Pathway to Japanese Literature

Prologue

“It’s a grave mistake to think every occurrence in this world becomes newspaper copy that reaches readers exactly as it transpired.”
“Countless incidents get buried—from shadow to shadow—no, from the editor-in-chief’s desk straight into the wastebasket. Some because their gravity makes the consequences too vast, others because their sheer strangeness defies belief when presented raw.”

Chigusa Jūjirō, the renowned journalist, began speaking with a gentle smile.
As deputy director of social affairs at Imperial Newspaper and the top ace among Tokyo’s fifteen major papers—a man renowned for handling bizarre cases that astonished even the Metropolitan Police Department’s experts—he appeared at first glance to be small-built and delicate, with none of that formidable quality about him.

“The incident I’m about to recount here is another such case—dismissed into the editor-in-chief’s wastebasket precisely because it defies all rational explanation. However, for me—who handled this case and witnessed even its final tragedy—the more mysteriously bizarre an incident proves to be, the less I can bear consigning it from darkness to deeper obscurity. Whether you believe it or not is left to each listener’s heart, but in any case, I intend to fill a significant lacuna in the history of world gemstones by recounting the full story of this terrifying incident.”

Though it was a gathering of close acquaintances, the excessive gravity of this prologue made them involuntarily hold their breath as they gazed up at the youthful rosy countenance of Chigusa Jūjirō, the renowned journalist.

I

One spring afternoon, an unexpected woman came to visit the newspaper office using my name.
That woman—if I were to mention her name, most people would know her—was Yukari Kasugano, the dancer.
There were all sorts of rumors about her, but she remained that woman—renowned for her beauty and social deftness.

This woman’s publicity skills being legendary, I assumed her business involved wanting favorable coverage in the paper for her students’ upcoming dance recital—but what exactly did she want?
When I inquired about her purpose, she abruptly—

“Mr. Chigusa, something terrible has happened!”
“I can’t fathom why this is occurring—you must tell me what to do!”

she proclaimed.
Though her speech and expressions were always theatrical by nature, even so, her demeanor today felt distinctly abnormal.

“What exactly happened?”

“For two or three days now, I’ve been hounded by strange individuals—it’s unbearable.”
“A disheveled foreigner, then this modern Japanese woman, and then...”

“Hey now, quit spinning tall tales. If you were complaining about delinquents tailing you, that’d make sense given your line of work—but a grubby Westerner and some fashionable dame? That’s neither romance nor poetry material—you’re just imagining things.”

When he said this, the woman became frantic,

“No no, this isn’t some joke or clever wordplay! It’s just that ever since I obtained this strange item… I think perhaps the cause might lie here.”

This woman was all pockets from head to toe.
She slipped her hand into some hidden fold and produced a magnificent blue stone about the size of a lady’s wristwatch—without any cushion or casing whatsoever.
In its pitiful naked state, she placed it on the grimy reception table and pushed it toward me like this.

“What the hell is this?”

Without needing to take it in hand for closer inspection—from that single glance alone—I felt such astonishment it nearly made me dizzy.

It was a nameless gemstone—bluer than Italy’s early summer sky, more brilliant than Venus hanging in the evening sky this season—that defied all description.

As an amateur who knew nothing about such matters, I couldn't believe there existed a diamond of such blue hue.
The luster and cut were undoubtedly those of a diamond, but since its color showed such intensely vivid azure, I thought it might perhaps be an emerald.

But even were it an emerald, such a magnificent specimen—while perhaps conceivable for the Count of Monte Cristo who appeared in Dumas's novels—I couldn't imagine existing in reality, whether among Rome's great temples or within Russia's former Romanov household.
In carats, it was 120—no, perhaps even over 150.

When I tentatively stood up and pressed it against the windowpane, the glass was sliced through as easily as paper.

"This is serious! Where did you get this?"

When he turned to look at the dancer and asked,

“I bought it.”

“You?”

“Oh, don’t mock me! Even I can afford something like this!”

“Huh—millions of yen?”

“Millions would’ve been better! Eight yen and fifty sen—quite steep, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yukari Kasugano—who favored wearing kimono despite her profession’s usual attire—turned her head sideways with slightly upturned features, displaying her well-styled hair and elegant nose bridge as she adjusted the chic Egyptian-patterned collar.

II

When all was said and done, she claimed to have bought it—of all places—from a grimy little antique shop set up right along Asakusa’s main thoroughfare.

That a fashionable young woman would stand before some back-alley curio stall was bold enough—but Yukari Kasugano wasn’t one to balk at such things.
This eccentric who clung to kimono despite her Western airs—who’d even eat oden standing up if the mood struck—had likely gotten herself saddled with that unidentifiable object, be it colored glass or a diamond from Solomon’s crown, after taunting the open-air antique dealer like a wildcat dragged into daylight; there’d been no elegant escape.
Such a scenario hardly stretched the imagination when one took this woman as its protagonist.

“After buying this, watching a moving picture show, having dinner, then going out to Taharamachi at dusk—while waiting for the shared taxi, someone suddenly called from behind: ‘Excuse me—that blue glass bead you acquired earlier—might you relinquish it to me?’”
“When I turned to look, there stood a Western-attired woman—appearing about twenty-seven or twenty-eight—a beauty of such dewy freshness she seemed to glisten.”
“The whole thing sounded so absurd I didn’t even reply—just jumped into a shared taxi that happened to arrive. From behind me came her persistent pleas: ‘Keeping that will bring you nothing but misfortune! Sell it to me for ten times what you paid…twenty times…a hundred times!’ But before long, the taxi began moving.”
“I told her—‘You keeping it will bring nothing good!’ Ugh, how vile! Not even for a thousand or ten thousand times the price would I part with it!”
After that, the Western-attired woman never showed herself again.
“But instead, a terribly grubby Westerner started loitering around my house from the very next day.”
“When I sent the maid to check, she said: ‘That’s the foreigner who was selling artificial gold rings in Asakusa.’”
“And he’s persistent beyond belief—from morning till night, he won’t budge from my neighborhood.”
“With nothing but women in the household, being hounded by that Westerner who looks like one of the demon king Shuten-dōji’s henchmen is simply unbearable! Don’t you agree, Professor? Surely there must be some clever solution? That face of his—who knows what he might do!”

Though her tale sounded intriguing enough as I listened, there was nothing I could do about the matter—heartless though that may have seemed,

“Why don’t you go tell that to the police and have them drive off the Westerner? Then again, this blue stone might actually be something tremendously valuable. Why don’t you lend it to me for just one day? I’ll have an expert appraise it for you.”

When he said this, Yukari Kasugano hurriedly stowed away the blue stone,

“I somehow don’t want to let go of this stone.”
“I don’t understand a thing about gemstones, but unlike those teardrop-sized little diamonds in my rings, this stone somehow tugs at my heartstrings.”
“If even you start telling me to sell it for a hundred times the price, I simply can’t handle it! I’ll take my leave now—waa—please excuse me!”

The moment she finished bowing politely, she left me dumbfounded in the parlor and briskly departed.

III

The dancer’s mysterious visit did not trouble my busy mind for even thirty minutes.
I immersed myself in work as usual and had all but forgotten about it without meaning to when the next day brought that great commotion.

That great commotion alone—as you’ve likely gathered from the newspaper articles of the time—involved dancer Yukari Kasugano sustaining near-fatal injuries in her home parlor at the hands of an unknown assailant.

I heard about this from a reporter stationed at the Metropolitan Police Department and, though we weren’t particularly close, since it had only happened the day before and something felt amiss, I rushed over under the guise of paying a visit—only to find the house in complete pandemonium.
The police had also arrived and were questioning the maid Oei, investigating the surroundings, and conducting various inquiries, but with the crucial person herself in a coma, there was nothing to be done.

Given her critical condition precluding any movement, they had converted the parlor into a sickroom where the dancer’s sister from Sankei-en in Kawasaki was attending to her around the clock.

According to the physician’s diagnosis, the wound on the occipital region had been inflicted by an object resembling the back of a hatchet and had caused a concussion; an X-ray examination suggested it might have fractured her skull.
Given how critical her condition was, even if she survived, she would likely remain unconscious for some time—a disheartening prognosis indeed.

To call it a parlor was something of an overstatement—it was merely an ordinary eight-tatami Japanese room with a rug laid out and a table with chairs placed upon it. Beyond the single layer of shoji screens lay a garden spanning about ten tsubo, and opening the gate beneath the trees would immediately bring one out onto the street.
If there had been someone targeting this beautiful dancer, one could imagine that on a pleasant spring morning when the shoji screens happened to be left wide open, they might have slipped in through the garden gate and launched a surprise attack from behind—accomplishing their objective without ever being seen.
In fact, the method used to assault Yukari Kasugano did not appear to have been any more elaborate than that.

Not a single item was missing.
The police, by the nature of their work, seemed to suspect a crime of passion—but if that were the case, there would be so many suspects that they'd be overwhelmed by where to start. I couldn't help but smile wryly at how startled the authorities must have been.

Even so, the maid Oei strenuously insisted in her testimony that a filthy Westerner had been tailing them these past two or three days—it must have been him—but

“If we confirm it’s the foreigner who was selling artificial gold rings in Asakusa, we’ll arrest him straightaway. There’s nothing to worry about.”

The police inspector dismissed this with casual indifference.
Because there were no missing items, the vagrant foreigner was not considered a particularly important suspect.

As for that mysterious gemstone—the one she had shown me the previous day at the newspaper office’s parlor—I inquired about it, but both the maid and her sister seemed to be hearing of it for the first time; they knew nothing at all.
Though she may have seemed careless, she was a woman accustomed to a secretive lifestyle; out of concern that it might be an extremely valuable item, it appeared she hadn’t told anyone about that eight-yen-and-fifty-sen gemstone—except for me.

I had taken care to inform the inspecting officers of the full circumstances, but they seemed convinced it was a crime of passion and paid little heed to what I said.

As a precaution, I had them show me all the items Yukari Kasugano had been wearing at the time of the attack. Just as I’d suspected, that mysterious blue stone was nowhere to be found—not tucked between her obi folds, nor in her billfold, clasp purse, compact mirror, or opera bag…

As he checked each item one by one—kimono, obi sash, thin cords, all accessories accounted for—he realized only the obiage sash was missing.

"Oei-san, what happened to the obiage sash?"

When asked,

"Well, isn't it there? That can't be right..."

Given the circumstances, there was no particular concern shown.

Urging the reluctant Oei and her sister to help, we exhausted every means searching the area, but the brocade silk crepe obiage sash she had supposedly fastened before the attack simply couldn’t be found.

“By any chance,” I asked, “didn’t Yukari’s obiage sash have a pocket?”

“My sister loved doing things like that—making strange hidden pockets in odd places.”

The younger sister peered painfully at her sibling’s face—swollen slightly, its usual beauty shattered beyond recognition—as she spoke these words.

“That’s it! That’s it!”

I no longer needed to hear anything more.
I rushed straight back to the office and requested Hayasaka Isamu—the Social Section’s top investigator, though “Legs Isamu” might better suit him—a loyal, tenacious man said to dig up leads with his feet, to track down the grubby Westerner who had been selling artificial gold rings in Asakusa after laying out the general situation.

“Alright, give me half a day—I’ll grab that bastard by the scruff and drag him back here.”

Hayasaka Isamu, also known as "Legs Isamu," set out for Asakusa with his thick legs—like those of a postal delivery worker—moving with ease, a cane tucked under his arm.

IV

Though he’d said “half a day,” even after a full day had passed, “Legs Isamu” did not return. The Social Affairs Department Chief made a bitter face at this trivial case compared to the many more newsworthy incidents unfolding elsewhere, but with “Legs Isamu”—who wouldn’t return until he’d uncovered the truth once he’d taken up a case—there was nothing to be done but fret helplessly behind the scenes.

On the third day since setting out, "Legs Isamu"—coated in sweat and grime—sauntered back into the editorial office.

“Ah, what a shock—I’m flat broke. Haven’t eaten a thing since morning. Don’t mind if I ask for a little advance, do ya?”

He looked at my face and said something so carefree.

“Don’t be absurd—the Social Affairs Department Chief just finished chewing me out over this. ‘No reason to deploy a reckless man like “Legs Isamu” on such a foolish case,’ he said. If you request funds now, you might get yourself fired. I’ll cover your petty cash advance myself.”
“Never mind that—what happened to that Westerner?”

“Starting from Asakusa, I pulled leads and quickly found he’d made his nest at a cheap lodging house in Narihira, Honjo—but damn if he hasn’t crawled back there for three days straight.”

“What?”

“I’ve been yanking every string with Tokyo’s street hustlers, but this Boirof’s such a weird breed they treat him like he’s got extraterritorial rights. Can’t pin the bastard down—total pain in the ass.”
“So I ask the local police chief—all proper-like—‘That foreign bastard Boirof?’ And he goes, ‘Oh him? We shipped him to HQ two days ago,’ cool as winter melon. Didn’t pan out—looks like even Legs Isamu’s losing his edge.”

“Cut the wasted effort and get moving on the leads—then what happened?”

“There was only one lead—I got off the train at Babasakimon and went to their main station. Don’t be shocked now—when I asked about that foreign bastard Boirof, they said they’d released him just this morning.”
“When I asked if that foreigner attacked Yukari Kasugano, they went ‘Nah’—said they’d checked everything. Even if you shook him upside down, not a hundred yen to his name. His bag at the lodging had twenty or thirty artificial gold rings for his trade and two spare shirts—nothing suspicious, so they cut him loose. No way a grubby wreck like him could’ve had some passionate fling with the famous Yukari Kasugano.”
“And that’s how it went down.”

“Is that all?”

“There’s more—apparently he’d been hit by a car before being detained and was dragging a lame leg, but when they stripped him naked to examine him, his left thigh was mangled, with blood badly seeping through the bandages. The car that hit him fled. Being a foreigner, he naturally hadn’t memorized the driver’s face or the car’s license plate. When they suggested treating his injuries—‘I’m tough, won’t cry like a Japanese, I’m fine’—he spouted such arrogance that they just let him go. The hit-and-run car was also at fault, but Boirof’s bastard was too damn stubborn—that’s how it went. And that’s the whole story—ah, I’m starving!”

That Legs Isamu was still spouting his carefree nonsense.
While diligent in his work, this young Bohemian was an easygoing, unflappable man—a touch lazy, yet with an oddly endearing quality.

“It’s unfortunate, but go track down that foreign bastard again.”

“Hey now, you serious about this? I don’t give a damn about going hungry myself, but the Social Affairs Department Chief’s gonna skin you alive.”

“I know.”

“Head Office sure picked a real piece of work for Social Affairs Deputy Director—not that they lose sleep over wearing my legs down to stumps.”

“Quit your whining—what’s this from ‘Legs Isamu’? Let’s go get something to eat already.”

The two soon found themselves in the basement of the Insurance Association, exchanging endless jokes over a stylish lunch.

“What’s the reason for making me track down that foreign bastard again? A job without drive won’t do—give me a hint of your divine plan.”

“Legs Isamu,” while vigorously swapping plates yet still seemingly preoccupied with work, made such a remark.

“It’s like this… The Japanese have no knowledge of gemstones and consequently remain utterly indifferent to their superstitions. But Western texts contain some rather fascinating accounts.”
“Just as India was the origin of gemstones, so too was it the birthplace of gemstone superstitions—these flowed into Europe from ancient times, spreading and transforming into various forms.”
“The Indians liken gemstones to celestial bodies and associate them with human destinies through various legends—but most intriguing is their perceived relationship between gemstones and the human body.”
“Some stones were believed to protect eyesight, others thought beneficial for kidneys, while certain gems supposedly prevented injuries when horseback riding.”
“To manifest a gemstone’s mysterious power, they considered embedding it within flesh most effective—inserting a stone corresponding to one’s astral sign was believed to optimally safeguard fortune.”
“Hence people wear gems in rings or bracelets against their skin—though barbarous nations still practice cutting open flesh to implant stones without compunction.”
“Gemstone smugglers reportedly slice their flesh to conceal contraband inside, bandaging wounds to deceive customs officials.”
“Take Kuisopurasu—this green gemstone carries an eccentric belief that implanting it in one’s left flank through self-mutilation prevents thieves from being caught.”
“Now—regarding that foreigner Boirof… You mentioned he had a fresh injury on his left thigh from a car accident?”
“Who can guarantee that very thigh doesn’t conceal the extraordinary gemstone I believe was hidden in Yukari Kasugano’s obiage?”

“Got it. Time to test these legendary legs of mine again.”
“Pass along my regards to the Social Affairs Chief and Editor-in-Chief—petty as it sounds, I won’t have this cutting into my Obon bonus.”
“Hah!”

Throwing down his coffee spoon, Legs Isamu’s figure was already rushing out of the dining room.

V

“Legs Isamu” found Boirof’s second lodging another week later.
When he rushed to Asadaya—a cheap lodging house in Tamahime-cho, Asakusa—and inquired, the response came that while Boirof had indeed been staying there with them, he had died two days prior from a sudden illness.

There was no dejection quite like that of “Legs Isamu,” who brought the report.

Meanwhile, Yukari Kasugano had barely managed to preserve her life, but remained in a half-asleep, half-awake state, still not recovered enough for clinical interrogation.

No matter which way I turned, the case still lacked any clear leads, yet my curiosity was only being fanned all the more.

After explaining the situation and obtaining two or three days’ leave from the company, I went with “Legs Isamu” as my guide to the Tamahime-cho lodging house—it was already after night had fallen, that hour when even rock-bottom lodging houses begin to show some signs of life.

The innkeeper with a hooked nose and salt-and-pepper hair was surly and uncooperative; no matter how persistently we pressed him with questions, he wouldn’t talk.
But through perseverance and a few well-placed tips, we finally managed to extract this much information.

That Boirof’s illness appeared to be tetanus; that during his illness, the candy peddler sharing his room had kindly nursed him; and that on the day of his death, another well-dressed foreigner had arrived, declaring himself a friend of Boirof’s who would take charge of the remains and requested to send the belongings to the deceased’s family back home.

The foreigner had not only fully paid off Boirof’s room charges and debts for food expenses but also made thorough arrangements; he had taken care of everything from filing notifications with the ward office to disposing of the remains, leaving nothing undone.
According to the innkeeper,

“Foreigners are such kind souls…”

His tone suggested he’d been considerably swayed by sweet talk.

“What do you want done with Boirof’s belongings?”

“What’s there to find? An old suitcase with twenty or thirty leftover rings—not worth three sen each.”
“Then two old shirts—that’s all there was.”
“That foreigner kept examining the luggage and clothes over and over with great care, insisting there was definitely one thing missing.”
“According to my wife, they even unwrapped the bandages on that foreigner’s thigh, but they say he died from tetanus bacteria getting in through that wound—when you think about it, makes for a creepy story, don’t it?”

It goes without saying that we had to slip the surly innkeeper a few silver coins to get him to talk this much.

“By the way—could you lend me the room where Boirof stayed tonight? I’ll pay any rate you ask.”

“Well, it’s business for us—no problem at all.”

Even “Legs Isamu” seemed shocked by this plan—he grabbed my coat sleeve—but I remained unfazed.
The narrow ladder-like stairs led to a separate room at the back of the rear second floor.
“Not a bad room at all,” I remarked. “I could stay here two or three days.”

At this, "Legs Isamu"—who had followed behind—made a face that said he was beyond saving and rolled his eyes wildly.

When the discussion reached its conclusion, there was no need to rush. After stepping out for a quick supper and returning, we found a stunningly beautiful woman in Western attire—utterly out of place—standing before the lodging house’s front desk, engaged in some negotiation with the proprietor.

When we entered the usual back second-floor room, ignoring [the scene], the innkeeper who had followed behind began speaking in an unpleasant tone,

“I must sincerely apologize, but the lady downstairs wishes to stay in this room. Would you mind exchanging it for the neighboring one?” he said in that unpleasant tone.
He was an astonishingly brazen man,

“Don’t joke around—I’m planning to stay two or three days and even paid extra upfront. I won’t accept any such negotiations.”

Having brusquely rebuffed him and sent him retreating in dejection, it seemed he soon allowed the Western-attired beauty and the man who appeared to be her attendant into the neighboring room,

“This is the room where Boirof stayed...”

The innkeeper’s voice could be heard saying.

This room was where Boirof had stayed, and the neighboring room where he’d admitted that beauty was also where Boirof had stayed—even for profit-seeking, the hooked-nose proprietor’s tactics were downright outrageous.

But what surprised them even more was that in such a filthy cheap lodging house, a supremely elegant Western-attired beauty had descended as if from heaven.
When she removed her sable coat, the vivid grape-mouse Western attire and silk stockings hinted at beautiful bodily contours—she was by no means past her prime.
The deep, mysterious gaze visible beneath her black hat and her overly pale complexion contained traces that somehow suggested mixed heritage, yet the overall impression held a refined elegance and saintly beauty that defied explanation.

VI

That night, the rear second floor of Tamahime-cho’s cheap lodging house was in an uproar like a thorough cleaning.
On one side were myself and "Legs Isamu," and on the other, an enigmatic Western-attired beauty and a fortyish man who appeared to be her attendant—thus began our competitive scrutiny of our respective rooms.
At first, we cautiously tiptoed around each other’s efforts, but after thoroughly inspecting every wall rail, pillar, and built-in cupboard, there remained no choice but to lift the tatami mats.
By that point, all pretense of restraint vanished between us, and a thorough ransacking began without regard for our surroundings.

Perhaps because payments were coming from both sides, the innkeeper had initially kept silent, but as midnight drew near—unable to endure it any longer, it seemed—he appeared on the rear second floor wearing a particularly deliberate scowl.

“You’ve had your fun long enough—cut it out. This is no joke. What’re you digging for anyway? Think that flat-assed foreigner bastard hid some golden teakettle?”

“Sorry about the dust, but bear with us a bit longer. Which room did Boirof actually stay in—the one next door or this one?”

When I—covered in dust and sweat—stuck my head into the hallway, the hook-nosed innkeeper thrust half his scowling face up from the ladder steps.

“What difference does it make? First off, there’s nothing in that room. Even if you keep ransacking it all night, you’ll only turn up rat droppings and bedbug eggs at best.”

“Then let me ask you—that Westerner named Boirof—is there any chance he had a beautiful blue stone about the size of a pigeon’s egg?”

“What the hell? You’re looking for that stone? Should’ve said so from the start. You’ve made all this dust and worked up a sweat with those foolish antics of yours.”

“So what the hell—are you saying you know where that stone went?”

The neighboring room too had paused their grand search and now seemed to be eavesdropping on this hallway conversation.

“Know about it? That foreigner left it as a keepsake to the candy seller who nursed him through his sickness when he was dying.”
“Keep hold of this and good things’ll come your way—I’m givin’ it as thanks, so don’t you go losin’ it, I tell ya.”
“The candy seller felt bad contradictin’ a dyin’ man’s wishes, so he took it—but what use was a rock this size ’cept to give some kid? Just tossed it into his candy box, he did.”

“Ah!”

From the neighboring room came a stifled gasp of surprise.

“And then what happened?”

“The candy seller said Tokyo’s too damn harsh for him—he’s gettin’ on in years, ain’t got no pride left to go home with. But he swallowed his stubbornness and lit out two mornings ago, playin’ that charumera flute of his while sneakin’ off to peddle candy on his way back to wherever he was whelped.”

“Is that true… Where exactly is this candy seller’s hometown?”

“Dunno, y’know. His lodgin’ register’s listed under Shitaya or some temporary residency, so where his hometown is—completely clueless, I tell ya.”
“He was always saying he’d go along the Tokaido route selling candy, but…”

The shoji of the neighboring room slid open; a beautiful face appeared halfway through. The hallway’s silent drama maintained an abnormal tension for some time.

VII

The absurd yet fascinating journey along the springtime Tokaido route—chasing the sound of a charumera flute with two companions including "Legs Isamu"—is perhaps a tale I may have occasion to recount another day.

An old man with a red nose and one eye—wearing a bamboo hat, a twin-striped lined kimono with a collar, and dangling a candy box from his shoulder—given these distinctive markers plus advertising himself with charumera flute music, required little effort for seasoned trackers to follow.

When we inquired upon reaching Fujisawa from Ōfuna, it appeared he had diverted left toward Katase.
After half a day combing through Katase town, we finally found the house where the candy seller had removed his straw sandals—only to be met with what a situation!
It turned out that two days prior, that candy seller—for reasons unknown—had thrown himself into the water and died, still carrying his candy box on his back.
Whether his candy sales had been poor, or whether he had lost his resolve to return home—we couldn’t tell—but in any case, when we heard this news, both myself and "Legs Isamu" felt so dejected we could have thrown ourselves into the sea.

Just to be thorough—truly thorough—when we asked whether the old candy seller had possessed the beautiful blue stone, the innkeeper slapped his thigh and—

“If it’s that beautiful blue stone you’re after, he gave it to my kid the day before he jumped.”
“Must’ve meant it as a memento.”

he said.
Thank goodness—when we asked where that child was, he said the kid had just gone off to play by the shore still holding the blue stone.

“Jerusalem’s near, Legs Isamu—pull yourself together!”

The two of them nearly hand in hand went dashing toward the beach like schoolchildren racing, but no matter how far they went, they couldn’t find any such child.

When we asked at tea stalls and boatmen, they all answered in unison: “That child? He was just taken across the bridge toward Enoshima by a well-dressed Westerner.”

At that moment, we were completely consumed.
In a single leap over the temporary bridge, we climbed onto the island. Asking along the way whether anyone had seen a Westerner and child, we were attempting to head from in front of Kinkairo toward Kogafuchi when suddenly I noticed—to our right where no path existed—a black sable coat parting the thicket and moving away.

"That woman!"

The two involuntarily came to a halt.

However, their hesitation did not last long.
From the grove ahead, an eerie shriek tore through the silk of the roaring waves' sound.

Startled, we three—myself, Legs Isamu, and the woman in black sable coat—rushed up to the cliff's edge. Gazing down from a dizzying height at the hundred-foot precipice below, we saw two broken figures: one a boy of nine or ten.
The other must have fallen while struggling over the gemstone, clutching each other in their fatal plunge—undoubtedly the towering red-haired foreigner who had claimed friendship with Boirof and made off with belongings from the Tamahime-cho lodging house.

Finále

It was some forty to fifty minutes later that they turned back, hired a boat from the foot of the temporary bridge, took a long detour rowing with the Western-clad woman as their unlikely companion, and rushed wordlessly to the base of the cliff.

Both the Westerner and the boy had long since expired; there was no longer any possibility of administering treatment. The three split up and searched from the vicinity of the corpses to as far into the sea as they could reach, but found nothing resembling the gemstone—it had likely tumbled into the ocean.

“Ah… At last…”

The woman in Western clothes sat down on the rock as if all vigor and spirit had drained from her, her beautiful eyes intently gazing upon the storm-tossed sea.

“Everything has come to an end, hasn’t it.”

For the first time, I called out to her. Even amidst the frenzy of the treasure hunt, this noble woman seemed precisely the sort of person who should be lost in dramatic contemplation against the backdrop of a stormy sea.

“My name is Chigusa Jūjirō of Imperial Newspaper. Though I barged in midway and caused quite an intrusion, as a newspaper reporter I was less interested in obtaining that gemstone than in learning about the circumstances surrounding it. If you wouldn’t mind, could you explain everything in full—what that gemstone is called, why so many people fought over it…”

“Mr. Chigusa of Imperial Newspaper—I have long been aware of your standing.”
“To expiate the sins of the multitude, I shall disclose all—such being my ordained role in this matter.”

After dispatching the boatmen to notify the police, fetch a doctor, and inform the child’s family, the woman turned her mournful gaze toward the two pitiful corpses lying on the rocks and began her tale.

“Let me explain simply—it is a tale of a gemstone’s curse, most dreadful in all the world.”
“The story begins in India.”
“In a temple of the Hyderabad Kingdom at the foot of the Himalayan mountains lay a magnificent diamond—nearly the size of a pigeon’s egg—inlaid within the eyes of a Buddha statue.”
“Not only was it peerless in size among rare treasures, but its extraordinary blue hue possessed a beauty beyond compare.”
“For two thousand years Buddhists had revered this diamond—until an eighteenth-century villain, blinded by material greed, stole it.”
“Yet even after slicing open his own flesh to conceal it, tormented by unnatural obsession, he ultimately fled aboard a British vessel.”
“‘Buddha’s light holds no sway upon ships,’ declared the English captain who took him in—but once offshore, he cunningly seized that blue diamond and cast it into hell beneath the waves as substitute for divine radiance.”
“Thus opened the first chapter of the cursed diamond’s two-hundred-year odyssey.”
“The captain sold it to Louis XIV of France.”
“The blue diamond’s exceptional rarity in color and extraordinary size delighted that flamboyant monarch beyond measure.”
“Set into a brooch, it passed to Louis XVI—but after he vanished like dew upon the guillotine, thieves made off with it along with the Bourbon dynasty’s entire jewel collection, leaving its whereabouts unknown for years.”
“Several years later, three blue diamonds surfaced in a Parisian jeweler’s window.”
“People marveled—when combined, might they form that famed blue diamond which once adorned Louis XVI’s breast?”
“Tradition holds its shape resembled a Western pear from its Buddhist origins until reaching Louis XVI’s hands—then transformed into ordinary bun shapes after being cleaved thrice.”
“Of these three fragments, Napoleon I acquired the largest and bestowed it upon Empress Josephine.”
“After Josephine’s divorce and Napoleon I’s downfall, the blue diamond disappeared—only to resurface with Napoleon III before crossing to Britain following his own demise.”
“It briefly graced Duke Christie as an emblem of splendor—until his ruin sent it to auction again, across Dover to banker Hope whose bankruptcy birthed its cursed name.”
“The blue diamond ‘Hope’ first crossed the Atlantic into an American tycoon’s hands.”
“But soon his mistress’ pistol claimed him—and alone the gemstone recrossed the ocean to reach Alexander II of Russia.”

“After Alexander II was assassinated, it passed through the Romanov family’s hands, and with the Russian Revolution, its cursed form was thought to have vanished from the world.”
“In 1923 Paris, when jewels from the Russian Imperial Family were auctioned off, everyone expected the cursed gemstone ‘Hope’ to appear without fail—American curiosity-seekers even made special trips for the occasion amid all the commotion. Yet somehow, its brilliant blue form never materialized.”
“Of course—the blue diamond Hope had already made its way to Japan by then, wandering about scattering seeds of calamity wherever it went.”

Having said this, the mysterious woman in the black coat gazed mournfully at Kogafuchi’s raging waves as if mourning the cursed gemstone.

“I… have no more reason to conceal it.”
“I am Margareta Makino—a woman of Japanese nationality who served the former Romanov Imperial Court and attended that beautiful princess who met such a tragic end.”
“The final tragedy of the old Russian Imperial Romanov family needs no recounting now.”
“At that time in a Siberian hamlet, as one of those noble princesses who had fallen to revolutionary blades reached her final moments, she removed the blue diamond from her breast and bestowed it upon me with streaming tears.”
“‘Thank you for your long service. You are Japanese—you will likely escape this place unharmed. Farewell.’ With these words, a lady of rare beauty and nobility let hot tears fall upon my hands.”

In the woman's eyes, pearl-like tears glistened.
She gazed upward, lost in emotion for a time, but soon regained her composure and continued her tale thus.

“The blue diamond is undoubtedly mine, no matter what anyone may say.”
“However, three brutal militiamen seized the blue diamond from my hands even then and fled from Vladivostok to Japan.”
“Boirof and the one lying dead here are two of those soldiers from that time.”
“The remaining one had long since perished, fighting against a multitude of people over the diamond.”
“Recently, the dancer, Boirof, the candy seller, and these two—they are all but a small part of the sacrifices that mark the two-hundred-year cursed history of the blue diamond.”
“For this diamond, countless kings and nobles have lost their lives.”
“Louis XVI, Alexander II, the banker Hope, the candy seller—before the curse of the blue diamond, they are all the same.”
“What a terrifying number of corpses!”
“I am no longer pursuing this gemstone out of self-interest.”
“I resolved to somehow permanently remove this dreadful cursed gemstone from human hands—either return it to its original place in the Hyderabad Buddha statue or hurl it into an eternally blazing volcanic crater.”
“The diamond is mine.”
“No matter whose hands it may be in, I should be able to take it and dispose of it.”
“Such a diamond is far too precious to adorn the human body.”
“It serves no purpose.”
“But behold.”
“The blue diamond that had thrived on two hundred years of curses was now swallowed by those raging waves.”
The peerless gem—valued at millions of yen in today’s prices, or rather, perhaps even tens of millions—sank into the ocean’s depths, proclaiming the end of its cursed existence.
“So that it may never again appear in this world to curse human lives, let us at least pray in Buddha’s holy name.”

The beautiful and noble woman discarded the black sable coat upon the rocks, quietly closed her eyes, and prayed reverently toward the raging waves' depths.