kaminarimon Gate. Suddenly something jabbed me in the back through my coat; when I turned around startled, there stood an unfamiliar young man laughing. Tall and slender, he wore a thick speckled overcoat with only the back collar stiffly upturned—perhaps from the large round Lloyd glasses with pale pink lenses he wore, his cheeks beneath the eyes bore a faint reddish hue. He flicked away his half-smoked cigarette, brushed past me, and had gone about six feet when he abruptly spun on his heel and came striding back. I gasped when I saw that face.

“Mrs. S!”

I knew Mrs. S’s disguises were ingenious, but I’d never imagined she could perfect her transformation to this degree. Yet while strangers might be fooled, her own assistant failing to see through it left me oddly unsettled—I grew acutely self-conscious. “I thought you were some back-alley ruffian,” she teased, her voice adopting a street thug’s rasp. “Trailing me like some two-bit shadow—”

To hide my embarrassment, I pretended to glare at Mrs. S for a moment. Mrs. S chuckled amusedly while—

“Do I look like a proper delinquent? Truth be told today, I went out disguised as some lowlife to investigate a case—I’m just returning from that now.” I studied Mrs. S’s appearance with genuine admiration. It was truly masterful. No matter how I scrutinized her, she appeared completely male. Her bearing, her expressions—she’d wholly become a man. Not a single feminine trace remained detectable. Mrs. S and I drifted into the shop-lined arcade without mutual prompting, shoulders brushing through the jostling crowd.

In the backstreet flanking Kannon-sama’s side stood a circus. Mrs.S stopped before the advertisement poster and stood for a while looking at it, then suddenly suggested we go in. Even though we had come to investigate the case, what could she be thinking? When she saw me hesitating in my response, she said invitingly, “Doesn’t it look interesting? “The South Seas Dance, the Iron Maiden—look, they even have cannibals here.” “What exactly is this ‘Iron Maiden’?”

“It was used for executions in the past, you know. Inside this large box-like device are rows of spikes protruding inward—they’d put a prisoner inside, and when they shut the door, those spikes would pierce through their entire body—that’s how it worked, you know.”

"That does sound fascinating. Then shall we go in?" “Every human has a streak of cruelty in them, I suppose—”

Mrs. S said with a hint of sarcasm and laughed, but suddenly added with a serious expression. “To tell you the truth, I’m looking for a certain woman. She’s a star performer in a circus, you see—but I don’t know which one she’s with. So if you’re not keen, I’ll just go in alone myself.”

The two promptly bought tickets. On stage, what they called the South Seas Dance had already begun. Five or six burly men with ferocious faces danced in a circle, their crimson-stained thick lips flapping as they bellowed an unintelligible song. At their center, a young woman—who might as well have been called a chief’s daughter—and a large baboon cavorted wildly, lavishing charm upon the audience. Because they showed comical gestures, the spectators were delighted.

“That baboon bastard’s putting on quite a show!” “Is that the real thing?” “Who knows?” “That guy’s got some real flair, hasn’t he?” “But—skilled! Man or woman?” “What’d you do if it were a woman?” “If she’s a looker, I’d gobble her right up!” “Idiot! Why’d any looker bother with a baboon pelt?” “Even if she were a woman, she’d be some hag anyway.” “Just look!” “Two shocks running!” While we were distracted by this banter, the dance had ended before we knew it. A clown now stood center stage, delivering his spiel with theatrical gusto. According to his tale, the baboon—smitten with the chief’s beautiful daughter—had overstepped with his mischief until enraging the chief himself. Captured and condemned, he faced execution in the Iron Maiden. After grandly describing how the baboon vanished when they opened the torture device post-execution—a trite twist—the clown withdrew. In his place emerged the baboon once more: bound with rough rope, dragged by a tribesman, shuffling forward with steps both dejected and unsteady.

We had been settled in the audience seats for about an hour or so, but we still hadn’t managed to find the crucial woman Mrs.S was searching for. “But if we keep searching patiently, we’ll find her somewhere. Moreover, the woman isn’t single.”

“Does she have a husband?” “She’s colluding with her husband and up to no good.” We left that spot and circled behind the hut. As we passed by the backstage area, a fearsome whip crack—crack!—struck our ears like someone disciplining a wild beast. Simultaneously came a woman’s shrill wail—I shuddered and pressed close to Mrs. S while peering through a tear in the enclosure into the backstage area. The Circus Master in his garish green riding suit stood facing away, whip raised high. At his feet lay a young woman prostrated as though crushed. This was undoubtedly the troupe’s star performer—the same woman we had seen earlier riding the zebra.

The Circus Master bellowed in a voice trembling with anger, as though hurling it down upon her. “You’re always chasing after that Baboon Man—” “You bitch!” “I’ll beat you to death!” Before his voice had even finished echoing, sudden applause erupted from the front. Four or five men and women came pouring noisily through the backstage entrance, but upon seeing the Circus Master, they all huddled in a corner and began whispering furtively. “He’s jealous again.”

“Poor thing! There’s no need to hit you.” “The Circus Master’s got his own troubles too.”

There was a man who, watching this scene out of the corner of his eye from some distance away, had quietly removed his baboon fur to rest. We gazed in astonishment at his refined features and athletic bearing that resembled a sportsman’s. “If you didn’t wear that baboon pelt and showed your real face instead, you’d be far more popular—”

At Mrs.S's words, I couldn't help but laugh. The two of us made our way back out to the concession area and walked through the jostling crowd.

The area was already growing quite dark. When we reached Kaminarimon Gate, amidst the evening clamor, the plaintive sound of an evening newspaper seller’s bell rang out. I immediately bought a copy and, huddling face-to-face with Mrs.S, opened it to look. At that moment, I thought Oh?

“Murder or Suicide? The Utterly Bizarre Mysterious Death of Countess Higashi”

Beneath the headline, the evening newspaper reported her death.

Countess Higashi’s name was far too renowned. A peerless beauty who shone not merely as high society’s darling but wielded considerable acumen as a philanthropist, she in fact eclipsed her husband—Count Higashi, Undersecretary of XX—in public renown. “The Countess—dead? And by her own hand—how dreadful—” As I stared at the evening paper, genuinely staggered, Mrs. S— “Having been acquainted with her ladyship for years, we grew rather close.” “Particularly of late, owing to a certain affair—”

She hesitated momentarily but continued resolutely, "Actually, that woman we're searching for— "It's about that woman at the circus— "I had some business with her—we met frequently—and she was such a fine lady, intelligent and beautiful..." Even Mrs. S seemed filled with emotion and fell into a deep silence.

2

I could hardly wait for the next morning’s newspaper. It was because I wanted to read the detailed report on Countess Higashi’s suicide. Sure enough, every newspaper carried a detailed article alongside a photograph of the beautiful Countess.

According to the article, Countess Higashi had been staying at Hakone’s Fujiya Hotel for about a week when, late the night before last, she returned home. Upon entering the entranceway, she collapsed unconscious and passed away on the spot.

Due to being occupied with the ongoing Diet session, it was said that the Count was absent. Following this, according to an account from the Higashi family butler, "When returning from outings, Her Ladyship would always telephone in advance without fail—this had been our established arrangement." "And though we would send a car from the mansion to meet her at the station, last night alone she suddenly chose to return home late at night, only to collapse gravely ill at once. To us it all seemed like a dream—we simply cannot bring ourselves to accept that Her Ladyship has passed away."

Furthermore, according to the account of the maid who had greeted her at the entrance: "When I think back on it now, I believe it wasn't Her Ladyship who rang the entrance bell, but rather the jitney driver." As I opened the front door, a black shadow ran toward the main gate, and soon I heard a car starting. "When Her Ladyship first entered the entranceway, she staggered two or three steps along the white wall, reached out to catch hold of it, then collapsed as if crumbling away." "Her Ladyship had been prone to cerebral anemia lately, so I assumed it was another episode." "Moreover, with there having been a bereavement among her close relatives and her being in mourning—whenever she wore Western clothes, she would wear a thick black veil that made her complexion impossible to discern—we thought it must have just been dizziness from coming suddenly into the warm, steam-heated house from the cold outside, but—"

Statement by Dr. [Name], Specialist in Western Medicine (The Doctor is the Countess’s Biological Brother) “By the time I arrived, she was already beyond help.” “My sister was a woman of composure—not the weak sort to take her own life.” “Though childless, their marriage stood as a model of harmony—the envy of their relatives. There was not a single reason for her to resort to suicide.” “However, she had recently claimed her health was impaired and would often visit my home to have sleeping pills prepared at the pharmacy.” “As a physician’s daughter well-versed in medicines, she would never have killed herself without cause—though her public prominence had indeed earned her many enemies.” “The direct cause was unquestionably an overdose.” “Whether self-administered or forced upon her—that lies outside my authority to determine.” “The body is to be autopsied at Imperial University.”

Moreover, a few newspapers carried statements from the manager of Fujiya Hotel where the Countess had been staying: "Yesterday afternoon, Countess Higashi received a telephone call from Count Higashi saying he would meet her partway, and she left in high spirits." "We would typically send her off in the hotel’s automobile, but yesterday she insisted on walking for exercise given the fine weather." "Given how close that esteemed couple was, we assumed they might be taking a stroll together and thought nothing of it." "But…"

According to Count Higashi’s own account: “I cannot begin to fathom how many have impersonated me to call my wife.” “Had my wife herself answered, she would have recognized from the voice whether it was me or not.” “One can only assume she was lured out by someone, poisoned elsewhere, then sent back—yet my wife was a woman of calm composure.” “She would never let herself be so easily deceived, nor was she the sort to take her own life. Though her health had recently declined, she’d thrown herself passionately into a new social welfare project—devoting all her energy as one might nurture a child, declaring this endeavor her legacy. A life brimming with purpose—why would she despair over minor ailments?” “As a husband robbed abruptly of his beloved, there’s much I could say—yet for now I remain silent.” “I place my trust wholly in the Metropolitan Police Department’s investigation.”

At that moment, Mrs. S suddenly looked up from the newspaper and said. "That woman I’m searching for, you know." "Are you referring to the woman at the circus?" "I had been receiving confidential consultations from the Countess regarding that woman." "Confidential consultations? Did Her Ladyship have a secret as well?"

“Not so much Her Ladyship’s secret as her husband’s.” “This happened while the Count was staying in Paris for an important conference—wherever you go, there’s always one or two self-styled connoisseurs of particular indulgences.” “Among them was a bachelor painter who’d been idling at a pension for years—an old schoolmate of the Count’s—who led him to sneak off to some disreputable dance hall.” “There he became entangled with a woman, only realizing later she had a husband and performed in a circus troupe—at which point His Lordship grew thoroughly disgusted.” “He tried disentangling himself gracefully, but having hooked such fine prey, she refused release—clinging like burrs to wool with endless demands.” “In time she pursued him clear to Japan.” “Thus Her Ladyship engaged me to investigate this creature.” “My initial inquiries revealed her as star performer in a magic act—married indeed, but to a man amenable to financial persuasion.” “Yet that brazen hussy dared call upon Her Ladyship herself and extorted no small sum.” “Naturally this was conditional on her leaving Japan—ostensibly bound for Singapore, though in truth she seems to haunt our inland regions still. Her Ladyship implored me to track her movements, but pinpointing which circus shelters her proves impossible.”

Mrs. S said this while taking out a small photograph from her desk drawer and showing it to me. "She’s not much of a beauty, is she?"

I said while returning the photograph. “But in men’s eyes, there must be something appealing about her. There are plenty who’ve been tormented by this woman and suffered cruel treatment.” Mrs. S carefully put away the photograph before continuing. “After visiting Her Ladyship and taking the money, that woman seems to have had a sudden change of heart. You see—the Countess being far too beautiful and living more extravagantly than she’d imagined made her envious, while being paid off to disappear abroad bred resentment.” “‘I may wander from place to scrape by,’ she laughed, ‘but I’m still a married woman. The Count ruined my household. When my husband caught wind of their affair, he flew into a mad rage—all kill or spare this and that.’” “‘He chased me here and turned up at my shack days ago. A stubborn man like that—who knows what tragedy I might unleash with a word? Can’t say it won’t touch your husband’s precious position either.’” “‘Think you’ve bought silence with pocket change? Think again,’ she said. Ever since then, Her Ladyship felt haunted—like someone always watched her—until the anxiety became unbearable. That’s why she came to me—to stop disaster before it struck.”

Upon hearing that, I finally understood why Mrs. S had been searching for the circus woman.

3 The time had come when it remained unclear even whether the case was murder or suicide, and it had nearly become a cold case.

One day, Mrs. S received a visit from Count Higashi at her Kanda office. “Now that matters have reached this point,” he declared, “I can no longer depend solely on the Metropolitan Police Department.” “I implore you—we must uncover the perpetrator, lest the victim’s death go unavenged.” The Count vehemently maintained his homicide theory and even divulged a confidential matter to Mrs. S.

According to this account, there had been a man who had clung to Countess Higashi's side like a shadow for two or three months prior. The recent decline in her health was in fact due to this circumstance, and it was said she had come to greatly fear that man. "Could it be the husband of that circus woman?"

Mrs. S, prompted by the Countess’s request, impulsively inquired. The Count merely allowed a faint, lonely smile to flicker across his lips—without answering—and instead reiterated his plea again and again: he would provide any amount of funds necessary, so she absolutely must find the culprit.

When Count Higashi left, Mrs. S immediately began preparing to go out and took her assistant—me—to investigate the Asakusa Circus once more, just to be thorough. Judging from the Count’s tone, it seemed the husband was indeed the suspicious one. Mrs. S had revised her initial plan—perhaps she now intended to search for the husband rather than that woman. In any case, if we could discover either the woman or the man, perhaps we might thereby uncover a lead in the case.

Through the bustling crowd of Nakamise-dori, Mrs. S walked in silence, deep in thought. I too hurried after her in silence, trying not to fall behind. The two of them abruptly went to the backstage entrance, presented their business cards, and requested a meeting with the Circus Master. The Circus Master immediately flew out, and while smiling broadly, bent forward at the waist. Is this really the same backstage tyrant who was as fierce as a temple guardian? I couldn’t help but glance at Mrs. S with a bitter smile. The Circus Master kept tilting his head slightly in thought, but

“I’m afraid there’s no such woman or man here among us, though we do have this fellow who claims he’s from Singapore—” As he spoke, he glanced toward the corner of the dressing room. There was someone crouching beside the fur that the Baboon Man—whom we had seen before—had cast off. “Is that person the one you mentioned being from Singapore?”

At Mrs. S’s words, the Baboon Man seemed to startle and fixed his gaze intently on the two of us.

After whispering to the Circus Master, Mrs.S strode briskly over to the man and whispered something in a low voice. The man seemed slightly flustered, but Mrs.S paid it no heed; she bowed to the Circus Master and led me outside. After waiting a short while, the Baboon Man, now changed into Western clothes, timidly approached us. His face looked visibly haggard, with eyes so sunken that his protruding cheekbones stood out starkly. Yet despite this, he had a relatively well-proportioned, handsome countenance and a skin tone suggesting long years spent in the tropics—features that made me feel I had seen him somewhere before, though try as I might, I couldn’t recall where.

Mrs. S suddenly thrust the photographs of that circus woman and Countess Higashi at him, putting force into her final syllables as she spoke. "You know one of these two, don’t you?"

The Baboon Man fell silent and looked down. But after a slight pause, he finally raised his face and spoke as if stammering. "I don't know about this one, but—"

and he pointed at the circus woman. Mrs.S said, cutting him off: "So you do know this one?" "Of course I knew her—what a pitiful affair." "How did you know?" "Why?"

The man looked between Mrs.S and me with equal measure, smiling a lonely smile. “Chieko was my fiancée—and now she had become my younger brother’s wife... Countess Higashi.” Mrs.S too seemed utterly shocked by this unexpected revelation; I swallowed hard. “Then are you claiming to be Count Higashi’s errand boy?” “I am his brother—the one said to have been killed by a tiger in the South Seas. Yet as you see, I live. To my younger brother, I remain his only sibling... his blood-bound elder brother.”

We no longer knew what was what. Now that it was mentioned, he did resemble Count Higashi. The reason I had felt I’d seen him somewhere before was because he resembled Count Higashi. However, we had never heard any rumors of Count Higashi having an older brother; having only heard secondhand that their facial features bore some resemblance, and given that this man was a drifter, he might be up to something. He had a kind-looking face, but if we were to take the words of a man who belonged to a circus completely at face value, who knew what might happen? However, it was probably necessary to at least inquire into his background. It might not be entirely without some use as reference. Mrs. S must have thought so. She turned back to the man and said.

“I have already informed the Circus Master, so that should be all right? I would like to find somewhere we can have a meal while I listen properly to your story—”

4 Mrs. S listened to the man’s story without touching her meal. "My younger brother and I were our parents’ only two children, but we had different mothers—he was born to the woman who entered our family after my birth mother passed away." "Looking back now, I believe my stepmother and her biological brother—that is, my uncle—had conspired to have my younger brother inherit the Count family title while making him sole heir to the entire estate." "I was pampered by my stepmother and uncle as I grew up, while my younger brother was raised with strict discipline." "My stepmother was exceedingly kind to me—she indulged my every whim, slipping me as much spending money as I wanted behind my father’s back. In all matters, I behaved exactly as I pleased, growing up utterly spoiled."

About a year before I was to graduate middle school, my uncle—who at the time managed a large plantation in Johor—returned to Japan after several years. My uncle doted on me far more than on his own nephew—my younger brother—and took me with him wherever he went. “That was when I first learned to indulge in vice.” “And who do you think my instructor was? None other than my uncle himself.” “With my money being freely available and my social status, I was immensely popular wherever I went.” “I was treated like some precious young lord, living in blissful idleness—until eventually I even started staying out overnight regularly.” “My strict father was kept in the dark because Mother skillfully covered up for me in his presence, shielding me both behind the scenes and in the open.”

“I entered middle school late while my younger brother started early—yet we ended up in the same grade. While one of us was driven to study until sparks flew and the other indulged in drink and women without properly attending school—despite both taking the First Higher School entrance exam together, there should’ve been nothing strange about my younger brother passing splendidly while I failed. Yet I grew furious and resented him. Just as this bitterness took root, my father—utterly unaware of the truth—began favoring my brother more each day for his academic success. Every time he laid eyes on me, he’d berate me as some lazy good-for-nothing or dimwit. When I could endure it no longer, I followed my uncle—who was preparing to return to Johor—and fled to the South Seas.”

"It’s not like the sun only shines on Japan, y’know." My uncle’s words made me incredibly happy. I completely shelved my own wrongdoings and resented even my father, my mother, and my brother. Shortly after arriving in Johor—my uncle probably intending to console me—he took me on a tiger hunt. “I still cannot forget being plagued by mountain leeches, but there was something even more terrifying I’ll never erase from memory.” “It was the scene of a laborer we had taken along being left behind and devoured by a tiger.” “Truly, even now when I recall it, I shudder.”

“You were killed by a tiger,” Uncle said, joking how amusing it would be to shock everyone back in Tokyo. I clapped my hands in delight at that brilliant idea.

—What expressions would those household bastards make? Would they be shocked? Would they weep? While entertaining such petty thoughts, I heedlessly swallowed my uncle’s honeyed words and let them announce my death. And secretly imagining everyone’s dumbstruck faces—I was delighted, utterly delighted beyond bearing. “To live on watching their reactions to my supposed demise—what a delicious scheme, wouldn’t you agree?”

My uncle’s wife was Italian. They had no children. “Uncle didn’t need to inherit the Count family—he could have just taken over my household. There was no point in being shackled by titles and living out his days in cramped Japan.” "He would say that as long as you had money, you could live an amusingly free life anywhere you went." "Indeed, my uncle’s household was immensely wealthy." Before long, condolence telegrams arrived from Tokyo, and newspapers carrying large death notices were sent. My stepmother sent letters lamenting daily—regretting that she had sent her precious heir to a place like the South Seas despite it being his own wish, and sighing that had it been my younger brother instead, she might have found some resignation. I felt somewhat gratified. "He immediately wanted to meet the remains." Each time a message arrived—such as my younger brother insisting he would go receive the remains himself—I became utterly engrossed in the delight of vividly imagining the state of affairs after my death.

Since it would be disastrous if my younger brother came, Uncle promptly carried the dead laborer’s bleached bones up to Tokyo. I smugly laughed to myself at how perfectly my ruse had succeeded, observing how things unfolded thereafter. And I continued my usual indulgences—dragging in native girls, trying cohabitation with Westerners, indulging in every form of debauchery—yet even within my corrupted soul, there remained one unforgettable pure memory, a recollection that seemed to cleanse my heart. It concerned my cousin Chieko, who had been my betrothed since childhood.

"I wonder what became of Chieko. But though I'd turned into such a jaded wreck, for some reason I felt too ashamed about her to even ask my uncle of her whereabouts."

Ten years passed like a dream. Uncle died suddenly of a cerebral hemorrhage without leaving a will. My inheritance had not yet been formalized. The entire estate became his wife's property, and after she had settled all affairs, she returned to her homeland of Italy. "And I was left utterly destitute and completely alone in Johor."

“From then on, my life became so utterly wretched it wasn’t even worth recounting.”

5

Several more years passed.

One day, as I was casually looking through a local newspaper, I discovered my younger brother’s name among a delegation heading to Paris for an important conference. I suddenly felt nostalgic and wanted desperately to meet him. After scrambling to secure funds through various means, I traveled to Singapore and requested an audience with my brother via the Japanese Association—yet I wasn’t even granted a chance to see him. “Far from it—no one believed a word I said, wouldn’t even engage with me. They merely looked at me with scornful eyes and laughed, this man claiming to be his real older brother.” It was then that I first realized the vast gulf between my younger brother and myself, and overwhelmed by wretchedness, I cried through the night as I watched the ship.

Half a year later, the delegation on their return to Japan ended up staying overnight in Singapore once again.

Resolving that this time I would succeed, I disguised myself as a vendor and infiltrated his cabin. When ships arrived at port, natives and Chinese people would often come clamoring aboard with local specialties. I blended into that crowd, entered my younger brother’s cabin, and locked the door from the inside. My younger brother was initially shocked to see me, his face paling as he suddenly reached for a nearby bell. When I seized his hand, he glared at me with a ghastly expression,

“Don’t be impertinent!” He had shouted, but then—for reasons I couldn’t fathom—suddenly lowered his voice and uttered these words. “I’m not with her—don’t get the wrong idea.” He said with a bitter smile. As my younger brother’s attitude softened, I too began to feel somewhat lighter in spirit, “What are you talking about? Hey, it’s me!”

When I put my hand on his shoulder, he retreated two or three steps back,

“Aren’t you that woman’s husband?”

With that, he wiped the sweat from his brow, let out a relieved sigh as if waking from a dream, and spoke as though making an excuse.

“You see, all sorts of people come around—I thought you might be yakuza.” “Ha ha ha ha!” “And who exactly were you again?” My younger brother, having finally regained his composure, quietly gazed at me while trying to recall my name. But then he suddenly gasped sharply and stared at my face as though trying to bore holes through me. This time his shock was unlike before—eyes stretched impossibly wide, lips spasming and contorted, a low moan forced from his throat.

“Ah! Brother!” “Brother!” “Yeah. It’s me.” “Brother!”

He nearly collapsed. And that was only natural. When someone you thought was dead suddenly appears before your eyes, anyone would be terrified out of their wits. The two of us leaned back on the sofa and talked at length. Being each other's only siblings, my survival—even in destitution—seemed to bring him genuine joy. But with my legal status being that of a dead man, we couldn't openly declare our kinship yet. We agreed to part quietly for now, with me following him to Tokyo on the next ship. I withdrew as promised, trusting his assurance that we'd discuss everything properly later. He'd given me not just travel funds but living expenses too—proof that brotherhood still meant something, I thought bitterly.

I returned to Japan on the next ship as promised. I entered Tokyo with my younger brother, who had come to meet me in Yokohama, my heart leaping with nostalgia and indescribable joy.

But would you believe it? He had deceived me. "He said he would take me to his residence but instead took me to a private mental hospital outside the city, didn’t he?" It was then that I first learned of my younger brother’s malicious scheme and became enraged—despite his strict injunction to “keep it secret until I announce it at the right time”—I ended up confessing everything about my identity to the hospital director. "And I even explained in detail that I was actually the rightful heir to the count’s family, but the director just smiled and listened to my story without taking it up at all, and from that day on, I came to be treated as a madman under the nickname ‘Count.’"

I spent several months under strict surveillance, but my younger brother never came to visit me even once after that. I burned with rage. And so I lived each day consumed by thoughts of revenge against him. I later learned that my lifetime hospitalization fees had been prepaid by him to the director through his own hands. One night, I seized a moment when the nurse was off guard and escaped from the hospital.

Without knowing the way and wandering aimlessly as I walked, before I knew it night had fallen. I didn’t clearly remember where or how I’d wandered, but when I suddenly noticed a light still on in a makeshift structure, exhausted as I was, I desperately threw myself inside.

That became the circus where I now lived. To avoid prying eyes and escape my brother's pursuit, I hid myself within a great baboon pelt. Even the humiliation of performing absurdities like this so-called South Seas Dance had to be borne with clenched teeth to survive each day. Yet the Iron Maiden alone was an act I chose myself. Though guilty of no crime, I judged even that cruelest of executions preferable to being confined as a madman in an asylum—and so each day I entered that fearsome iron door, lest my hatred for my brother should diminish. He had not only embezzled my inheritance and schemed to erase my existence, crimes unforgivable in themselves, but had also stolen away the woman I loved most.

Through a chance occurrence, I learned that Chieko had become my brother's wife. I wanted to see her if only for a moment—to meet her and recount this entire affair, to hear words of comfort directly from Chieko. Yet opportunities to meet her never materialized.

6

Finally, the day when my wish would be granted came. There was a tea gathering at Kan'ei-ji Temple in Ueno, and I learned from the newspaper that Chieko would be attending. I promptly went to Ueno, loitered around Kan'ei-ji Temple, and caught sight of her figure—the one I had longed for all these years. Thinking that if I let this chance slip I would never meet her again, I followed stealthily while keeping hidden. Chieko said something to the chauffeur, then soon exited the gate of Kan'ei-ji Temple alone and quietly entered the Teiten.

After thirty years pass, I suppose fashions do come full circle. The Chieko etched in my memory often wore a wisteria-colored silk kimono with arrow-feather patterning. It suited her perfectly. She kept her bangs trimmed straight above the eyebrows, softening her slender face into a more rounded shape. But would you believe it? There stood today's Chieko wearing that very same wisteria-patterned kimono! And she'd curled her bangs to frame her forehead. Chieko—unchanged from the cherished figure of thirty years past—now stood barely ten paces away. I trembled uncontrollably from the surge of nostalgia. The joy proved too much—I couldn't endure merely standing silent and staring.

After gauging when the evening crowd had thinned, I quietly trailed behind her. The annex stood particularly deserted. When Chieko paused before the athlete's statue, absorbed in its masculine musculature, I—overcome—suddenly materialized before her and spoke. "Chieko-san, it's me." "Have you forgotten?" "The one declared dead in Johor."

Chieko stood frozen for a short while, not moving a muscle.

My sun-darkened face and this voice were sufficient to stir her memory—to such an extent that in that moment I had become my former self again. Chieko's face turned visibly pale before my eyes, her tightly clasped hands trembling so violently that the fact could no longer be denied. "Have you remembered me? I've been living like this all along. The one standing before you now is no ghost—I assure you!"

She pressed a hand to her forehead. Her bangs quivered faintly. "I can't make sense of any of this." "Please kindly allow me to enter the residence—we cannot properly converse here."

With that, Chieko turned on her heel and walked off briskly. If I were to go to that mansion, they would surely catch me again and throw me back into the mental hospital. I said hurriedly: “I will meet your brother again properly.” “Today I wish to speak with you alone.” “Ms. Chieko, please wait.” “Countess Higashi!” “Ms. Chieko!” I deliberately raised my voice—because I thought she would fear being overheard by those around her. As expected, she seemed startled and stopped to look around,

“Then let’s go outside, at any rate.” “Let’s go outside and have some tea.”

The automobile bearing the Higashi family crest was parked sideways at the exit, but the chauffeur was nowhere to be seen. It was likely because she had emerged too quickly. The two walked together into Seiyōken's garden, where few people remained. There, I told Chieko everything. She was simply stunned. Of course, she had known nothing. It seemed my brother had not spoken a single word about me.

“It’s far too late to undo anything now. "I don’t mean to interfere with you living contentedly as part of my husband’s household. "But your younger brother remains an unpardonable monster. “I cannot know how deeply my reappearance tormented him, but I cannot forgive his sin of trying to bury me alive. “Deceiving me, luring me to Tokyo, suddenly confining me to a mental hospital, attempting to seal me away forever—” "I truly knew nothing of this. “Even were I to beg your forgiveness, you’ve no reason to grant it—nor am I in any position to make such impertinent appeals for pardon—”

Chieko’s voice grew subdued, and the color of anguish was unmistakably etched across her beautiful face.

“There’s nothing left to forgive or withhold forgiveness for—hasn’t everything been settled today? Ahahahahaha!”

My voice sounded hollow. “Then what would you have me do?” “I shall leave that to your consideration.”

Chieko turned pale, “Yes. I understand perfectly. I will have my husband offer you a formal apology anew.” “And we must return our current status and property to you.” “Please, I beg you to believe me and endure this situation a little longer.” “Your heart remains unchanged from days past, but I cannot say what your brother might do.” “He will likely try to capture me again.” “Please don’t speak of such frightening things—I will take responsibility. “And your current residence?”

“Residence? Ahahahaha! That’s something I can’t quite disclose.” “Then in what manner should I present my reply?”

“If you require my services, place an advertisement in the newspaper—a cipher will suffice. But should you attempt to flee like this, I shan’t permit your escape. Understand that I remain ever at your back. For I watch you unblinkingly from the shadows.”

Chieko shuddered in the twilight.

7

From that day onward, I never saw Chieko again. Though I had taken great care, I supposed she likely never ventured out after that encounter. When a month passed without word from Chieko, I began doubting her sincerity. Our meeting had been abrupt after all—in her shock, she might have made those promises merely as an escape. Yet upon reflection, how absurd it seemed! To casually surrender what they had painstakingly claimed—such folly could only stem from avarice taking root. Perhaps she conspired with my younger brother to deceive me. I dared not remain complacent. With people of their ilk, one could never predict what vile schemes they might concoct. The thought of their secret search parties closing in filled me with dread—I felt danger stalking my shadowed existence. Yet another possibility gnawed at me: Might Chieko be ill? Her pallor during our Ueno meeting had been troubling enough... This new anxiety bloomed differently—a thorn of concern rather than suspicion.

One night, overwhelmed by deliberation, I finally sneaked into the Count’s mansion.

It appeared there had been visitors, for lights were on in various rooms, but as the night had grown late, the interior lay as silent as a forest. Being thoroughly familiar with the house's layout, I passed through a dense thicket of shrubs, circled around the ornamental pond, and made my way toward Chieko's parlor. Fortunately, one of the blinds hung slightly ajar—a gap of two inches at its lower edge—and I pressed close to peer into the room. After seeing off their guests, the couple sat warming themselves by the hearth while engaged in urgent conversation. Yet their faces bore an inexpressible look of consternation, the air about them heavy with unspoken gloom. Chieko especially appeared transformed—in the mere month since our last meeting, she had withered to a spectral pallor that shocked the eye. I pressed my ear flush against the glass pane and strained to catch their words.

“I cannot remain in this state any longer. Now that I know everything, if your heart does not turn back, I have my own resolve.” Chieko’s voice was heavy with anguish; my younger brother flung his half-smoked cigar into the fireplace with a thud and spoke through deeply knitted brows. “How can you believe such idiocy now?” “My brother died then—his remains delivered, a proper funeral conducted—my brother is undeniably dead.” “He isn’t in this world anymore—do you grasp that?” “Do you understand?” “Never mention this again.”

“But he is alive, you know.” “Having heard everything from him myself, if you still won’t believe my words, I shall bring your Honorable Brother before you.” “Calling him my brother now—who would credit such a sudden apparition?” “I’ve no patience for this drivel. Cease obsessing over these absurdities.” “My brother cannot possibly be living.”

“But I truly saw him with my own eyes and heard his voice with my own ears!” “There’s such a thing as hearing illusions—seeing phantoms that aren’t real. If you’re perceiving people who don’t exist in this world, you need to steady your mind.” “Are you declaring me mad? Why not have me committed to an asylum while you’re at it—with a lifelong stipend—”

Chieko’s voice pierced the Count’s chest like a sword. My younger brother stood up abruptly and took a step toward her. When I saw the terrifying expression on his face, I let out an involuntary cry. He didn’t seem to notice, but Chieko turned toward the window—she must have seen my face there—staggered to her feet, then immediately collapsed back into the chair.

She must have fainted. The younger brother rang the bell, voices called for the maids, and abruptly the house became noisy. I sneaked out through the back door. After that, I never went to the Count’s mansion again. When about ten days had passed, the news of Chieko’s death appeared in the newspaper, and I was utterly shocked. The article questioned whether it was murder or suicide, and I was struck to my core involuntarily—if murder, that would be one thing, but if suicide, then I was the one who led her to her death. I could only think Chieko had chosen to die in atonement, having failed to keep our promise and feeling responsible. If I consider it thus, even without laying hands on her directly, isn’t it just as if I killed her? Ever since then, day and night my conscience has tormented me—the agony has become unbearable, utterly unbearable. Had I never met Chieko at all, none of this would have happened—no, not just Chieko. I should never have met my younger brother either. My life should have ended long ago; clinging to it out of lingering attachment only led me to commit this terrible sin. Had I resolved to become mere soil in Johor, I wouldn’t have driven Chieko to such deadly suffering, nor made my brother into such a villain. “The very fact that a man declared dead still lived—that was the fundamental cause of all these errors.”

The man finished speaking and despondently lowered his head. His face bore an expression of anguish so vivid it seemed carved into his flesh.

Mrs. S produced a family register copy from her handbag—how she had obtained it remained unclear—and showed it to him as she spoke. "So, is it you who's listed here as deceased?"

“Yes.” “I was born in Meiji 17 and am registered as having died in Meiji 41.”

With that, we parted from him.

Thinking we should head back to the office for now, the two of us hurried out to the tramway, where a chauffeur-like man—as if lying in wait—strode up to us, removed his hat, and bowed deeply. I didn’t recognize his face, but Mrs. S seemed acquainted with him, “I’ll return shortly, so please go ahead back to the office and wait there.” With those words, Mrs. S disappeared into the bustling evening town alongside the man.

8

The next day, Mrs.S did not show her face at the office until near dusk. Even during her busiest times, she would always appear briefly each morning—what could have happened today? As I wondered this while continuing my research, the door behind me suddenly opened and a hulking man in Chinese-style clothing hurried in—of course, it was Mrs.S.

“Finally, I’ve found the whereabouts of that woman we’ve been searching for.” “Is it the circus woman?” “How did you find out, madam?”

“Though I hadn’t told you, I had actually bribed the Count’s chauffeur.”

Now that you mention it, that man I saw yesterday—he must be the Count’s chauffeur. For a regular taxi driver, his clothing was rather fine, and there was something oddly polite about his demeanor.

“That chauffeur had been reporting every move of the Count’s to me.” “There was a house in Kōjimachi he frequented—he’d abandon his motorcar near Gobanchō and go on foot, sometimes kept waiting four or five hours.” “Afterward, he’d always mutter excuses like ‘I’ll never understand people who live in cramped alleys’ or ‘It’s enough to make visitors weep.’” “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” “When I had the place investigated—well! There she was, absurdly enough—the very woman I’d been hunting, kept right there!”

“What kind of woman was she?” “A femme fatale type—the garish sort. They say even men who’ve exhausted all vices can’t break free once she ensnares them. No wonder the Count—utterly inexperienced with women—became so infatuated. He pretended to depart for Singapore to keep up appearances for his wife, but in truth installed her in a house right under her nose, letting her live in luxury.” “One can’t underestimate the Count either.” “Moreover, that woman has a Chinese lover—a pretty-boy magician from the same circus who now stages shows in Shanghai. The Count naturally knows nothing of this man’s existence. Since I discovered she was keeping this secret too, today I visited her posing as that man’s friend. She gladly met me at once.”

As always, I couldn’t help but admire Mrs.S’s boldness. I said it half-jokingly. “Didn’t your disguise get exposed?” “That part worked out conveniently, you see. “I mixed Chinese and Japanese together and kept chattering away, so the fellow became utterly convinced I was a genuine Chinese person. “Then suddenly I threatened her—‘You’re the one who killed the Countess!’”

“What?! Was it that woman who killed her?” Startled, I blurted out. Mrs. S did not answer the question and continued speaking. “Then the woman turned pale and started making excuses. 'It wasn’t me who killed her—I hated her, hated her, but I didn’t do anything,' she kept protesting. When I pressed her relentlessly, she proved to be quite the formidable opponent—a true schemer. She must have thought of it on the spur of the moment—took money from the safe and stuffed it into my pocket, then leaned close to my ear and whispered, 'It was the Count who killed her.'”

“Oh! Was it the Count?” “That does make sense. The Countess must have become a hindrance—she’d already been incessantly demanding he return the inheritance to his brother, and the Count was too greedy to comply. But leaving things as they were meant she’d never accept it.” “According to the maids’ gossip, the Count and Countess have been quarreling constantly lately—could it be he’d grown unable to manage her? So he secretly poisoned her, pinned the crime on that shadowy man—his brother—and planned to permanently erase him from this world through a murder charge.” “He’s a terrifying man, isn’t he?”

Mrs.S listened to my theory with a laugh, but— “It’s still too soon to conclusively identify the Count as the culprit.” “From the very beginning, I had been ninety percent certain of my conclusion, but it’s that remaining ten percent I can’t grasp that’s tormenting me.” “Well, just wait until it resolves itself naturally.”

Just then, the waiter brought the evening newspaper.

Mrs.S immediately spread it out and looked, but without a word, she turned it around and pressed her finger on a certain section to draw attention. “Goodness!” I involuntarily opened my eyes wide in surprise.

There under the heading "The Bizarre Death of the Baboon Man" lay just a few lines of text. It reported that during his notorious Iron Maiden act at Asakusa's traveling circus—where he played crowd favorite—the Baboon Man had failed to escape through a trapdoor mechanism and died instantly when a blade pierced his heart. Some called it an accident; others whispered that jealous rivals or lovers scorned had deliberately disabled the crucial escape hatch that day alone. Though investigations continued, both Mrs.S and I sensed this held meaning—whether mishap or design—that we might yet unravel.

9

Having made a deep resolve, Mrs.S visited Count Higashi late that night, accompanied by me, her assistant. The Count immediately showed us into his parlor,

“Have you found any clues?”

he asked anxiously.

Just as the two of us entered the room, the Count was seated before a life-sized portrait of his late wife, burning incense and offering prayers for her repose. The incense smoke rose in thin wisps from her beautiful chest up to her face.

I gazed with scornful eyes at his hypocritical, pious-seeming act.

Mrs. S said quietly to the Count in her usual gentle manner.

“Count, don’t you think it’s time we brought this charade to a close?”

“—” “Your brother has taken his own life—as documented here.”

Mrs.S took out the evening newspaper from her pocket and pointed to the section marked with a red line.

The Count’s complexion visibly changed; in a composed tone, Mrs.S recounted the entire story he himself had told. Count Higashi remained silent for a long while, then said while wiping the sweat from his forehead: “It was neither my brother nor I who killed my wife.” “The truth is, it was suicide.” “In Ueno, when I unexpectedly encountered my brother and heard his full account, my upright wife became adamant—we must return all our assets to him and offer proper apologies.” “Blinded by greed yet determined to have my way, she became caught between these forces—suffering torment and anguish until she ultimately took her own life.” “My wife endured greater agony than I. Though never wedded, she couldn’t bear seeing her former betrothed—whom she’d thought dead—alive in such wretched circumstances.” “Whenever we met face to face, she would immediately raise the matter and berate me.”

“It was I who called Fujiya Hotel.” “My wife stubbornly insisted on meeting him immediately.” “I went partway to meet them, then we two proceeded to Yokohama.”

From that point onward, the dispute had already begun—my wife refused to yield even slightly on her position, and I, for my part, stubbornly held my ground. “In the end, I too flew into a rage and declared I’d track down my brother again and have him committed to the mental hospital.”

"My wife wore a sorrowful expression." "We soon went to dine at the Grand Hotel's restaurant." "The guests were nearly all Westerners; we didn't encounter anyone familiar." "Throughout the meal, my wife never spoke a word." "I saw profound resolve etched upon her face yet chose to disregard it." "I too was furious—when she produced the poison before me, I thought this some theatrical rebuke and resolved to let her play her game." "But this proved no performance; my wife swallowed it in one draught." "As she raised it to her lips, she fixed me with eyes brimming with reproach." "I nearly seized her wrist—then noticed the diners surrounding us, waiters standing respectfully at attention." "To cause a scene there would expose my identity—make front-page news." "And they'd dredge up every sordid detail." "My wife too would endure public shaming while still breathing." "Oily sweat oozing from every pore, I sat paralyzed—what terror, even for this cold-blooded man, to watch his beloved wife drink poison while bound by circumstance."

My body stiffened as if frozen solid; my cheek twitched in spasms. "Could there exist any punishment more cruel? When I later reflected on it, I understood my clever wife must have realized ordinary methods could never bend my will. As a final means to compel reflection, she likely intentionally chose such a setting." Even after returning to the salon, my wife remained silent. "When leaving the hotel, she appeared in such torment that I hailed a taxi and accompanied her from Yokohama to the estate myself, escorting her through the gate."

Supporting my nearly unconscious wife, I forced her to walk to the front door, pressed the bell, then fled outside the gate and watched from there. Then the maid came out, and after ensuring my wife was swiftly drawn into the doorway, I felt relieved and proceeded directly to the club, where I spent the night. Moreover, in case of any unforeseen circumstances and to avoid suspicion, I thoroughly instructed my mistress to make it appear as though I had been at her residence in Fifth District during the time I was actually with my wife.

“However, if my wife’s death were ruled a suicide, that would create new complications.” “Wouldn’t people eventually suspect some domestic trouble?” “My brother’s situation would inevitably come to light, dragging our hidden shame into broad daylight.” “That outcome terrified me above all else.” “So I conceived a plan—to stage it as murder and have them arrest my brother as the culprit.” “I resolved to have him branded a madman permanently.”

“After all, not knowing my brother’s whereabouts was a source of immense anxiety for me, so I thought that by having Mrs.S locate him, immediately getting the police to apprehend him, and having the mental hospital director certify him, everything would proceed exactly as I desired.” Mrs.S had listened quietly to the Count’s story until the very end, a faint smile playing on her lips. She had likely seen through everything from the very beginning. Our work here was finished; having decided to leave the rest to the Count himself, the two of us departed the estate.