Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

“Ambassador Odagiri has committed suicide.”

As I spread open the evening paper, almost simultaneously Mrs. S spoke.
At that moment, a shadow that swiftly passed through my mind—it was the alluring figure of Mrs. Miyamoto.

It may seem strange to drag Mrs. Miyamoto into Ambassador Odagiri’s suicide, but it must have been because a memory from twenty years ago still lingered in the corner of my mind.

At that time, both Ambassador Odagiri and Mrs. Miyamoto were still young.
As young diplomats, he and she sowed seeds of gossip wherever they went.
And their relationship was all too well-known as an open secret.
Mrs. Miyamoto was often poorly regarded because she prided herself on her beauty, had a penchant for luxury, and affected intellectual airs.
Flaunting her husband’s status as acting branch manager of a major company, she behaved tyrannically, incurring the resentment of the women in the company housing; some even went so far as to investigate her misconduct and report it to the unsuspecting Mr. Miyamoto.
It was even said that Mr. Miyamoto had died from rage over this, but in reality, he had contracted an endemic disease at his post and passed away.

Being fully aware of their relationship, Count Ōtani married his beloved daughter to Mr. Odagiri.
This marriage became another source of gossip.
Whether it was true or false that the Count had declared an Odagiri era would surely come, in any case that prophecy proved correct, and thereafter Mr. Odagiri rose swiftly through the ranks.

Be that as it may, certain people who had never held favorable views of Mrs. Miyamoto sneered at the timing coinciding with Mr. Odagiri’s marriage, saying it served her right—that even a peerless beauty had been thoroughly outmatched by the title of count’s daughter.
However, such rumors proved fleeting; soon people ceased to speak of the affair between the two, and in time even Mrs. Miyamoto’s existence faded from memory.

Because I retained such memories, when I heard of Ambassador Odagiri’s suicide, I immediately associated it with Mrs. Miyamoto.

The newspapers initially reported it as a suicide.
Then, for a time, suspicion of murder grew strong; various speculations spread and stirred up public unrest, but in the end, it was determined to be suicide.

The day he chose for suicide coincided with his late wife’s first death anniversary, and given that he was reportedly clutching her photograph against his chest, I had insisted on the suicide theory from the beginning. However, Mrs. S neither proposed an alternative explanation nor showed any sign of agreeing with my view.

“That post was crucial from a diplomatic standpoint, you see.”
“For Mr. Odagiri, it must have been a position where he could truly demonstrate his abilities—an ideal stage for his skills.”
“For a diplomat, it would be considered a grand platform.”
“Since he was chosen for that role, one could say without exaggeration this was his most splendid era.”
“But to imagine him committing suicide at such a triumphant moment over something as trivial as missing his wife—such utter absurdity defies belief...”

“Then do you think it was murder?”

Unlike Mrs. S, I had known Ambassador Odagiri personally.
He was a bold and talented man, yet on another side remained a tender-hearted soul prone to tears.
Moreover, given what was said about his devoted bond with his late wife—precisely because he was that sort of man—I believed he had chosen to take his own life—

“I’m certainly not concluding murder, but if suicide it was, there must lie some far deeper cause.”
“While temporary insanity can’t be entirely dismissed, Mr. Odagiri wasn’t that sort—he bore a reputation for cool composure.”

“But on the other hand, he was also a passionate man.”
“That is precisely why he became entangled in such a relationship with Mrs. Miyamoto, don’t you agree?”

“That may well be true, but if it was suicide, I believe there must have been other, far more significant issues involved.”
“For example, diplomatic failures, mishandling secret documents, or situations where one must knowingly force through unreasonable demands from the ministry’s opinions or orders.”
“It’s always diplomats who end up drawing the short straw in such situations.”
“Caught between Japan and foreign interests, they suffer relentless cruelty, agonize endlessly, until it all culminates in nervous collapse.”
“They get branded as incompetent by heartless critics.”
“Otherwise, it might be a sordid affair—but given that diplomats harbor many secrets, we can’t so easily settle on a simple explanation.”
“If it were murder, since that’s more sensational, the papers would be splashing it all over their pages—”

“Since suicides are rather mundane affairs, you mean the papers wouldn’t sensationalize them?”

Mrs. S looked at my face and gave a wry smile.

After that, the two of us never discussed Ambassador Odagiri’s suicide again.

Busy with work, I ultimately couldn’t even attend the farewell ceremony.
Since that continued to weigh on my mind, I suddenly resolved to visit his grave when I found myself with exactly half a day free.

Though it was a fine season, the sky that had been stormy since morning transformed into a tempest by afternoon.
Hearing the raging storm made me hesitant to set out, but I finally mustered the courage to go.

The storm was fierce, and the rain lashed horizontally against the taxi windows.
The spray soaked through, leaving even the seat cushions damp.
I spread open a Western-style umbrella between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat, propped it up, and huddled small in its shadow.
The power lines hummed, and the great trees bent in the wind, on the verge of snapping.
Evidently, there were no foolhardy souls venturing out on such a day—Kōshū Highway lay utterly deserted.
After passing a single truck, there was no sign of any other taxis.

At the cemetery entrance，tea shops lined both sides of the path.
The driver pulled up before one of them，

“Where is Ambassador Odagiri’s grave?”

he inquired，sticking his head out through the window.

“There is no grave yet.”
“Why don’t you go ask properly at the office?”

The woman who had been sitting before the long charcoal brazier kindly informed us while pointing toward the office’s direction with her pipe.

“If you wish to pay your respects, you should ask the management office to arrange for someone to guide you to the columbarium.”

As instructed, I opened the management office door.
I informed the custodian, who had been examining something at his desk, of my purpose and requested guidance to the columbarium.
The custodian wearing Western-style clothes silently stood up, took out a duplicate key from the safe, and led the way to guide us.
The columbarium stood as a separate structure amidst ancient chinquapin and oak trees, its form constructed like an earthen storehouse.
As I moved along the long concrete corridor and was about to turn toward the entrance, I passed a young couple who appeared to have finished paying their respects.

The woman was petite and utterly ordinary in her unremarkable appearance, but the man was strikingly handsome. Slender-framed with a suit that draped perfectly like a Westerner's. "What a striking figure," I thought involuntarily as I glanced back—only to find the couple turning to look at me simultaneously. His face seemed somehow familiar yet unplaceable. While there were many attractive youths these days, one so flawlessly proportioned in every aspect remained rare. Though his large black glasses proved slightly distracting, those refined features and noble bearing lingered in my vision long after we passed. What a beautiful man.

Ambassador Odagiri's remains lay covered with a black cloth, enshrined on the middle shelf of a glass cabinet. Before them rested a small artificial flower wreath tied with a black ribbon. I knelt there and offered a prayer.

2

Then, about a month later, one day as I was working at the office, an attendant brought me a single name card.

While showing Mrs. S the name card that bore Hisako Odagiri’s name, I said:

“This is Ambassador Odagiri’s esteemed younger sister.”

By now, Ambassador Odagiri’s death was beginning to fade from public memory, and even among ourselves, we had ceased debating whether it was suicide or murder—so this sudden visit gave a somewhat strange impression.

“Please show her in.”

Following the attendant, Ms. Hisako quietly entered the room.

When I met her after more than a decade, she bore no resemblance to her former self—painfully emaciated—and as I suddenly found myself thinking she might soon die, I offered my condolences before inquiring about the purpose of her visit.

“Having learned of your profession in this field, I found myself suddenly compelled to humbly request your assistance—arriving without having inquired about your convenience—”

She gave a slight bow, then suddenly lowered her voice and said.

“There is something I wish to have investigated in strict secrecy—unknown to the world—and I have come here to make that request—”

Ms. Hisako paused mid-sentence and glanced hesitantly at Mrs. S beside her.
She noticed this and,

“Please don’t worry—go ahead.”
“I will never disclose it to others.”

She appeared relieved by these words, yet nevertheless began to speak in a small voice, as if wary of those around her.

"The truth is, something most peculiar has occurred—it seems my brother’s remains have been stolen by someone."
"No—rather than having been stolen, I believe they may have been switched."

Mrs. S and I involuntarily exchanged glances.

“And what might that reason be?”

“It’s rather shameful to admit, but as my brother was as careless as you know, we had not yet prepared a proper gravesite.”
“When my sister-in-law passed away abroad last year,” she continued, “we temporarily had her remains interred in her family’s cemetery—but having now decided to bury them together with my brother, it became necessary to construct a new Odagiri family gravesite. During its construction period, we placed the remains in temporary storage.”

“As I also paid a visit to the columbarium the other day, I am well acquainted with it,” I said, whereupon Ms. Hisako bowed politely, expressed her gratitude, and continued:

“So we were feeling secure when, about ten days ago, a letter had arrived from a woman whose name we didn’t recognize stating, ‘I have taken your brother’s remains.”
“As it was a promise made during his lifetime, I have taken custody of them and will safeguard them with utmost care.”
“...I earnestly request your understanding in this matter’—she came out with this so abruptly.”
“Startled, I promptly went to the cemetery management office and conducted various investigations, but the urn we had placed in their care showed no abnormalities and remained enshrined in the same location.”
“Moreover, given how strictly it is secured, I humbly believe such a thing should be impossible—and I cannot imagine anyone would go out of their way to make such a claim in jest—but as a precaution, I investigated those who had come to pay their respects, and among them was one individual who struck me as rather peculiar.”
“There was a stormy day some time ago, you see.”
“It was about twenty days ago—on that day, in the very midst of the storm—that a couple arrived and stated, ‘We are relatives of the Odagiri family. As we are returning to our hometown today, we have come to pay our respects as a farewell. We earnestly request to be guided to the columbarium.’”
“Thereupon, when the attendant guided the couple, it is said that while the gentleman stood at the entrance doorway conversing with the custodian, the lady entered alone inside, knelt before the remains, and was sobbing quietly for a long time.”
“It was also taking so long that eventually the gentleman grew bored—he yawned, smoked a cigarette himself, and even gave one to the custodian. The cigarette appeared to be foreign-made, emitting an unbearably pleasant fragrance, but as he smoked it, his head began to feel slightly fuzzy, and he grew pleasantly drowsy.”
“What a cigarette that was—it is said he told his colleague later.”
“I also met with that individual and inquired, but it seems they had no clear memory; all I could ascertain was that the gentleman was an extraordinarily handsome man—slender and delicate as a woman—and that he had been carrying a large piece of luggage, saying he would soon board a train.”
Given that it was in the midst of that storm, they were apparently troubled about where to place their luggage and ended up taking it to the columbarium entrance.
“However, I have no recollection of such a person, and of course we have no such relatives—”

“Then, are you suggesting that one of that couple likely switched your brother’s remains?”

“I can think of no other possibility than that, yet it all seems as inconceivable as grasping at clouds—though I do wonder if it might be someone’s prank—but if they truly have been switched, I must do everything in my power to retrieve them, or I could never face my brother with a clear conscience. I would be burying a stranger’s remains while my dear brother’s whereabouts remain unknown—that would be disastrous, you see.”

Ms. Hisako reached into the folds of her obi and produced what appeared to be a letter from an unknown woman.

3

Mrs. S and I promptly visited the cemetery management office.
At the office, they insisted that while a couple had indeed visited during the stormy day, there was absolutely no irregularity with the remains in their care; in the end, they refused to answer our questions and would not engage with us at all.

Given Ms. Hisako’s request to handle the matter discreetly—as she disliked the idea of it becoming public knowledge—we could not press ahead with further investigation.

“One can’t imagine anyone with common sense switching remains.”
“Couldn’t it be someone’s prank?”

“If it were a prank, it’s quite an ingenious idea—it does seem like a woman’s scheme. If they’d stolen them outright, the remains would be missing and discovered immediately. But by switching them, only the contents change—there’s no evidence left with the bones themselves. Even Ms. Hisako must be at a loss.”

“It’s not that I’m saying this because I was rebuffed by the custodian, but such a thing as switching remains can hardly be done.”

Recalling how even getting the columbarium door opened had been quite a hassle that day, I spoke.

The two of them continued walking in silence, but after some time, Mrs. S suddenly asked the following.

“What kind of person is this Mrs. Miyamoto you know, and what is she doing now?”

“She is a beautiful person.
Yet despite her delicate features, she’s bold and domineering—stubbornly competitive and not at all good-natured.
Those who spoke ill called her a poisonous woman and such, you see.
But what is she doing now? Since her husband passed away, I’ve heard rumors of several marriages.
Mr. Odagiri must have suffered greatly because of her as well—everyone privately sympathized with him, you know.
After all, she was quite a notorious person.”

“Does Mr. Odagiri’s sister not know about the relationship between Mrs. Miyamoto and her brother?”

“She must know.”
“But she’s clever.”
“Isn’t she keeping silent?”

“Does she know her whereabouts?”

“Well, I wonder... What do you think? Her name has likely been changed—I’ve heard she fell into ruin and went to Manchuria to live with some Shina ruffian. However, that was already quite some time ago. Where could she be now? She’s certainly not in mainland Japan anymore. But given that she’s such a strong-willed woman, if word of Mr. and Mrs. Odagiri’s harmonious reputation reached her ears, she certainly wouldn’t just sit idly by—yet considering how she hasn’t surfaced at all, it’s possible she may already be dead. In any case, I believe she had absolutely no further dealings with Mr. Odagiri after that.”

“Then would inquiring with the company where Mrs. Miyamoto worked be futile?”

“Even the personnel department may no longer know.”
“After all, she’s likely changed her surname multiple times, and she probably has no connection to that company anymore—”
“Rather than that approach, directly inquiring with Ms. Hisako might instead yield some lead.”
“Given that they were such close siblings, I believe she must know everything about her brother, but...”

Mrs. S had long harbored interest in Mrs. Miyamoto.
Though she had never met the woman personally, her strong imagination had constructed an entire image of Mrs. Miyamoto by compiling societal rumors and stories heard from me.
Yet I couldn't fathom Mrs. S's motives for dragging this unrelated woman into the case.
It likely stemmed from the notion that prodding her might yield some clue—but given how late matters stood, I believed unearthing such a person would prove futile, leaving me disinclined to pursue it.
Nevertheless, I couldn't refuse to accompany Mrs. S as her guide when visiting Ms. Hisako.

Hisako had once married but returned after the relationship ended in estrangement; since then, she had been managing Mr. Odagiri’s vacant residence and living with her aunt in the Banchō estate.

When Mrs. Miyamoto was mentioned, Ms. Hisako’s brow suddenly darkened.
Having her brother’s past misdeeds dragged into the light now and subjected to scrutiny must have been painful.

“Even when my brother passed away, Ms. Miyamoto did not grace us with her presence, nor have I heard so much as a whisper about her since—I humbly know nothing at all.”

“Then, do you have any other leads regarding the lady in question, Ms. Hisako?”

“As I have absolutely none—”
“Whatever my brother may have been before—after marrying my sister-in-law, he became truly sincere.”
“After her passing, he restrained himself even more, devoting himself solely to praying for her soul’s repose. Therefore, no matter what others may claim, I maintain my brother had no romantic involvements whatsoever.”

After nodding several times, Mrs. S spoke with a hint of spite in her voice.

"If I may ask—might you have anything resembling your Brother’s diary?"

Ms. Hisako rose and left, but soon returned holding a thick mouse-gray notebook. Placing it before Mrs. S, she said:

"I believe these are just some personal notes he jotted down, but when I tried reading them, I couldn't make any sense of them at all."

The diary was written about half in Japanese and half in French.
The grief of losing his wife seemed to strike his heart; heartrending laments could be found throughout its pages.
At times there were passages that seemed to yearn for death by following his wife.
Being someone who knew Mr. Odagiri, I felt heartrending emotion thinking of his inner turmoil.
What was she trying to dredge up from old scars? I couldn't help feeling a flicker of resentment toward Mrs. S's frigid demeanor.
I didn't want to wound the hearts of the deceased any further; I didn't want to defile them.
However, completely disregarding such sentiments, Mrs. S returned the notebook to Ms. Hisako and said.

“Might I also have a look at the address book while we’re at it?”

Ms. Hisako stood up again and brought the address book.

Mrs. S appeared to be frantically flipping through the pages in search of something, but upon seemingly finding it, she took out her own notebook and began jotting down notes.
When I casually peered over, it was the residence of a man named Yoshioka Gorō.

4

“Are you referring to Mr. Yoshioka Gorō?”

Mrs. S asked Hisako while putting away her own notebook.

“Mr. Yoshioka was my brother’s private secretary.”

Having said that, for some reason Ms. Hisako’s face turned slightly red.

“When you say ‘private secretary,’ does that mean he was affiliated with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?”

“No. Since he was my brother’s personal secretary, it had absolutely no relation to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

“So your Brother’s personal secretary?”

“Yes. That is indeed the case.”
“Mr. Yoshioka was such an amusing man—since being a personal secretary lacked prestige, he insisted on calling himself ‘private secretary,’ ‘private secretary,’ you know.”
“When Private Secretary Yoshioka would say such things—though of course it was all in jest—we too ended up adopting the habit and came to refer to him as ‘private secretary.’”

“So I take it he wasn’t a government official?”

"Yes. Moreover, he was someone my brother brought along when he returned to Japan this time."

“Does that person still come around sometimes?”
“No, since my brother passed away, his visits naturally ceased... and my aunt became rather insistent—”
“Your aunt?”

“Yes. Because Mr. Yoshioka was such a beautiful person, my aunt would say things like, ‘Having someone like that around forever would make us stand out,’ you see.”

Indeed, Ms. Hisako—now living alone—feared societal misunderstanding. It became clear that her aunt had been concerned.

“Was Mr. Yoshioka Brother’s favorite?”

“Yes.”
“He was extremely fond of him.”
“Because he was such an efficient person.”
“And since he was intelligent and fluent in languages, Brother often remarked on how useful he was.”

“Then might there have been some particular consideration—perhaps an intention to have you and Yoshioka marry—?”

Ms. Hisako seemed surprised.

“No.
“There is certainly no such thing.
Brother disliked even the closeness between Mr. Yoshioka and me to such an extent...”

“Where did Mr. Yoshioka live?”

“We had lent him the annex of our residence.
Since Brother’s stay this time was not scheduled to be very long—”

“I believe it was indeed around 2 a.m. when Brother passed away in Nikko, but on that very day, wasn’t Mr. Yoshioka with Brother in Nikko?”

“No, they were not together.”
“And I believe that person returned from their outing around eleven o’clock at night.”
“I will never forget—that night Mr. Yoshioka suffered dreadful stomach cramps and caused quite a commotion.”
“After that, his health remained poor—he couldn’t even attend Brother’s farewell ceremony.”

“Do you still hear from him at all?”

“Not at all anymore—”

“When did he return there?”

“It was the day after Brother’s farewell ceremony had concluded. After all, he was someone Brother had originally brought from there.”

“But that place isn’t his hometown either, is it?”

“What can I say—Mr. Yoshioka is almost too beautiful for a man. When my aunt and I were once gossiping about how excessively handsome he was, Brother overheard us and remarked that Chinese mixed-race children sometimes have that type of good looks, so he might indeed be a mixed-race child.”

After hearing all that, the two of them left the Odagiri residence for the time being.

“Doesn’t that Yoshioka fellow seem fishy?”

Mrs. S did not answer my question and remained deep in thought,

“I’m going to make a slight detour now.”
“You go ahead back to the office and wait.”

With those abrupt words, she hailed a passing maru-taku and briskly got into the car.

I returned to the office as instructed and, while waiting for Mrs. S to return, decided to organize my thoughts by jotting them down in my notebook.

First, I began by considering it this way.

Yoshioka Gorō.
Age unknown.
A mixed-race child of Italian or Spanish and Chinese descent.
Intelligent but ill-natured.
A handsome man endowed with keen intellect.

First, he would ingratiate himself with Ambassador Odagiri and become romantically involved with his younger sister.
Of course this had been premeditated from the start—if he could maneuver things as far as marriage, it would be a complete success. He’d likely receive a share of the inheritance and face no risk of unemployment.
Therefore, Yoshioka redoubled his efforts to ensnare Ms. Hisako.
However, the crucial brother did not approve.
Yoshioka had sensed that while Odagiri appreciated his talents, he apparently did not consider him suitable material for a brother-in-law.
Therefore, Mr. Odagiri became an obstacle to him.

This might not have been a suicide after all. Could he not have been murdered through some ingenious method of the sort often employed by Chinese people? Since those of Chinese descent possess inherent cruelty, someone inheriting that blood would resort to any ruthless means to achieve their ends. Was this not precisely why he had promptly returned to his homeland after the Ambassador's death? Once public attention faded, he would undoubtedly reappear at the Odagiri residence feigning innocence. Could Ms. Hisako herself know part of this secret? Pursuing this line of thought, I began sensing some dark shadow looming about her person as well.

There are even those who would kill their own parents for love.
Judging from Ms. Hisako’s demeanor when speaking of Yoshioka, it seemed their relationship had progressed quite far.
What if Ambassador Odagiri had absolutely refused to permit their romance?

I was in the midst of thoroughly fabricating Yoshioka as the culprit when Mrs. S's hurried footsteps climbing the stairs reached me.

5

“Now we’re going to visit Mr. Yoshioka Gorō.”
“You’ll come along.”

Mrs. S went out accompanied by me, her eyes gleaming like a female leopard seizing prey on a barren plain.
I felt as though I'd been bewitched by a fox.

“Hasn’t Mr. Yoshioka Gorō returned to China?”

“No, he’s in Tokyo.”

“Has he already come?”

“He’s been here all along.
That he returned to China is a lie.”

Mrs. S took the lead in negotiating a maru-taxi and had it head abruptly toward Omori along the Keihin Highway.

On the way, Mrs. S remarked:

“You saw the diary at Mr. Odagiri’s sister’s place, didn’t you?
Then I thought that Yoshioka fellow seemed suspicious.
According to that diary, on the evening of his death, the Ambassador took Mr. Yoshioka and walked from Lake Chūzenji to Nikkō.
There was that passage about them crossing mountains together—”

"But why hadn't that become an issue until now? None of the newspapers had reported anything about the diary's existence."

“The diary must have been taken by someone. Even if it had been left there, others wouldn’t have been able to understand it. They used unique characters—essentially a cipher—and fortunately I knew how to read them. Well, I think meeting Mr. Yoshioka will lead us to some new discoveries.”

“So that person really is the culprit?”
I felt somewhat self-satisfied inside.

The two abandoned their car at B Hotel's entrance in Omori.
Then Mrs. S left me waiting at the entryway and went into the reception area.

After a brief interval she returned, circling around to the garden through the rear entrance opposite the main gate.
The sun had fully set, leaving the surroundings shrouded in darkness.
A massive guard dog emerged from somewhere and trailed behind us with indolent persistence.
We passed through shrubbery and walked across an expansive lawn.
The dew-soaked grass left my kimono hem clinging with clammy dampness.

I followed behind Mrs. S, muffling my footsteps as we approached the farthest end of the building. At one window facing the garden there, the blinds had not yet been lowered. Moreover, with the lights on, the interior was clearly visible at a glance. The sofa, armchairs, and even the wall hangings were all the same shade of gray; here and there on the parquet floor lay Persian carpets. Some shone in squares, others stretched long and narrow, gleaming coldly like the backs of snakes. Was it the play of light, or perhaps viewing through glass? The entire room felt as though submerged underwater.

The door leading to the next room stood half-open, and pale moonlight streamed in from some unseen source.
There was the figure of a woman sitting disheveled, her upper body bathed in that pale moonlight.
At a slight distance, a man in a morning coat sat deeply in an armchair, facing this way with impeccable manners and slightly bowing his head.
I watched without breathing, stretched up.
Before long, the woman began crawling on her knees.
With serpentine grace, she slithered close to the man and placed both hands on the knees of his trousers.
In her other hand, she held something small and faintly white, like a rod.
The woman initially kept pleading fervently about something, but as the man paid her no mind at all, she ended up burying her face in his lap and sobbing quietly.
Weeping, she now rubbed her cheek against the small faintly white rod-like object, pressed her lips to it, and even began sucking noisily.
However, the man remained utterly expressionless, not making a single movement—maintaining his exact posture with perfect composure.

At that moment, the woman casually yet abruptly turned toward the window where we stood. A slender-faced beauty with a high nose—a stunningly beautiful woman—her face resembled someone’s. Who was it, I wonder? The moment I wondered who it could be, I suddenly remembered. Mrs. Miyamoto! Ah, that’s right—it’s Mrs. Miyamoto, definitely her. At the same moment I realized this, I could now recall the man’s face as well. Ambassador Odagiri! I nearly let out a cry. Then, Mrs. S’s soft hand suddenly pressed against my lips.

Mrs. Miyamoto glided toward us, dragging the hem of her skirt—I felt my breath catch in my throat.
Yet fortunately, she appeared completely unaware of our peering through the window.
Silently she lowered the blinds before us, twisted the switch, and extinguished the lights.
She had likely returned because she'd forgotten to draw them earlier.

As if waking from a dream, I let out a deep sigh and pressed both hands against my head.
I must be going mad—but I had indeed seen Mrs. Miyamoto.
I saw Ambassador Odagiri.
Since I saw it with my own eyes, there was no way I could have been mistaken.
But could such a thing even have been possible? I wanted to verify it once more, but with the boundary door to the next room now closed, there remained no way to peer inside.
An eerie sensation gripped me as though struck by some sinister aura—everything I had witnessed now seemed nothing more than a dream.

Seeing me staring blankly, Mrs. S smiled and said.

“That was certainly Mrs. Miyamoto, wasn’t it?”

“Well, that much is certain—but... My goodness, why would Ambassador Odagiri himself have come to be there?”

“Oh ho ho ho ho ho.
Didn’t you notice?
That was a doll.”

“Wh—what?
A doll?”

I shuddered.

“That likeness was rather well made, wasn’t it?”

“Then what was that faintly white rod Mrs. Miyamoto had been holding?”

“Who knows? Let’s stop talking about that.”
“You’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

Mrs. S smiled meaningfully.
I couldn't stop worrying about that small, faintly white rod, but lacking the courage to press further and ask, I simply remained silent.
Mrs. S hurried me along in my dazed state, then once again presented her business card at the main entrance and requested a meeting with Mr. Yoshioka Gorō.
The two were made to wait for a long time on the stone steps of the entrance.

Before long, they were guided by the bellboy through the narrow corridor, turning many times, until at last they stood before Mr. Yoshioka’s door.
The bellboy knocked and then left the two behind as he walked away.

Here too, they were made to wait a brief while.
As they lingered, listening to footsteps pacing back and forth inside the room, the door swung open from within, and there stood the beautiful figure of Mr. Yoshioka Gorō, slender against the lamplight at his back.

“Mrs. Miyamoto—no, today I shall receive you as Secretary Yoshioka.”

Pushing the startled Mrs. Miyamoto inside, Mrs. S entered the room and closed the door herself.

On the table in the next room sat a square box covered with a black cloth.
It was indeed a familiar object.
The remains of Ambassador Odagiri that I had seen at the columbarium on the day of the storm—there was no mistaking them.
Moreover, the person standing right before my eyes?
Wasn't this the beautiful man with black glasses I had passed in the concrete corridor that day?
Mrs. Miyamoto and Ambassador Odagiri's remains—somehow, I felt I had understood everything.
And even the mystery of that faintly white rod.

Mrs. S bowed her head politely yet spoke in a commanding tone.

“I have come as the representative of Mr. Odagiri’s bereaved family.”
“I request the return of the remains.”

Mrs. Miyamoto’s face visibly turned pale.

6

After a long silence, this is what Mrs. Miyamoto said before the remains.

“My relationship with Mr. Odagiri had continued until his final day in this world.”
“The world likely assumed our bond had been severed long ago,” she continued, “but that perception itself stemmed from our own machinations. To sustain our connection, nothing proved more troublesome than becoming fodder for gossip.”
“That’s why I intentionally erased myself from public view to evade rumors.”

“After my husband Miyamoto died of illness at his post, naturally I was certain Mr. Odagiri would marry me.”
“Yet clever man that he was, he avoided doing anything as obvious as marrying me to confirm the relationship that had already become public gossip.”
“Not only that”—her voice sharpened—“to suppress rumors about us, maintaining proper appearances became absolutely necessary.”
“And soon after came the announcement of his marriage to the Daughter of Count Ōtani.”
“I didn’t feel deceived, but in that moment I felt I’d glimpsed Mr. Odagiri’s true face—no, the essential nature of men.”

"We had sworn to each other that no matter what happened, we would never part—we had made such a firm promise. But when the man went and formally married another woman, even knowing his heart hadn’t changed in the slightest, it still felt unbearable."

"I tried to comfort my own heart in various ways."
"Even if society doesn’t recognize it, I am Mr. Odagiri’s true wife."
"Even without the formality of marriage—if I had completely captured his heart, wouldn’t that have been enough? Or so I told myself."
"The new wife was nothing but a tool to maintain appearances—"

“But my true heart was not deceived by such hollow comforts.”
“It was so frustrating—so utterly frustrating—that I pitied myself, until finally my anger erupted uncontrollably, and I would confront Mr. Odagiri like a madwoman. Yet despite all that, I couldn’t bring myself to resolve to leave him.”
“I must have truly loved him.”
“I did love him—but at the same time, I also hated him.”

“I always struggle to understand my own heart—why must I hate someone I love so deeply?”
“I was constantly thinking of nothing but tormenting Mr. Odagiri.”
“Just like me，he too knew full well that no matter what cruel things I did，he couldn’t leave me—so I took advantage of that and tormented him in every way I could.”
“Of all the methods I chose，the most effective was having affairs.”
“For Mr. Odagiri，watching me flit from man to man must have been truly excruciating.”
“That made it all the more gratifying for me.”

“Please—show some forbearance already.”

Mr. Odagiri said in a groaning voice.

“If you marry me, I’ll grant you forgiveness.”

Then that person would fall silent; ever since he had taken the new wife, he and I had been constantly arguing.

Yet vain as I was, when his wife passed away abroad last year, I had convinced myself that this time he would surely marry me.
“Then Mr. Odagiri said he had his position to consider.”
At those words, anger surged into my head all at once—but I stifled it and said, “Your *position*?”
“Ohohohoho—”

I deliberately doubled over laughing.

Since I laughed so uproariously, Mr. Odagiri made an uncomfortable expression and rephrased his words.

“No—I’m swamped with work, no time to even consider marriage.”

“Stop lying.”
“I’m well aware you’re facing remarriage prospects too.”

“No, that’s a lie! I will never remarry—absolutely never! If I did such a thing, I would truly be failing you.”
“Please believe me.”

“How skillfully you put things.”
“You parade your refusal to remarry like some grand favor, yet circumstances might still force you to keep up appearances.”
“Utterly self-serving!”

“Don’t twist my meaning.”

“Shall we formalize this marriage then?”

“You know everything—understand perfectly well—so why do you say such incomprehensible things to torment me? Taking pleasure in tormenting others isn’t something a lady does. Such methods belong to some jaded Western-obsessed harlot or the like. You, being Mrs. Miyamoto, mustn’t engage in such rash behavior.”

Mr. Odagiri said as though biting off and spitting out each word.
I was momentarily at a loss for a reply, but out of stubborn pride, I let a smile play on my lips and turned away.
Then that person wore a dark expression and sank into silence for a moment,

“Since everything is my fault, there’s nothing to be done no matter how you torment me—”
“You do understand it’s rather difficult for me to marry you now?”
“So please wait a little longer.”
“This isn’t an evasion.”
“Until I retire from public service and become free—”

“Once you’re free, you’ll just invent some new pretext, won’t you?”
“Since it’s too troublesome, I’ll leave everything entirely to your discretion.”
“In the end, this proves I’ve been deceived by you.”
“But whether I’m truly the sort of woman to weep silently over being deceived—since you know me better than anyone, I’ll say no more.”

Mr. Odagiri was staring intently at my face, but suddenly changed his tone and said gently, trying to placate me.

“It’s a joke.”
“You’re so quick to anger.”
“Then let’s make a promise.”
“Please wait a little longer.”
“Come now, isn’t that acceptable?”

“When exactly do you mean by ‘a little longer’?”
“Your ‘a little longer’—who knows whether it means years hence, decades hence, or some ‘little longer’ that will never come at all.”
“How many years do you imagine I’ve been strung along by such tactics?”
“Kindly give me a clear answer.”

“If you insist on framing this as self-will, then even my stubbornness cannot compel me to speak.”

“Look at that. You can’t reply because your lie’s been exposed.”
“I don’t tell lies.”
“No—that’s a lie.”
“You may deceive others with that lie, but you won’t deceive me.”
“Do as you please.”
“Yes, I’ll do exactly as I please.”

Lately, we began constantly repeating such quarrels, and because of this, the atmosphere between us gradually grew strained.

At that point, he was suddenly summoned by telegram from the ministry headquarters for a consultation regarding a certain incident.
Almost simultaneously with hearing of Mr. Odagiri’s return to Japan, I obtained this information from a reliable source.
A prominent family had made a marriage proposal to him, and negotiations were proceeding smoothly.
It stated that when he would be reappointed, he would likely bring his new wife with him.

I could no longer endure it.
I tried relentlessly interrogating Mr. Odagiri to verify the truth, but his answers remained frustratingly unclear.
In the end, under the pretext of being his secretary, I disguised myself as a man and followed him to Japan.
I had initially taken a room at this hotel to meet with Mr. Odagiri, but through Ms. Hisako’s kindness, arrangements were made to lend me the guest room at that person’s residence, so I ended up staying at both places.

Mr. Odagiri and I would leave the house with an air of busyness only to meet at this hotel.
Our meetings consisted of nothing but quarrels.
At this hotel they took me for a genuine private secretary, while those at Ms. Hisako's residence remained wholly unsuspecting, firmly believing I labored diligently as her brother's aide—thus all arrangements proceeded without complication.
Ms. Hisako herself showed extraordinary kindness—exercising constant solicitude, sending frequent letters brimming with tender sentiment—yet I responded with casual disregard.

Through repeated conflicts piling upon conflicts, the final day at last arrived.
As we departed Chūzenji for Nikkō, we kept arguing while deliberately selecting deserted paths where no one walked.

Despite having declared so emphatically that he wouldn’t remarry, when I pressed him harshly, Mr. Odagiri ended up confessing the truth.
“You say you can’t refuse because she’s the director’s daughter—isn’t that right?”
There had never been a time when Mr. Odagiri appeared so shallow and pitiable a human being as at that moment.
“I overestimated you!”

As I said that, bitter frustration surged through my chest.
I've been deceived, I've been deceived—ah, finally been deceived.

I shoved Mr. Odagiri aside and ran wildly.
He came chasing after me, seized my shoulder, and kept apologizing with endless excuses, but to my enraged self, his words neither reached my ears nor made any sense.

That evening was dark with twilight.
On the mountain path, I thrust the pistol at his chest and said.

“I’ll kill you—I’ll kill you—you deceived me—”
“How dare you deceive me—my life—ah, my life—”
“It’s been completely and utterly ruined!”

I threw down the pistol there and suddenly burst into tears.

“Do you think I could endure such humiliation and slink away in silence?”
“Do you take me for such a spineless coward?”
“Do you think I’d lose to someone like you?”
“I’ll expose everything to the world.”
“I’ll throw myself into it—become reckless—and take my case to society.”
“While I’m at it, I’ll blurt out everything.”
“All those diplomatic secrets you trustingly blabbed to me, this crucial mission you’re on now—I’ll spill every last one of them.”
“If that missing classified documents incident were made public—even someone as shameless as you couldn’t brazenly carry on like this.”
“Just you wait and see what my revenge will be like.”

I shouted like a madwoman.
Terrified by my fearsome demeanor, Mr. Odagiri did not utter a word, blue veins standing out on his forehead as he bit down on his lips.

I had deeply resolved that there were only two options: either I would kill him with my own hands or bury him alive.
Once I resolve to do something, I will absolutely see it through.
That is my nature.
That person was well aware of that.
He understood well that I was not a woman who would change her mind no matter how much he tried to appease me now that things had come to this.

“Rather than being socially destroyed, I would rather be killed by your hand.”
“Ah, I’m exhausted too!”

The words that came from his dry lips were these.
I said with a devilish smile playing on my lips.

“Do you want me to kill you?”
“Still handing out empty flattery?”
“Who do you think would kill you?”
“I don’t even have enough feeling left to kill someone like you. If you want to die, go ahead and die by yourself――”

I picked up the pistol and thrust it at Mr. Odagiri—it was with that pistol that he finally met his end.”

After finishing her account, Mrs. Miyamoto hugged the urn to her chest, pressing her cheek against it with apparent nostalgia as she returned it to our hands—then began speaking again.

“Even though we did nothing but fight, I still love Mr. Odagiri.”
“He couldn’t bring himself to hate me either.”
“Though we truly loved each other, we did nothing but quarrel constantly.”
“But when I think he’s no longer in this world, I don’t know how to go on living.”
“All my bitter frustration and anger have vanished—only this heart that deeply loves him remains. Because I couldn’t bear living a moment longer without being near his remains, on the night after the funeral ended—while the bereaved family rested from exhaustion—I secretly substituted them.”
“But my anxiety wouldn’t abate—I took such pains to make the columbarium remains appear foreign that on that stormy day when I met you, I even had my actress cousin play the role of shedding tears.”
“Having refused my cousin’s repeated demands after she learned my secret—which angered her terribly—I suppose she must have informed Ms. Hisako about something.”
“However, as days passed, I gradually came to perceive a certain truth.”
“Now that I believe Mr. Odagiri’s entire being lives within my heart even without his remains, I harbor no attachment toward them.”
“Though I should have returned them myself, troubling you all like this is inexcusable.”
“Having committed this crime with resolve, I beg you to deal with me as you see fit.”
“I will neither flee nor hide.”
“I shall remain at this hotel until your decision comes.”
“Please convey my apologies to Ms. Hisako.”

Mrs. S, holding the remains, exited the room ahead of me.
Tears glistened in Mrs. Miyamoto’s eyes as she saw us off.