Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“I actually thought about confessing.”

A Red Cross nurse wearing a soiled and grime-encrusted uniform calmly looked around to either side.

He was seated at a desk in a secluded room of the Qing dynasty’s wealthy Liu family residence, surrounded by a large crowd.

Those surrounding him were all military laborers.

Among those dozen or so military laborers was a burly man standing resolutely facing the nurse.
This was the centurion.
His name was Umino.
Umino was a man of thirty-eight or thirty-nine—his stout-boned limbs thoroughly robust, his stature towering above the rest.

Now, when they all heard the words the nurse had uttered,

“What! You thought about confessing?”
“No—in fact, were you trying to disclose our side’s internal affairs to the enemy?”
“You.”

The words he spoke carried a certain harshness.

The nurse nonchalantly,

“That’s correct.
Don’t hit me, don’t kick me—your honor, isn’t this excessively cruel?
After three days without food, when I was faint and my vision blurred, they stripped me bare, strung me up on a tree branch, and beat me with rifle butts.
Well, what would you have done?
The torture grew so unbearable that even I thought to confess everything—to end that pain quickly.
But regarding military affairs, I knew nothing at all. As for Red Cross matters? Thoroughly explained every hospital detail.
Yet such information proved useless.
They kept demanding military intelligence—tormenting me ever more fiercely.
The agony was unendurable, but truth remains: I couldn’t speak what I didn’t know.
In the end, they failed to extract anything—ah, how utterly vexing.
Truly deplorable—the barbarism of these Chinese.
They fundamentally misunderstood the Red Cross’s structure—lumped us together with combatants.
It simply can’t be helped.”

As though confiding personal matters to a close friend, he calmly narrated his story.

However, Umino, upon hearing this, wore an unconvinced expression.

“So what you’re saying is, if you’d known our internal affairs, you’d have blabbered every last detail.”

The nurse calmly answered.

“Exactly. The torture was severe.”

The centurion bristled with indignation,

“What nonsense! You still had your life, didn’t you? Even if your flesh rotted or your skin split—so long as you kept breathing, that’s hardly what I’d call real torture.”
“Moreover—we being men of the divine land, and comrades here on the battlefield—”
“No matter what happens—to speak the unspeakable—what kind of coward would whine about a bit of pain from a beating and try to confess our side’s secrets?”
“Of course, you didn’t confess.”
“There’s no doubt you didn’t—but the very fact that you would’ve talked had you known anything proves your heart’s no longer a compatriot’s. It’s no different from colluding with the enemy.”

As he spoke, Umino took a step forward and glared at the nurse once more.

The nurse, having composed himself,

“No—when I was captured by the enemy, I had received no orders to endure torture and keep military secrets confidential, nor had I sworn any such oath.”
“And that’s entirely correct—to treat those bearing the Red Cross on their sleeves as equivalent to combatants is something neither I nor—I presume—you all would ever consider.”

“This is the battlefield, you fool!”
“What?!”
“Quit spouting such carefree nonsense!”

One of the military laborers stomped forward.
The centurion spread his left hand toward the commotion to block while,

“Wait, now—this isn’t some trivial scuffle.”
“This is a trial.”
“Punishment comes only after the crime has been fully determined.”
“Don’t make a commotion.”
“What a racket.”

The military laborers withdrew in silence.
The other numerous military laborers who had been grumbling under their breath also ceased their clamor and fell silent.
However, all bore an air of unease.
Eyes sharp, spirits fierce—each clenching their fists, elbows unconsciously spread wide as they feigned composure—packed into a single room where lamplight cast a cold glow and a chilling wind laden with murderous intent swept through; Manchuria’s vast expanse lay deep into its first night.

II

At that moment, Umino composed his expression and spoke in a tone as if admonishing,

“Now, this won’t do.”
“Even if we, your compatriots, told you to confess—you are Japanese.”
“There’s no call to spill your guts needlessly—let our bones turn to gravel if they must!”
“How dare you say that to our faces—that you’d have confessed everything if you’d known? What kind of logic is that?”
“Huh?”
“How’s that?”
“That’s hardly the duty we spoke of, is it?”

The nurse leaned his body at an angle, resting one hand on the chair while fiddling with the pencil in his hand,

“But still, that may well be the case.”

and turned his profile to the side.

Umino, with eyes wide open, tracked the face of the nurse who had averted his gaze.

“What? That may well be the case?
“Hey now, you can’t go spouting irresponsible nonsense like that.”

He slowly pressed forward again.
The nurse slightly lowered his gaze.
He tested the sharpness of the pencil tip with his tongue and doodled on his uniformed knee,

“Irresponsible?”
“I see.”

He offered no resistance whatsoever; nor did he show any sign of concern.

The centurion grew greatly agitated,

“Just ‘I see’ won’t cut it.”
“Depending on how this proceeds, we certainly have our ways.”
“Won’t you brace yourself and answer properly?”

“What methods do you have?”

The nurse raised his face but did not meet Umino’s eyes.

“To begin with, it seems an ambush was laid where I was passing through.”
“What reason had you all—in such numbers—to carry me into this house like a palanquin?”

Umino, now energized by this retort, shook his shoulders as agitation overtook him.

“Because there are questions to ask.”
“We have means.”
“We have methods, but first we’ll hear what needs hearing.”

“Ah—so this follows someone’s command then?”

Umino said haughtily,
“Who said anyone asked me?
It’s by my own discretion that I’m conducting this inquiry.”

The nurse turned his ear outward and listened.

“Then do you all have the right to interrogate others?”

The centurion’s face flushed.

“Quit your squawking!”

With a loud shout, he struck a single blow to the head.
As if detonating a shockwave, he swept his gaze across the row of fiercely agitated military laborers, then fixed those eyes back upon the nurse.

“We may not have the right, but we have brute strength!”

“Huh? Brute strength?”

The nurse, tightly clad in his rain-faded pale yellow short coat and leggings—their appearance resembling the ghosts of prisoners—glanced at the surrounding figures and furrowed his well-defined brows.

“Understood. And what is it that you wish to hear?”

“You know damn well! As I’ve been saying all along! Why do you lack even the concept of a nation? Because you find it too painful to face harsh treatment, you intend to confess to the enemy. I don’t understand that mentality.” (Well, perhaps that is the case)—isn’t that the height of irresponsibility? “I won’t stand for such evasiveness! Answer properly!”

The pressing centurion now held a thick cudgel in hand.

“Then how should I phrase it to not be irresponsible?”

“You yourself must atone for that crime.”

“Then how should I atone?”

“Tell us about the enemy’s situation!
“The enemy’s situation.”

With that, Umino relaxed his expression slightly and leaned back heavily into the chair.

“I hear that when you mysteriously returned from enemy territory and were interrogated by the officers in charge about your experiences as a prisoner, there was an explicit order to report on enemy intelligence—yet you stubbornly repeated ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I have no information,’ letting it end at that.”
“You were in enemy territory for two months nursing their soldiers, weren’t you?”
“They say you acted so earnestly and kindly, exerting yourself greatly for their sake, that the enemy general sent a letter of gratitude when releasing you.”
“With that level of trust, you must’ve heard all sorts of secrets. Even just from observation, you should’ve learned most of their situation.”
“What reason could you have for staying silent despite knowing?”
“Don’t you lack even the slightest patriotism?”

“No, truly—what I heard were only groans, and what I saw were only bandages.”

III

“What? Bandages and groans—you saw and heard nothing else?”
“Don’t spout such half-baked nonsense.”

Umino suppressed rising irritation and endeavored to maintain a semblance of composure.

The nurse ought to speak his true feelings, without the slightest pretense,

“I truly don’t know.”
“If there were anything beneficial to say, why would I conceal it?”
“Moreover, I found no necessity whatsoever to conceal anything.”

The centurion looked suspiciously,

“So, in other words, you were utterly insensitive and made no effort to investigate the enemy’s affairs.”

“I never particularly considered inquiring.”

And the nurse placed his hand on his forehead.

Umino poked the floor with his cudgel and stomped his foot in frustration,

“Aren’t you utterly insensitive? To gather enemy intelligence, scouts and detectives pile effort upon effort, then risk their lives trying to achieve their objectives—and nine times out of ten, they fail. Moreover, in the safest, most convenient position, you completely neglect it and don’t even try to listen. Utterly in...sensitive!”

He sighed indignantly.
The nurse stroked his neck and tilted his head,

“I see, that’s how it was.”
“If I’d had leisure, I might have noticed such details, but being wholly preoccupied with the sick and wounded soldiers, I was negligent.”
“With preparations wholly incomplete and care insufficient, I was exceedingly busy.”
“I barely had five minutes of rest, working tirelessly without a moment’s sleep.”
“But with both equipment and medicine being inadequate, I couldn’t provide satisfactory care and ended up leaving many to die. Under such circumstances, how could I possibly have had the capacity to investigate enemy intelligence?”

Before he could even finish speaking,

“What? What? What?”

Umino bellowed like a lion and sprang to his feet.

“What sort of talk is that? Who are you directing those words at?”

—his tone snarling as though he meant to bite through steel.

The nurse—as though oblivious to how he now stood on the perilous edge of a dangerous precipice—maintained an innocent—no, rather naive—demeanor.

“All of this is indeed the truth.”

“What? The truth?!”
“Hmm! You neither see nor hear for your allies—never asking, never listening—yet break your very bones for the enemy! Toiling without sleep or breath! Is this what you call truth?!”
“No—remarkable. Utterly commendable.”
“Only such devotion could earn an enemy’s letter of gratitude.”
“Perfectly logical.”

Having said this, Umino stared fixedly at his opponent’s dreamlike countenance, laughed mockingly, and boomed:

“Ah, a peerless champion indeed.”
“Japan’s very honor.”
“None but you could merit an enemy’s testimonial.”
“You must deem this glorious.”
“Splendid!”
“Positively splendid!”
“The nation’s beacon!”
“Japan’s blossom!”
“We too must covet such distinction.”
“You—that prized relic, nay, your cherished treasure—I insist upon first inspecting this gratitude letter.”

Though his words were gentle, the displeasure filling his chest was too vast to be contained in sound.

The nurse offered no objection,

“Ah yes, I believe there was one. Please wait a moment.”

Putting away the pencil in his hand while searching inside his coat pocket,

“Ah, here it is.”

He took out a letter.

"The calligraphy is quite skillful," he remarked nonchalantly while handing it over and placing it in Umino’s hand.

"You must not tear it."

“Oh no, I shall examine it with utmost reverence.”

Umino received the letter of gratitude with exaggerated ceremony and spent considerable time scrutinizing its contents before rustlingly unfolding it and holding it aloft in both hands. Having hushed their voices, stilled their murmurs, and made them hold their breath, he displayed it before the gathered multitude of military laborers.

“Look at this!”
“You bastards know what this is? A letter of thanks!”
“Get this—it’s a missive of gratitude from the Chinese!”
“Human beings are honest.”
“None lower their heads in courtesy without cause.”
“Particularly enemies—the Chinese who stand against us.”
“That they’d send back a prisoner with such courtesies—you’d best consider it remarkable!”

Before he could finish speaking, Umino once again took hold of the letter of gratitude and swung it around to show the group of military laborers behind him—when a tall figure appeared in the doorway. A black hood and black overcoat veiled his face and enveloped his frame; he wore long boots. Tilting his head slightly, he fixed his gaze intently upon the letter of gratitude. A thick stream of smoke swirled and gathered around his lips, the aroma of the cigar pungent.

IV

The centurion turned back and continued his speech.

“What do you think? He became a prisoner without any backbone, surrendered out of fear for his life, abandoned his comrades, and nursed the Chinese back to health. And those very efforts of his are beyond the pale! It’s written right here in this letter—he treated them as if they were his own parents or siblings! Lavished them with appalling kindness, saved their lives, shamelessly came back, and even had the gall to receive this letter of gratitude. How about that? Isn’t he magnificent? What would you bastards do?”

Before he had even finished speaking, the entire crowd suddenly shattered the silence with a thunderous roar—an indescribable cacophony of voices.
“Traitor! Rebel! Kill him! Beat him down!” The mob’s unified shouts crescendoed into searing curses and threats, their individual cries dissolving into meaningless noise as the room erupted into bedlam so violent that the nurse’s life seemed moments from ending. Yet Kanzaki sat frigidly composed in his chair, solitary and unmoved.
His vigilant scanning of the surroundings mirrored precisely his demeanor during midnight vigils in hospital wards—that unrelenting watchfulness as clocks ticked and patients slept, never permitting a moment’s lapse.
Though the military laborers’ zeal to attack him peaked, the centurion’s repeated gestures to suppress them held sway; perhaps some prior warning stayed their hands, for even as they stamped feet and surged forward, comrades gripped fists and wrestled arms until the tempest subsided harmlessly.
Umino rerolled the letter of gratitude and shoved it across the small table,

“Then I’ll return it.”
“But because of this letter of gratitude, those hot-blooded bastards are making such a fuss.”
“They’re in a frenzy—‘Kill him! Beat him down!’”
“Hmm, perhaps I should keep it after all.”
“Why don’t you tear it up and trample on it?”
“That’d give you a bit of relief, and maybe get those bastards to see reason.”
“Otherwise, even though they’re men who’d spare no life for the nation’s sake, there’s no telling what they might do.”
“Think carefully and take it back—is that acceptable?”

While listening, the nurse casually took it in hand, and even as Umino’s words showed no sign of ceasing, the letter of gratitude obtained from the enemy was already stored away in his coat pocket.

“You took it!” Umino’s voice, uncharacteristically raised, caused the nurse to regard him with a questioning look.

“Is that not permissible?”

“Examine your conscience!”

“I have not the slightest guilty conscience.”

He declared quite resolutely.
His countenance innocent, his words dispassionate—in short, the nurse was no weakling swayed by temptations or inwardly wavering over right and wrong; rather, he possessed some steadfast conviction, and even should that conviction falter, there likely existed within him a resolute force impervious to any external influence.

Each time Umino heard these responses, he would feel astonishment, anger, and irritation, yet perceiving the genuinely guileless nature of the man’s demeanor—which showed no signs of rhetorical embellishment—he began suspecting whether this might indeed be an imbecile. As if testing whether he might teach the man the meaning of patriotism, he slightly softened his expression and adopted a ponderous, deliberate manner of speech,

“You must harbor some guilt.”
“You ought to reflect.”
“Does such a thing exist—being captured for the enemy’s benefit?”
“If resistance proved futile, why did you not commit seppuku?”
“As a son of the divine land, you should have torn out your entrails and smeared them across the enemy’s face!”
“That too might be excused—circumstances may prevent capture. But to betray our secrets merely to avoid a beating—you’re a spineless coward!”
“Worse still, you nursed those Chinese with kindness—without even the decency to boast of your efforts!”
“Not only have you brought shame upon us compatriots, but you return unrepentant to accept this commendation—what warped conscience allows this?”
“Had you at least brought enemy intelligence as tribute, there might be leniency—had you tried but failed due to their vigilance, forgiveness might yet be warranted. Yet when questioned by officers earlier, and again by me now, you showed no interest in their affairs—utterly incomprehensible!”
“To claim you were too busy tending wounded enemies to even contemplate such matters—it defies all reason!”
“Traitor! Turncoat! Should they suspect you colluded with the enemy and came to spy on us—you’ll have only yourself to blame!”

V

“Otherwise, there’s no way those barbaric, cruel enemies would return a prisoner so readily.”
“However, there is no evidence for that; we do not insist you colluded with the enemy. But leaving a man devoid of national spirit as he stands would affect our army’s morale—we must either witness repentance or impose fitting sanctions.”
“Of course, since you’ve breached no military code, the officers likely saw no cause for action.”
“Yet we patriots—who’ve forsaken parents, wives and children to serve the nation—will not abide this.”
“All present here find your conduct wanting. Even should the officers tacitly allow it, such a traitor shall be judged by each of us for disciplinary measures.”
“Is that acceptable?”
“Even now after my words—will you not rend and discard that vile gratitude letter?”
“You still claim no guilt—but does your conscience not prick you even slightly? That I would hear.”
“No evasive answers permitted.”

The nurse listened attentively, deeply pondering his words, remained motionless in silence, hesitated slightly, and did not speak.

He interjected with a self-satisfied air.

“You will give an accountable answer and let everyone in this room hear it.”

He declared, glancing to both sides.

One of the military laborers cried out.
“Doctor.”

They did not call him master.
Umino was an old veteran, after all.

“Doctor, hurry up an’ get it over with.”
“Ain’t got time fer trouble.”

“Beat ’im down!” someone hollered.

“Hey Cap’n! Get yer head straight an’ make ’im answer!”
“Hmph—let’s see what ya do now.”

“Coward! Keep that mouth running and it’ll be your last!”

They clamored again in unison.
The stomp-stomp-stomp of four or five men’s feet pounding the floorboards rang out.

The nurse had likely realized that what Umino termed physical coercion was now imminent against him.
Yet he felt not the slightest guilt in his heart; without any trace of anguish, he calmly turned toward Umino,

“I feel not the slightest shame in my conscience.”

He answered lightly and remained composed.

“What? No shame?”

Retorted Umino, glaring.

“Once more—surely you have nothing to feel guilty about?”

The nurse smiled—

“There is no need to repeat it.”

His faith proved unshakably resolute.
Umino clenched his fist until it trembled.
Unable to extract what he wanted, he simply—simply—kept glaring at him.

At that moment, the nurse remained composed,

"I am not a combatant. If you wish to condemn me, do so as a Red Cross nurse—and I insist you address me accordingly."

With this retort, he smirked.

"For gathering military intelligence, there exist proper scouts."
"Those lacking combat strength cannot resist enemies—they escape when possible, but face capture when unsuccessful."
"In my duty to aid the wounded and sick, distinctions like enemy or ally, Japan or Qing hold no meaning."
"There exist only patients—nothing more."
"When captured and held in enemy territory, I received a request to care for their ailing soldiers."
"Failing to achieve results despite utmost effort would disgrace the Red Cross."
"No—even disregarding disgrace, it would constitute professional negligence."
"Yet as I stated earlier, I find them truly pitiable compared to our forces."
"Their disarray borders on tragic—systems so broken that neglect becomes inevitable."
"But accepting that was impossible. Through immense effort, I barely preserved the dignity of a Red Cross nurse."
"This letter of gratitude serves as proof. Presenting it to our nation would satisfy all Society members."
"My duties alone strained my capacity—how could I possibly spy or scout?"
"Even were it feasible, such meddling exceeds my purview."
"My statements to your honor and your reports to superiors align perfectly—I know nothing beyond this."
"Praise and censure matter not—call me rebel or traitor as you will."
"My identity as a nurse suffices."
"But should you claim I've disgraced this role, I'll explain myself, accept charges, and bear full responsibility."

“But whether patriotism is this or hostility toward enemies is that—such things have no bearing on the matter.”
“I am a Red Cross nurse.”

He stated without faltering.
In the nurse’s speech, there was neither modulation nor hesitation.

VI

The Centurion’s face flushed crimson as he gripped his concealed cane like one ready to shatter everything before him, yet the tangled thoughts piercing his chest left him unable to find any strand of rebuttal; only his flaring nostrils and quivering beard moved, rendering him utterly deflated in appearance.

At that moment, a military laborer stepped forward—

“Damn you—spoutin’ your pretty words like that!”

Shouting loud, he stepped quick to the nurse’s side, peerin’ into his face—

“Hey Cap’n—pretty-boy Cap’n—how ’bout it?”
“Quit yer pretendin’.”
“That lousy excuse—makes me sick.”
“Red Cross this, nurse that—quit flappin’ them fancy Chinese words! Think slick talk’ll save ya? No damn way!”
“We all know it, fool.”
“Bastard—get captured by Qing scum? Ain’t fit to wear Japan’s colors!”
“Loved by some Tang hussy, you half-breed—yap ’bout ‘I did this’ an’ ‘he did that,’ but truth’s clear! Sweet on that Nanjing girl, nursed her Qing boys special—knew their secrets an’ kept ’em shut!”
“This mouth’s a truth-mirror!”
“We always know.”
“Listen up! Started when some rich Chinaman got chewed by bandits roadside. Cap’n took pity—had us patch ’im up, made this guy escort ’im home.”
“So when nursin’ that Qing bastard back, their soldiers jumped ya?”
“Caught after gettin’ yer face smashed—rich guy owed ya big. Tried hidin’ ya risky-like, but too many eyes. Ended up stashed deep in women’s quarters—five days face-to-face? Girl fell hard.”
“Never thought she’d crash down so?”
“Fifth day when Qing retreated—caught ya good.”
“Everythin’ from that day stuck.”
“Five-six of us hurryin’ through blizzard so thick ya couldn’t see spit—found woman half-buried, twitchin’.”
“Part-Chinese trash, but woman—figured ‘why bother?’ Warmed ’er by fire—came back alive. Rika here—this one.”
“Sufferin’ separation pains—ran out alone for one look. Frozen stiff in snowstorm.”

“That we only found out later—but right then, we hauled her and delivered her all the way home.”
“Through that connection, I been comin’ and goin’ to that so-called father’s Qing house regular-like—so I know every damn detail.”
“The woman—ain’t she got peculiar tastes? Sayin’ she misses you bastard so bad she took to her bed—how ’bout that? These days, not a sip o’ broth nor water passes her lips.”
“The father’s frettin’ himself sick—his gunshot wound ain’t even healed proper—but he’s been makin’ daily pilgrimages to brigade HQ tryin’ to get word of this bastard.”
“So everyone’s already got the gist of it, ain’t they?”
“Since it’s even reached the Captain’s ears—he knows all about it—you bastard.”
“You gave that same spiel during your interrogation too, didn’t ya?”
“Christ! ’Cause you ain’t got a lick o’ sense what a spineless worm you are—what a goddamn waste! Even the Captain—oh, pitiful—says he’s gotta keep watch on that woman’s father and put ’im to work. A fuckin’ harrowin’ ordeal, I tell ya!”
“You ain’t even thinkin’ ’bout none o’ that—just brazen nursin’ Qing soldiers, takin’ their thanks, no shame at all, swannin’ back here all breezy-like—what in hell’s your scheme?!”
“At first, I near pitied you—now I can’t stomach how much I loathe you.”
“Any bastard who’d turn Qing spy ain’t got no Yamato-damashii—and anyone without Yamato-damashii ain’t no brother to us Japanese! If you ain’t Japanese, you’re no better’n Qing scum!”
“Let’s kick your gut wide open, drag out your innards, chew ’em to pulp and spit ’em out!”

“There!” barked Umino, striking the table once.
During this time, the other military laborers—while intermittently feigning sympathy—did nothing but drown out his voice with their torrent of abuse and intimidation.

Though besieged by hostile voices and encircled by gathering physical force, he showed not a flicker of concern between his brows. With a countenance as untroubled as one whiling away a languid spring afternoon, he crossed one knee over the other—then that knee over another—alternating back and forth, each shift punctuated by the creak of his boots.
At heart, he remained as composed as if at leisure.

Indeed, was it not precisely such equanimity—maintained only by one who, like him, believed wholeheartedly in the elemental principle of the Red Cross Society: that philanthropy knows no bounds—that would prove impossible to preserve for any other?

“There!” roared the Centurion, who having now struck the table and seemingly reached a grave resolution, stood resolutely before the nurse.

“Even if you’re insensitive—hey—you must’ve caught at least some of what this military laborer’s been saying. How about it? Before all present here, you are an unrighteous, inferior, cowardly wretch who comprehends nothing of the national polity—a traitor, shameless and spineless—an inhuman monster. Everyone has judged you unworthy of being Japanese—how about that? Even so, does your conscience not feel shame?”

“I feel no shame,” the nurse responded to their voices.
The Centurion nodded.

“Good—state your name again.”

“My name? Kanzaki Aisaburou.”

Seven

“Hmm. Then, Kanzaki—where exactly do you think we are now?”

Umino adopted a weighty solemnity and posed his question with calculated gravity.

When asked, he glanced around the room,

“Yes, I do feel as though I recognize this place somewhere.”

“Hmm, you wouldn’t understand.”
“If you understood even that much, there’d be no call for me to speak so boldly.”

While stroking his moss-covered beard, he loomed imposingly and looked down upon Kanzaki from his full height.

“This… this is Yanagiga House.”
“The home of Rika—the one who’s in love with you!”

Exchanging glances with the military laborer who had just recounted his experiences, the two smirked knowingly.

Kanzaki, with a dreamlike countenance, opened his eyes wide in entranced stillness.

"Don't just stand there dazed!
"This is Yanagiga House."
"The woman's house!"
"If there were questions to ask, they could be posed anywhere—but we deliberately dragged you here because we must have our reasons."
"Even an insensate man should comprehend something so elementary."
"We've expelled all family members—Rika lies within our control."
"I declare this beforehand—is that clear?"

“Now then,” he declared, “even after making this clear, a Red Cross nurse remains a Red Cross nurse—as long as he fulfills his duties as a nurse alone, it’s only natural he refrains from all else. Gathering enemy intelligence falls to detectives; engaging in battle is restricted to combatants alone. To put it plainly, stirring up hostility toward enemies is the work of idle hands with no steady occupation, and zealously serving the nation is the pastime of meddlers. When you boil it down—as long as a person does only what they ought to do—our blaming you naturally stems from our own idleness.”

Kanzaki bore an air of hesitation,

“Indeed, I am a nurse.”

Having received this cold answer, the Centurion bore a resolute expression.

“Listen well—you won’t do anything beyond your duties?!”

“I cannot do that. If I had the time, I would make cotton thread.”

The response was thus settled.

The Centurion had exhausted all words.
Umino raised his anguished voice.

“It’s no use.”
“Killing you achieves nothing.”
“Very well—we shall now resort to another measure.”
“Ken!”
“Kichi!”
“Kuma!”
“Handle this matter!”

In response to the voice, the three robust men broke away from the group and faced the doorway.
The pitch-black figure—who had stood rigid as a wooden statue with his back against the plank door of the exit, both hands buried in his coat pockets without moving a muscle, as if smoking a cigarette—turned with a loud clack of his boots and ushered them out of the room.
The three men ran off.
The three military laborers who had come running—two grabbing her hands from either side, one pushing her back from behind—forcibly dragged in Rika, a young Qing woman of exceptional beauty unparalleled in the world, and thrust her down beside Umino. Rika had been confined to her sickbed; though part of the same household, she had been raised in seclusion, unaware of the world’s harsh winds. This was likely her first time entering such a room. Emaciated from prolonged illness, her nightgown hung limply on her frail form, the flowers on her hairpin wilted—a banished celestial maiden deserving of pity.

“Traitor!” he shouted.
The Centurion extended his simian arm, seized the white neck of the beautiful sacrifice, and wrenched her face upward toward Kanzaki’s.

Rika—her hands gripped by beasts, her skin coiled by serpents—existed beyond terror now, her spirit half-ascended to heaven as she drifted between dream and waking. Yet catching sight of Kanzaki, her gaunt cheeks flushed crimson. Unblinking, she stared fixedly before her entire body shuddered violently—

“Ah!” At that blood-curdling cry, the startled military laborers reflexively loosened their grip. Deprived of their supporting force, she collapsed backward and lay rigid as a plank.

The nurse rose involuntarily and abruptly from his chair.

The Centurion raised his hairy shin, stomped down on Rika's abdomen, and cast a sharp sidelong glance in this direction.

“How about it? Even now, even now—don’t you feel compelled to act beyond your duties?”

At the same time, the group of military laborers scrambled to their feet and pinned down Rika’s limbs.
“Traitor! How’s this?!”

Umino lowered his own hand and tore the hem of Rika’s nightgown with a ripping sound.

VIII

At that moment, the tall black-clad figure suddenly dropped his pipe, and from within the hood that turned toward them, a pair of eyes gleamed fiercely.

Alas, what did the nurse do?

Though his complexion had changed, the immeasurable agony in his heart betrayed not the slightest hint in his bearing; he maintained his composure, deliberately brushed down his uniform, swept back the slightly overgrown hair hanging over his pale forehead with his left hand, took the hat placed on the desk in one hand, and solemnly rose to his feet—

“Gentlemen.”

With only that utterance, he dismissed them.

Through the gaps between Umino and the military laborers—soldier after soldier after soldier—only a fleeting glimpse was caught of pure white, slender fingers stretching, bending, escaping through.
With light footsteps, he shifted his position and took his leave of Rika.
Thus, after five minutes had passed, the disappointed patriotic zealots and their brawn all swiftly departed the room, and in the shadow of the dim solitary lamp, Rika’s pallid corpse lay.
The black-clad figure who had stood rigidly without averting his gaze until this moment strode out into the center of the room, looked up at the lamp and down at Rika, solemnly leaned against the chair, rested one elbow on the table, and glared through the pencil tip with a flash in his eyes.
On the telegraph form, he scrawled—

Month Day From Haicheng

I have witnessed.

Within the Japanese military existed a traitor who had fulfilled Red Cross obligations and been sent a letter of gratitude by the enemy.
Yet there also existed patriotic military laborers who, driven by hostility toward the enemy, had captured and violated a Qing patient.
Details would follow.

John Belton

London, England, Averley Telegraph Agency Editorial Department

Meiji 29 (1896), January