Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

“If I had not frequently received such letters from a certain lady—who happens to be my old friend—I likely would never have become involved in this incident.”

Mrs. S pulled out one from a bundle of letters and handed it to me. It was written in detail on wisteria-colored letter paper.

“Mrs. S!”

“I am utterly exhausted now.”

This current assignment has been an utter failure through and through.
My husband’s love was stolen by her; I’m glared at by the residents like some heretic; and whatever I do—whether good or ill—becomes fodder for scandal.
In this land where one must play the innocent to succeed, I had to mouth hollow compliments and ply transparent flattery.
That I failed to realize sooner how fatal it was to speak my mind candidly—this was pure folly on my part. Though regrets now come too late, I believe she who schemes to entrap me has been pulling strings from afar all along.
I feel she grips the very rope of my fate, swinging it as she pleases.
My husband cannot endure a single day without her.

She—that is, Yukiko of Sasaya—is a woman about whom I shall briefly explain. Sasaya was a first-class tea house here. Yukiko was a house geisha there, a woman who had drifted over from Harbin around nearly the same time my husband had been assigned here last year. Her background was not well understood, but she was solely reputed to possess formidable skills of the femme fatale type.

Her height of five shaku and four sun—approximately five feet four inches—made Western-style clothing suit her exceptionally well. Perhaps due to her long eyelashes, her already large, dark-pupiled eyes appeared even blacker. With her bluish-tinged skin and jet-black eyes alone, there was somehow a chilling sensation, you see. Moreover, her tall, slender nose lacking flesh must also have contributed to this deficiency in warmth. One could say she had a Western-like good appearance, but perhaps due to those facial features—despite the cuteness of her mouth—the overall impression of her face seemed to go beyond coldness and even take on a cruel nature. However, you would be hard-pressed to find another face as perfectly proportioned as this. She was undoubtedly a beauty. At least in outward appearance, she was undeniably beautiful.

As you know, due to my child’s schooling, I arrived at my husband’s post about a year later than planned.
In that time, my husband’s soul had been completely stolen away by Yukiko.
There must have been some inconvenience due to the lack of female help, but she gradually insinuated herself and came to take charge of banquets and other events, giving various instructions.
She had skillfully ingratiated herself with the staff members and was acting as if she were the lady of the house when I, knowing nothing of this, arrived afterward.

Even those who disparaged her behind closed doors as a poisonous woman or siren would end up charmed into siding with Yukiko once they met her face-to-face. She was truly a woman of uncanny allure, differing from ordinary folk in countless ways. Imagine—she’d call on someone like me, who resented her as an enemy for stealing my husband, wearing that same unbothered expression all the while. That alone should tell you how peculiar she was.

I was the one who initially turned her away at the entrance, denouncing her as ill-mannered and shameless. Yet before long, I found myself worn down into reluctantly receiving her—even conversing with her through gritted teeth. And she’d bluntly broach subjects most women would keep veiled, all without batting an eyelash.

“What do you suppose Madam thinks of the relationship between Sir and me?” she would say.
It made me feel so embarrassed I wanted to look away.

“You must be suspicious of me, I suppose.
“It’s only natural you’d suspect me again.
“Since you don’t know I’ve been deliberately making everyone think that way, your disbelief is understandable—but truthfully, there’s nothing between us.
“You wouldn’t believe mere assertions, so today I’ll unveil my secret.
“Though strictly confidential, I feel compelled to tell you alone, Madam. Let the world misunderstand—I simply wish you to know my true heart...no, rather, proof that Sir and I share no such distasteful connection.”

“The truth is, Sir and I are sworn enemies.
“It’s quite an old story, but you must be aware of the tale about a certain man who served under Sir being imprisoned for embezzlement of public funds and committing suicide.
“At that time, consular jurisdiction still existed, so that man received Sir’s judgment.

“A certain man—that very man was the husband of my precious betrothed.
“While dreaming of a glamorous life as the future wife of a diplomat, I was waiting for him to return home on leave to marry me.
“But then, how do you suppose it turned out?
“When I received the tragic news that he had been imprisoned for such a crime and subsequently hanged himself, what do you suppose my state of mind was?
“Wouldn’t you say that it was as if I had been cast down headlong from heaven into the depths of hell?”

“Before even considering the crime that man had committed, I should have tried to save him somehow,” she said. “He resented in secret the one who had judged him out of misplaced spite—‘Wasn’t he his own subordinate?’—and harbored a grudge. When my betrothed’s husband was driven to suicide, my heart was utterly transformed. I first ventured into the very land where they forced my betrothed’s husband to embezzle public funds, and from there I drifted from place to place—but given these circumstances, no matter how much favor Sir may show me, I cannot enter into any sort of relationship with him as an enemy. Therefore, I humbly ask that you believe me on this point and set your mind at ease.”

When I promptly told my husband about it, he said that while such a fact had indeed occurred, he did not know whether it had truly been the husband of that woman’s betrothed, and if that were actually the case, it would hardly be a comforting tale.

“If Sir is an enemy,” Yukiko continued nonchalantly, “then Madam is a piece of the enemy too.”
“Thus the name of me—who hunts enemies—is Yukidajin, dwelling at the tea house called Sasaya,” she added with a laugh.

She would also say things like this.

“There’s hardly another woman as vengeful as I am.”
“However, no matter how much of an enemy someone may be, I would never resort to such cowardly acts as a sneak attack.”
“It wouldn’t be any fun if we didn’t face each other honorably after declaring our names, so I’ll give you proper warning.”
“Now, do rest assured,” she said half-jokingly—yet when speaking those words, Yukiko’s demeanor turned deadly serious, her jet-black eyes gleaming from within in a manner truly terrifying beyond description.
I couldn’t help but feel an eerie unease.
When I once avoided meeting her, resolved never to see her again, she had immediately perceived my intentions and remarked—

“Madam may find meeting me unpleasant and wish to avoid it, but that would be a dreadful mistake.”
“Most ladies would never permit women who’ve had relations with their husbands to come near.”
“That’s precisely where they err.”
“If you suspect something amiss, you ought to draw closer still.”
“However wicked a woman might be—if cherished, beloved from the heart, and doted upon—she would restrain herself from cruelty.”
“My case differs entirely.”
“Since I cling to my enemy intending to strike them down, it becomes perilous should you attempt to shut me out.”
“With no warning possible, you risk suffering a surprise blow.”
“Take care, Madam. Take great care.”

I loathed Yukiko beyond measure, yet I simply could not escape her.
She kept saying “enemy, enemy,” but I could not tell whether she spoke in jest or earnest.
“However,” I warned him, “if what she says truly comes from the heart, then you are holding a bomb—it’s dangerous!” But he merely replied, “That woman spins all sorts of tales; it’s quite entertaining.”
“Seeing how genuinely worried you are,” my husband said, utterly dismissing my concerns, “it seems she’s done quite well this time.”

However, I cannot help but feel uneasy.
As I mentioned in my previous letter—the story about how I was injured soon after arriving here—I recently realized that had all been part of Yukiko’s scheme.
Unfamiliar with local customs, I found myself suddenly confronted with a portable shrine being carried into the consulate during a festival and panicked over what to do—she then pushed me from behind and thrust me out onto the veranda.
Then, because I had looked down upon the portable shrine from above, I provoked the young men’s anger and was dragged down from the veranda to the ground, suffering terribly.
That incident marked the very beginning of my ill repute in this place.

At that time, someone spread rumors that I had been wearing disheveled nightclothes, further inciting people’s resentment—but I was not wearing any nightclothes. In the heat of the moment, with men looking on, there was no way they could have distinguished between nightclothes and ordinary attire. That too was because Yukiko had been spouting nonsense.

Frightened by the fierce demeanor of those young men at the time, I became afraid of Japanese people.
On top of being subjected to endless backbiting, it all became so unbearably vexing that I resolved never to go anywhere again—deciding strictly not to appear at any public gatherings except those with Westerners—and while avoiding troublesome interactions brought me some relief, this very act became the new cause for resentment among the women’s circles, my reputation worsening further until I had thoroughly disgraced myself.
Having grown utterly weary of it all, I thought of returning to Japan to quietly educate my children while tending to the household.
However, when I thought about what Yukiko might do after I was gone, I became loath to leave my husband’s side even out of sheer stubbornness.
“When she says things like ‘The time to strike down my enemy is drawing near’ in an oddly threatening manner,” it left me feeling quite unsettled.
I didn’t take a word this woman said seriously, yet even so, I found myself assaulted by a deeply unsettling, ominous premonition.

After waiting for the letter to be read to the end, Mrs. S spoke.

"Every time I received such correspondence, I would send out various comforting replies."
"Then, the correspondence abruptly ceased, and after about a month had passed, I suddenly received a telegram urging me to come at once, you know."

“I do remember—but despite all your strenuous efforts, Madam ended up passing away… Was it suicide after all?”

“Well, I intend to tell you about that now—since two full years have passed since then, I think it’s all right to speak of it now, you know.”

Mrs. S opened the scrapbook and showed me the newspaper articles from that time.

Titled “Luggage Left Behind Harboring Premonitions of Death — The Mysterious Demise of Mrs. Miyagi (Pseudonym),”

“The express train departing Kobe at 12:30 PM on April 25th arrived at Tokyo Station, and though all passengers had disembarked, a parasol, shawl, alligator leather handbag, and a single small suitcase remained in the second-class car, with no sign of their owner anywhere.
Suspicions arose that she might have been thrown off midway, causing a commotion; after alerting stations between Kobe and Tokyo, they discovered a woman near Kōzu whose body had been run over and killed instantly. The investigation revealed it was Mrs. Miyagi (pseudonym), who had met this freak accident while traveling from her husband’s post to the capital—whether suicide or accidental death remains unclear.
Conductor Haruyoshi Ito of the same train stated.”

“As the train was passing near Susono Station, a beautiful woman who seemed to have returned from abroad, standing on the vestibule, said, ‘Could you send a telegram for me?’ and handed me a telegram form, then went toward the dining car.”
“She was petite, and I do remember her wearing something like purple clothing, but beyond that, I have no other recollections.”

Furthermore, a station employee who attended the on-site inspection stated:

“Since nothing resembling a suicide note was discovered, it does not appear to be suicide.”
“I think she was probably standing on the vestibule at a curve and was thrown off then.”

Whether it had been suicide, accidental death, or murder was never clarified.
Moreover, I had no idea Mrs. S held the key to that mystery.

2

Mrs. S took a sip of cold tea and said.

“In all the newspapers, it was only referred to as Mrs. Miyagino (pseudonym), and her real name wasn’t disclosed, right?”
“Since there are certain sensitivities, unfortunately, I cannot disclose the place names, her husband’s position, or their real names.”
“Therefore, whether it was an embassy, a legation, or a consulate general—all of that I shall leave to your esteemed imagination.”
“However, for the name alone, shall we tentatively refer to her as Mrs. Miyagino, the Consul General’s wife?”
“Because ‘a certain Mrs.’ would be far too vague.”

I had already departed by the evening when I received the telegram.
Upon arriving in that land, before rushing to Mrs. Miyagino’s residence, I first took a room at a certain hotel in the city.
The hotel was Japanese-operated, and I had even obtained a letter of introduction, as it was deemed the most convenient for understanding local circumstances.

I had thought Madam would send a telegram sooner.
This was because I knew what kind of incident had occurred.
That was about ten days earlier when the notorious enchantress Yukiko of Sasaya was killed by someone.
Moreover, since the location was a public street near Mrs. Miyagino’s residence—and this occurred just when her reputation was already at its worst—I was privately distressed, thinking it would be disastrous if she became entangled in such an affair, for a troublesome situation had indeed arisen.
Because Yukiko was a woman involved with the wife’s husband.

You must by now understand the reason I took a hotel room.
I wanted to know how she was viewed among the resident community.
From letters that only mentioned her bad reputation, I couldn't get a clear picture.
I thought I had to thoroughly investigate why her standing had become so poor.

I promptly questioned the hotel proprietress about various matters.
With an expression suggesting she’d never met the Consul General’s wife, she began—
“The previous Consul General’s wife was such a gentle, kind person that—”
She trailed off ambiguously—perhaps having detected my probing—so I resolved to draw her out by voicing mild criticism of the Consul General’s wife.

“Mrs. Miyagino’s reputation isn’t exactly favorable, is it? They say she’s rather high-handed.”

In such a society of women, nothing is more detested than putting on airs.
I deliberately scowled, putting force behind my words and speaking in a manner dripping with loathing.
Then the proprietress immediately agreed,

“That is indeed the case, Madam.”
“She truly puts on airs—acting as though her status sets her apart—so everyone detests her, you know.”

“It’s because she flaunts being the Consul General’s wife and shows no deference to the established local ladies, I suppose?”
“Doesn’t she act selfishly at gatherings and meetings?”

“Oh no, she never appears at such places at all.”
“No matter how much they invite her, she declines—yet when it comes to Westerners’ events, she promptly takes the lead in attending. No wonder everyone feels slighted and grows angry.”
“They say she looks down on Japanese people and acts high-handed—everyone speaks ill of her like that behind her back.”
“And she does things that make such talk unavoidable.”

“What sort of things does she do?”

“I don’t remember each and every detail, but there was once an incident like this.”
“She likely wasn’t familiar with the customs of this land—you see, around the time the Consul General’s wife first arrived here, it happened to be the shrine’s festival season, and since it was the main event, it was extraordinarily bustling.”
“By auspicious tradition, the sacred palanquin paid its first visit to the Consulate General, you see.”

“As a sign of respect?”

“That is indeed the case, Madam.”
“When they carried the sacred palanquin to the Consulate General, sake would be served to everyone present, and afterward, the wife would make an appearance to offer greetings and bestow a monetary gift—that was more or less the usual practice.”
“She likely did not know such customs, but just as the sacred palanquin ascended that slope in procession and reached the front entrance of the Consulate General, they say the wife first appeared unsteadily on the balcony—only to soon descend and silently watch from the veranda beside the entrance.”
"The residence stood on a small elevation atop the slope, making it seem as though she looked down upon the sacred palanquin. This enraged the hot-blooded young men until someone began shouting she wore nightclothes—to gaze down upon gods from high ground in sleepwear reeked of insolence!"
“So with cries of ‘Drag her down!’, rash youths rushed up to the veranda, pulled the wife down, and subjected her to a terrible ordeal.”
“In the end she sustained injuries—had Clerk Shiraishi not rushed over, who knows what might have happened—or so they say.”
“Since all were drunk and none could name the culprit, the wife bore injuries in vain, and thus her reputation was utterly ruined.”

“Well, what a peculiar and unusual tale.”
“If such a thing occurred right from the beginning, even someone other than Mrs. Miyagino would find themselves daunted, do you not agree?”

In my heart, I thought that no matter how drunk the resident community might be, there was no way they would injure the Consul General’s wife.

“After that, she completely ceased coming into town and stopped attending any Japanese gatherings whatsoever.”
“The very fact that she does not show her face only worsens matters—Madam must indeed be quite disheartened, I should think.”

“How dreadful, especially with the rumors about the Consul General and that woman from Sasaya.”

“Yukiko was killed—that woman.”

“Has the culprit not been identified yet?”

“The culprit hasn’t been easily identified. In a place like this, with all sorts of people coming and going, murderers could slip away cleanly after doing their deed, you know.”

“Mr. Consul General must feel disturbed now that the woman involved has been killed. The newspaper said she was brutally murdered, didn’t it?”

“That woman could have fled if she’d wanted to—her strong will must have kept her from running away.”
“All sorts of rumors are circulating.”
“That the culprit is Chinese; that the killing wasn’t done in a man’s style; that only jealousy could drive someone to such savagery; that this must be the work of a vengeful woman—”

“A woman, you say?”

“They say her face was hacked to pieces—and Yukiko had such an exceptionally beautiful face—that such a brutal killing couldn’t have been done by a man. And people are wondering what on earth that woman was doing going out to the desolate area near the Consulate General at such an hour, you know. They’re saying she must’ve been lured out by someone—”

“But—Yukiko used to frequent the Consulate General regularly, didn’t she?”

“Well, you know how it is—they say Madam showed nothing but kindness on the surface, treating Yukiko with such affection.”
“But Yukiko kept saying Madam was terrifying, absolutely terrifying—that someday an enemy would strike her down—or so she told the proprietress of Sasaya.”

“Oh, come now.”
“A tarnished reputation is burdensome enough without murder suspicions added to it.”

“That is indeed so, Madam.”
“There are those spreading such absurd rumors—it’s most troublesome.”

“Doesn’t the newspaper say there are people who saw her walking that desolate path with a young Chinese man that night?”

“There are even people who say it wasn’t a Chinese man but someone resembling Clerk Shiraishi—the rumors circulating are completely different from what’s reported in the newspapers, you see.”
“Nowadays, wherever one goes, this matter is all anyone talks about.”
“Oh, how dreadful—let’s put an end to this sort of talk already. I’d much rather hear something more interesting.”

3

Mrs. Miyagino looked more haggard than I had imagined, her face ashen like a sick person’s.
She teared up without saying a word when she saw me.

“You’ve come at last.”
“Oh, you’ve really come—thank you.”

I sensed the turmoil in Mrs. Miyagino’s heart and felt a heaviness in my chest.

“I’ve prepared your room as well, so please do stay with me for a while.”
“There’s no one to help me, and I’m all alone—I truly don’t know what to do.”

I spoke encouragingly to the completely dispirited Madam.

“This isn’t like you—you must be more spirited.”

“Oh, if you would but stay awhile and witness my daily life for yourself, everything would become clear.”
“Shall I show you to your room? What of your luggage?”

“Well… I’ve reserved a room at a hotel in town.”

“Oh? A hotel?”
“Is it Japanese?”

Immediately, Mrs. Miyagino made a displeased face,

"So you've already heard all sorts of things, haven't you?"
"My reputation must have been quite terrible, but there's nothing to be done about it now—it's beyond recovery."
"I had grown thoroughly weary and wanted to return to Tokyo to live quietly, but with this sudden unpleasant incident erupting, I can't even go back now."

"But if there's nothing wrong with yourself, then it shouldn't matter, should it? There's no need to care about what others think."

I had meant to comfort her when I said that.
Then—how she took it—Mrs.Miyagino’s lips drained of color as she glared fiercely and said:

“Are they saying something about me again? I was certain it must be so.”
“Then what is it?”
“They’re claiming I killed Yukiko! How wicked—pinning every evil deed on me!”

“No one has explicitly accused you.”

“No, they are saying it! I’m certain of it—it must be so!”

Mrs. Miyagino spoke in a hysterical voice as she wore a dark expression.
I found myself feeling sorry for her,

“After all, this kind of place was never suited for you, was it?”

When I said this, she gave a wry smile and nodded.

“That’s exactly it.
But if Yukiko hadn’t been here, I don’t think things would have come to this. Yukiko apparently had ambitions to drive me out and become the Consul General’s wife herself—so according to that woman’s plan, she intended to ruin my reputation, make it impossible for me to remain here, and take over this house.”

“But surely a man of the Consul General’s standing wouldn’t take a woman of unknown lineage as his wife?”

“No—if I were to step aside, my husband would surely take that woman as his wife, I tell you.”

“Even if that were the case—now that that woman is dead—hasn’t that issue disappeared?”

“Even if that issue has disappeared, aren’t I still being tormented by other matters? To make them suspect me of murder—even in death, she’s still trying to exact vengeance on me! However much they suspect me of that, I remain unperturbed—”

Mrs. Miyagino suddenly furrowed her brows deeply and lowered her voice to speak.

“Such things don’t matter at all. Right now, I’m actually being tormented by an even more serious problem—that’s precisely why I asked you to come.”
“More serious than a murder case?”

“It’s a terrible matter. For us, you know.”

Mrs. Miyagino, saying she wished to avoid being overheard, guided me to her sitting room adjoining the bedroom.
It was compact, with tatami mats spread out and decorated in Japanese style, but I learned that room had been set aside specifically for me.
Sitting on the plump purple crepe silk cushion, I suddenly felt a pleasant sense of relaxation come over me, and it seemed we could now speak calmly.
Compared to when I had seen her in the dimly lit large parlor, Mrs. Miyagino’s face now appeared somewhat brighter.
She deliberately had the servants withdraw and prepared the tea and fetched sweets herself.

It was there that I heard what Mrs. Miyagino referred to as a matter of grave importance.

“It was exactly ten days ago now.”
“On the very same night Yukiko was killed, a grand banquet was being held at the Consulate General.”
“At that moment, Shiraishi—a young clerk—remembered some urgent business he had completely forgotten. He slipped away from the banquet unnoticed, entered the office to hurriedly complete his task, and upon frantically opening the door to leave, a black shadow slipped out with wind-like swiftness.”
“When it brushed past him, a puff of sweet perfume wafted through the air—but while Shiraishi stood there dumbfounded, that black shadow was swiftly apprehended by the guards.”

Who could it be?
It must have been someone who had sneaked into the office; he suspected it was a woman.
Drawn by curiosity, Mr. Shiraishi approached the guards—she was wrapped in a black veil, her face not clearly visible, but apparently a tall woman,

“Mr. Shiraishi, it’s me. Please help me somehow,” she implored in a pleading tone.
Mr. Shiraishi was in good spirits, and since the woman had called him by name, he became inclined to help her in his dazed state.

“Oh, it’s you. I’ll walk you there,” he said, making the guards deeply apologetic; they excused their carelessness and let them out through the gate.
Then the woman stopped and brought her lips close to his ear,

“I came because of our promise, but ultimately couldn’t meet you.”
“Keep this secret.”
“If you don’t, the Consul General will reprimand me.”

It was at that moment that Mr. Shiraishi realized for the first time that the woman was Yukiko.

They apparently walked together briefly after exiting the gate, but when the woman persistently declined his escort—insisting she could return alone—they decided to part ways there, at which point he asked to shake her hand.

She wordlessly offered her left hand, but he, slightly intoxicated, brushed it aside and forcibly pulled her right hand from her pocket to grasp it. As Yukiko let out a small “Ah!” and tried to withdraw her hand, he clutched it tightly before they finally parted ways.

At that moment, something strangely sticky had gotten on his hand, but as it was dark and he couldn’t make it out well, he simply clenched a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped it off, so he said. After walking five or six steps, he happened to look back and saw that she was walking shoulder to shoulder with some man—though where and when he had appeared from was unclear—but given that such women have many acquaintances, he felt a twinge of jealousy and watched their retreating figures until they soon turned into a dark side street and disappeared.

Now, after the banquet had ended and he had retired to his bedroom, Mr. Shiraishi suddenly recalled how her hand had been strangely sticky when they shook hands. When he absentmindedly looked at his own palm, he found reddish stains here and there, so he said.

When he looked closer in surprise and noticed it had a blood-like color, he carefully checked when and where he might have been injured, but found no wounds anywhere.

Thinking it suspicious, he took out a handkerchief intending to wipe it off—only to find blood clinging here and there on that crumpled white handkerchief.
Thinking it was a strange thing indeed, and as the night had grown late, he simply went to sleep, so he said.

The next morning when he went to the office, he had nearly forgotten about the previous night’s events, but when he went to deposit documents into the safe on the Consul General’s orders and saw a single drop of blood dripping before the safe door, he was startled—the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. Then, for no particular reason, he was overcome with unease and tried to wipe away the blood without a second thought, but it had already dried and stuck to the floor, making it difficult to remove. Then, when he tried to open the safe door, there was something like crumpled rubber stuck in the door’s edge, which fell loose as he opened it. He picked that up too and put it in his pocket along with the handkerchief.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Shiraishi discovered that all the secret documents he had received from the Consul General and was supposed to have stored in the safe were indeed missing.
“That’s why there’s now an uproar, but since it would be troublesome if it became public knowledge, they’re conducting the investigation in strict secrecy.”
“If this comes to light, my husband won’t escape unscathed as matters stand, and with it being called a major incident, everyone has gone pale.”

Among them all, Mr. Shiraishi was suffering even more intensely, weakened to such a pitiable state that it pained to look at him.
“Considering the time, it turns out Yukiko was killed not long after parting with him.”
“Even that alone was sufficiently unsettling, but upon closer inspection of the rubber-like object caught in the safe door, it appeared to be human finger skin.”
“As a result of the investigation, it was discovered that the inner side of Yukiko’s index finger had been scraped off.”

However, it remained unclear why Yukiko had entered the office and left even her fingertip skin on the safe door.
“Given that the secret documents are missing, we can only conclude she stole them—but then why would she need to? It’s completely baffling.”

Some began murmuring, “Doesn’t Mr. Shiraishi seem suspicious?” until gradually, suspicious eyes turned toward him.
“That night, he committed nothing but errors sufficient to arouse doubt.”
“However you interpret it, slipping away during the banquet to visit the office—despite having forgotten urgent business—is peculiar.”
“Worse still, he failed to secure the door properly—allowing Yukiko’s entry—which one might construe as intentional negligence.”
“Most damningly, he intervened when the guards detained her and escorted her outside himself.”
“For these reasons, peculiar suspicions now surround Mr. Shiraishi.”

As for how he was faring, ever since that incident, he had succumbed to extreme nervous breakdown and become like a half-sick man.
“Moreover, he appeared perpetually haunted by something—utterly devoid of composure—forgetting or botching assigned tasks, completely unable to focus on his work.”
“He must have found attending the office unbearable.”
“Thus every day he wore a gloomy face, spoke to no one, and seemed to drink quite recklessly. But to those around him, he seemed both worrisome and eerie—they claimed they couldn’t risk any mishaps—so arrangements had been made to repatriate him soon.”
“I can accept that Mr. Shiraishi was exploited by Yukiko, but I cannot believe he actively conspired to facilitate her theft.”
“In any case, since the documents have been lost, they must be in someone’s hands.”
“I wish to discover them and sweep away these clouds of suspicion hanging over Mr. Shiraishi.”

4

The day after hearing rumors of a ghost appearing on the desolate street where Yukiko was killed, as I was drinking my morning coffee, the proprietress came in and said:

“Last night, one of our customers—though he’s an exceedingly timid sort—was passing through that area by automobile late at night when a pale shadow swiftly crossed the street and vanished.”
“He said he’ll never pass through such a place again—had the courage scared right out of him, so the story goes.”
“Even if you come to visit the Consulate General, you really shouldn’t pass through that area anymore.”

“Oh my!”
“How terrifying!”

That night, I kept watch on that desolate street deep into the night, but far from encountering any ghost, I did not meet a single soul.
Perhaps the specter had withdrawn because of the rumors, I thought with mild disappointment, and as I turned on my heel to leave, a man suddenly stepped out from the shade of a roadside tree.
His appearance—staggering with weightless, floating steps devoid of strength—might have looked like a ghost to anyone who saw him.
Moreover, the Western clothes he wore were pale white, though in daylight they would probably appear gray or something of that sort.

I stealthily followed behind.
When turning the corner into the side street, I saw the man’s face in the streetlight’s glow. It was exactly as I had imagined, so I wasn’t particularly surprised, but nevertheless I pursued him and called out.

“Mr. Shiraishi, Clerk.”

He froze in shock.
The moment he saw me, he instinctively tried to flee but seemed to reconsider and came to a quiet halt; yet from his wide, staring eyes, the signs of panic were unmistakably evident.

“Is there something you require?”

He must have intended to appear composed, but his voice trembled.

“I have something I’d like to ask you, but we can’t talk about it out here on the street. In any case, let us go to the Consulate General.”

When I looked at my watch, it was 1 a.m.
At this hour, it was unthinkable to have him accompany me to my hotel, and to avoid the risk of our conversation being overheard by others, there was no choice but to select a location within the Consulate General’s building.

I sat facing Clerk Shiraishi.
His sunken cheeks twitched spasmodically, his hands trembled, and his restless, anxious eyes ceaselessly scanned their surroundings—the whole pitiable sight was so heartrending that one could hardly bear to look directly at him.
Who was truly to blame for plunging this young, seemingly kind man into such abysmal terror?
When I thought of that, I could not help but feel indignation toward the irresponsible people of the world.
Especially in Mr. Shiraishi’s case, since I had been secretly laboring to investigate, my feelings of sympathy had grown all the deeper.

Mr. Shiraishi had initially persisted in feigning ignorance, but when I hinted at some of the findings from my investigation, he became convinced I already knew everything. That night of Yukiko’s murder, he spoke without concealment about the facts he had witnessed, answering my questions in full.

“That night, when I accompanied her partway and Yukiko insisted repeatedly that I leave, so we parted—and when I looked back, there were two figures receding into the distance—up to that point, my account matches what I told the Consul General and my colleagues. But from there onward, the story differs.”
“That is to say, I did not simply return to the Consulate General but, driven by curiosity to see who the man was, I followed after them.”
“Though I couldn’t make out their words clearly, the two were engaged in a fierce argument as they came to that dark, desolate spot and stopped. I too halted a few meters away, pressed myself against a utility pole’s shadow and peered cautiously.”
“Then, as the man happened to be facing forward, I could see him clearly—slightly built, with a slender, handsome face that looked terrifyingly charged with murderous intent.”
“He is not Japanese.”
“He is definitely Chinese.”
“Having heard the rumor that Yukiko had a Chinese lover, I immediately thought, ‘This must be him.’”
“In the streetlight’s glow, Yukiko was utterly terrified, her facial muscles trembling, her complexion ashen like a corpse’s.”
“It seemed that even when she tried to speak, her voice caught in her throat and she couldn’t get the words out.”

For a long time, they glared at each other until, after exchanging a few heated words,

“You betrayed me!”

At the same moment as the man’s sharp voice, something glinted and stabbed at my eyes.
A piercing shriek—then I saw a woman rush forward like one possessed. Though I witnessed this horrifying scene before me and heard her pitiful cries for help, I could do nothing.
My body had stiffened as if paralyzed.
“My consciousness must have grown hazy, for when I came to my senses with a start, everything around me had fallen utterly silent.”
“I heard ragged breathing somewhere close by.”
“When I realized it came from right beside me, I’d already been given a terrifying command by that man.”
“He stared at me with bloodshot eyes wide open, fixed his gaze on my face, and delivered a stern ultimatum in a voice thick with suppressed force.”
“In short—he ordered me to steal the secret documents.”

“The Chinese man who was Yukiko’s lover was actually a spy. She was being used as his pawn—to steal the secret documents, Yukiko had worked to get close to the Consul General and ingratiate herself with his wife. And when the long-awaited opportunity finally came, she sneaked into the office and opened the vault...but the crucial secret documents were nowhere to be found.”
“This man believed Yukiko had betrayed him because her affections had shifted to the Consul General. If her heart changed, secrets might spill from her lips—fearing that, he killed her, I suppose.”

“He demanded that I now steal the documents Yukiko had failed to steal and swear an oath to that effect.”
“If I refused to swear, I would have to meet the same fate as her right then and there.”
“It may sound spineless of me, but I simply couldn’t refuse his command.”
“I must meet him every night at that desolate place where Yukiko was killed.”
“Until the secret documents came into his hands.”

“However, those documents were already gone when I opened the vault.”
“Since Yukiko also reportedly said they weren’t there, then someone must have sneaked in earlier and stolen them.”

“Even though it was an unavoidable situation—once I became involved with such a terrifying person—whether I return to Japan or not—there seems to be no way for me to escape the danger closing in on me.”
“I feel my fate has already been sealed.”

Clerk Shiraishi said that and laughed forlornly.

5

As it was too late to return to the hotel, I stayed over at Mrs. Miyagino’s residence just as I was.
When I went to the room assigned to me, I immediately got into bed and fell asleep.

How many hours had I slept? Suddenly, I awoke to the sense of someone’s presence.
On the thick carpet, it seemed someone was walking quietly.
There came a rustling of silk.
I pushed the feather quilt down to my chest and, holding my breath, peered around to assess the situation.
Though I had awoken, I must have still been half-asleep.
At first I wondered if a thief had broken in, but upon looking closely, it was none other than Mrs. Miyagino.
What had made her appear so terrifyingly tall was that she had been trailing the hem of her nightgown along the floor.
Mrs. Miyagino, while keeping an eye on me, stealthily made her way toward the corner of the room without making a sound.
There stood a large wardrobe there—spacious enough inside that it served as a makeshift storage room.
Mrs. Miyagino placed her hand on its door and stood in the dim light, seeming to watch my sleeping breaths for a short while.

Perhaps because the moonlight streaming through the windowpane was pallid, Mrs. Miyagino’s face looked as blue as a ghost’s.
And like a sleepwalker, she unsteadily opened the door and was drawn inside.

I hurriedly jumped down from the bed, approached the door, and peered through the gap in the curtain.
Mrs. Miyagino was shining a flashlight and intently looking into the trunk, but soon closed the lid as if relieved and locked it.
I couldn’t help but find Mrs. Miyagino’s behavior suspicious. What reason could she have for peering into the trunk in the dead of night?
Could such important things really be stored there? I wondered—and at that very moment, something flashed through my mind.
I stood behind the curtain, waiting for Mrs. Miyagino to come out.
Unaware of this, she emerged quietly on tiptoe once more, but upon seeing me standing there, appeared extremely flustered,

“Oh! You were awake?”

she said in a reproachful tone.

“I wanted to take what’s inside the suitcase—”
“I’ve been waiting here since earlier.”

A tense, prolonged silence lingered between them.
Mrs. Miyagino stared at me while breathing laboriously, then said in a low, moaning voice:

“So you know everything after all. I wanted to tell you myself sooner, before you said anything, but—”
“I just couldn’t say it.”
“On the first day you came here, I fully intended to confess and tried several times to bring it up, but I just couldn’t say it.”
“No matter what, I just couldn’t muster the courage to say it—”

As she said this, Mrs. Miyagino hurried to the wardrobe, but when she returned, she was holding a bundle of documents.
While handing it to me,

“Mrs. S.”
“You must look down on me as a woman utterly beneath contempt—but I had no other choice but to do so.”

“You took them out from the vault yourself and hid them, made someone find them, and intended to have me return them to your husband—that’s why you summoned me here, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry.”
“I’m truly sorry—there was no other way to return them.”

“Why don’t you tell your husband and apologize?”

“Tell my husband? How dreadful! How could I ever do such a thing? If he were the sort to forgive an apology, I wouldn’t be this worried! No matter the circumstances, that man would never show mercy. If my husband finds out—oh, if he hears of this—I’m finished. Please help me, Mrs.S—save me, oh, I beg you!”

Mrs. Miyagino said, looking up at me tearfully and pleadingly.
I remained silent and thought.

"When you first came here, I had fully intended to confide the truth, consult with you properly, and make my requests—and yet despite that resolve, I simply couldn't bring myself to speak of it at the time."
"I thought you would scold me—"
"But there's no way to survive other than resorting to clinging to you—please save me."

Even having been told that, I couldn’t readily consent to such an easy arrangement, leaving me at a loss about what to do.
This was because there were simply too many things that didn’t add up for me.
In any case, I thought it necessary to press her about the things I didn’t understand—

“First and foremost—why did you steal the secret documents?”

“Now that I reflect calmly, I think I might have been slightly unhinged back then—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that my husband and Yukiko were conspiring to eliminate me.”
“When I discovered they were waiting for an opportunity to divorce me, I resolved to fight with my life to reclaim my husband from her—but ordinary methods wouldn’t suffice, so I resorted to extreme measures and stole those crucial documents first.”
“If the secret documents were reported missing, my husband would have to resign from his post out of responsibility.”
“Then we would naturally have to leave this place.”
“But since they weren’t truly lost, I thought we could manage through personal connections—and even if that failed, I believed separating Yukiko would still be achievable—”
“At that time, I acted prepared for divorce—”

“Since that woman died, your objective had been naturally achieved—so why didn’t you return the documents to your husband sooner? You should have settled this before the staff raised such an uproar.”

“The morning after Yukiko was killed, Mr. Shiraishi had already discovered the missing documents. Everyone was outraged, convinced she’d stolen them—hearing them vilify her wasn’t unpleasant in the least; I felt secretly gratified.”
“So I kept silent and watched.”
“But being the one who’d actually taken them, I grew terribly anxious—utterly consumed by fear—that someone else might steal them again.”
“I tried never to leave this room, standing guard in my mind, yet still I worried so intensely that every night I had to wait until all fell silent and inspect the suitcase before I could sleep.”
“Then you found them.”

“You who took such pleasure in pinning everything on dead Yukiko—why go so far as to summon even me this time and make me uncover those documents?”

“At first, when suspicion fell solely on Yukiko, I could endure it.”
“I believed such punishment fitting for that wicked woman, but as days passed—with questions arising about that night’s strange behavior—even Mr. Shiraishi came under suspicion.”
“Though I couldn’t bear seeing that gentle soul suffer suspicion, watching him waste away daily—his face mirroring inner torment as nervous exhaustion consumed him—I found myself unable to stay silent.”
“The only way to clear him was through finding those documents.”
“That’s why I resolved to beg your aid.”
“Had I kept to my original scheme, I might have managed alone—but with that woman gone, divorce lost its appeal.”
“Alone I might have borne it—but I have a child! When I thought of my child, leaving my husband became unthinkable.”
“Not to save myself—this wretched woman—but deign to rescue my child instead, I implore you.”

Old friends are such curious things, aren’t they?
Had it been my usual self, I would have detested the very motive behind scheming such an improper act to exploit me and dismissed it without a shred of sympathy—yet I ended up fully accepting Mrs. Miyagino’s plea.

For the first time in a long while, bright laughter spilled through the Consulate General, and the shadow of gloom vanished from the staff members’ faces.
Mrs. Miyagino would take my hand and secretly express her gratitude.
Mrs. Miyagino, who had become utterly exhausted from long-standing mental strain and whose health had deteriorated—now that she had gained a companion in me—decided to return together to the capital for a brief period of recuperation.
It was during this busy time of preparation that we received news of Clerk Shiraishi’s suicide—he had jumped from a train near Kōzu Station while returning to the capital.

He had been cleared of suspicion and returned to the capital, yet such a pitiful outcome had occurred.
His death plunged Mrs. Miyagino back into gloom.

Mrs.Miyagino, with whom I had gone together as far as Kobe and parted ways there, stopped by her relatives, and I immediately headed for Tokyo.
The day after returning to the capital, I learned that Mrs.Miyagino had also committed suicide near Kōzu Station.