Pathway to Japanese Literature

Hachi the plasterer stood vacantly at the foot of the slope beside Sendagaya Station, bathed in the light spilling from the ticket gate, wearing a workman’s coat turned inside out and resewn with patch layered upon patch. It must have been around eight in the evening.

Hachi's mind was chaotic. The pain of alcohol he craved but couldn't drink had become his dominant emotion, nearly paralyzing both reason and will entirely. Within Hachi's mind, imagination painted a certain scene. In the corner of the earthen floor sat a large water vessel filled to the brim with clear water. From a rubber hose fitted to the faucet, water trickled faintly into it. On the water floated two or three small barrels. Above where the water vessel stood hung a shelf with cups placed upside down. The cups seemed to hover so vividly before his eyes that Hachi nearly reached out to take them then and there.

The single fact that he couldn't remain standing here like this forever was something even Hachi understood. Then where should he go? Under normal circumstances, he ought to return home. A row house he’d recently moved into because the rent was cheap—newly built with a wood-shingle roof that leaked rain. But there was a fearsome enemy there. Hachi never hesitated to pick fights with friends. Because with friends, whether you struck or were struck, matters got settled one way or another. The enemy holed up in that wood-shingle roof wouldn’t go down like that. No matter how much he struck or pounded, the matter would never be settled. The enemy came charging with a battle cry. He struck and raised a welt. The welt flattened. The enemy came charging with another battle cry. Again he raised a welt. Again it flattened. No matter how many times Sisyphus's stone was pushed up, it rolled back down again. The only time Hachi dared to confront this enemy was while he still had liquor in his belly. If the alcohol ran out, he simply couldn’t bring himself to face the enemy camp. Truly, among all enemies that could exist, none was more fearsome than the mountain god.

Hachi stood vacantly. The darkness surrounding him gradually thickened, and the rain falling intermittently from the gray sky struck with a chill against the bald spot at the center of his head.

A train came to the station and stopped. The trio of soldiers emerged from the ticket gate and came talking loudly toward where Hachi stood. It appeared no one else had disembarked outside, and the streetcar departed just as it was. The raincoat of the soldier leading the way brushed perilously close against Hachi's workman's coat sleeve, and that soldier passed by. Hachi had been burned as a child, and due to the large scar running from his right outer canthus to his temple, he hadn't been conscripted. Therefore, he didn’t really understand things like military ranks. However, regarding the stout man with the square face who had led the way—judging by his age of around forty—the only thing Hachi could discern was that he must be a colonel or lieutenant colonel. Since the collar insignia weren’t a conspicuous color like red or green, he might have been artillery. The man passed by without so much as glancing back at Hachi. The two men following behind all bore red collar insignia, one being a ruddy-complexioned man of exceptional height, the other a compactly built man with a bitter-edged face. Both men appeared to be of the same rank as the man who had gone ahead. All of them passed by looking at his face. But most of all, the man with the bitter-edged face looked at him like a policeman would, he thought—Hachi felt both irritated and cowed, dropping his gaze to the ground.

The trio continued talking as they headed toward the new mansion. From midway up the slope onward it was pitch black, but they seemed accustomed to the path, deftly avoiding puddles as they went. Viewed from behind, their boot spurs glinted. Hachi began following them almost unconsciously. This was a path Hachi could have walked blindfolded.

They crossed two railroad crossings. The trio—though Hachi couldn't read it—entered through a black lintel gate where a lantern from the Arakawa Lighting Company bearing the inscription 'Arakawa' glowed. From the caretaker's quarters on the gate's left side emerged the caretaker who called out, "Welcome back!" The square-faced soldier who appeared to be master led the way guiding both men. A pedestal lamp stood lit in the entranceway. A boy of twelve or thirteen and another about eight came running out to the entranceway and clung to Father's right and left sides. The two guests who seemed like regular visitors spoke familiarly to the children. Both host and guests removed their raincoats hung them on nails along decorative beams and proceeded further inside. The caretaker aligned guests' boots on boot-removal stone took his master's boots back to his room then immediately returned closing gate doors.

Hachi stood in the rain across from the cedar fence entwined with five-clawed dragons, vacantly watching this scene; but when the caretaker came out to close the gate, he almost unconsciously began walking along the muddy path. Yet when the gate had fully closed, Hachi stopped once more. Exactly where he had halted stood a small gate bearing a glass lantern beneath its eaves. This was the entrance to the cedar-fenced house diagonally opposite Arakawa's residence. Hachi slipped under its roof.

Arakawa’s estate had the caretaker’s quarters and adjoining stable built facing the main road, with all else enclosed by a black plank fence. As Hachi stared fixedly at the mansion, the window of the caretaker’s room—which had been casting faint light until now—suddenly went completely dark. Before long, the caretaker opened the wicket gate, came out holding an oil-paper umbrella, and went off in the direction opposite to where Hachi was.

In Hachi's mind, the question of where to go at this moment resurfaced. And he thought of entering within this black plank fence. Though Hachi himself felt this thought had come entirely abruptly, such was not truly the case. The subconscious had been laboring beneath the threshold all along—this sudden emergence above it being merely its culmination. Having stood at the base of the station's slope with no destination in mind, Hachi had begun trailing after the soldiers when they passed by. In that instant, he'd sensed some inexplicable bond between himself and these military men. Yet when they vanished into the house, he felt bereft of his sole anchor. Simultaneously glimpsing the caretaker's form, he perceived this functionary as obstructing whatever connection had formed between himself and the soldiers. Then witnessing the caretaker's departure, that impediment seemed removed. Behind these sequentially arising perceptions lurked a will to steal—more deeply buried than even those threshold-dwelling sensations. Thus when he now resolved to enter this black enclosure, that thieving intent too sprang fully formed into conscious awareness.

Hachi diagonally crossed the thoroughfare and approached the black lintel gate. When he pushed the wicket with his hand, it opened without a sound. Hachi entered inside the gate. At that moment came a terrible clattering thud. Hachi, startled, put his hand on the wicket door behind him. However, the noise was caused by a horse rolling on its straw bedding. Hachi released his hand from the wicket door and looked around the area. To the right of the entrance stood a bamboo fence, beyond which lay what appeared to be a garden, with the tops of two or three cypress-like trees peeking through. Hachi passed in front of the caretaker’s quarters and turned to the left. When he reached the end of the stable, light streamed from the kitchen, and a woman's voice could be heard. It seemed the mistress and the maid were doing something together. When viewed against the light, from the edge of the stable to the boundary of the left neighboring property, there lay a dense bamboo thicket. Hachi observed the situation for a while, removed the wooden clogs he was wearing, placed them beneath the stable's eaves, and entered the bamboo thicket. And walking along the left neighbor’s fence, he passed through the lit area. The rain was pouring down so heavily that even when he stepped on the soggy mat of fallen bamboo leaves, not a single sound could be heard.

He reached the deepest recesses of the bamboo thicket. From this vantage point, he could see the eight-mat room with its shoji screens removed. The lamplight illuminated the trifoliate orange hedge demarcating the rear field boundary, making raindrops caught in spiderwebs glisten sharply. The master and guests had changed into summer yukata robes and settled near the veranda, where the diminutive guest observed the master playing Go against a tall officer with a ruddy complexion. Thick smoke rose from a square black brazier—extracted from a footwarmer like one Hachi owned—that held smoldering mosquito repellent. Periodically, the small-statured guest would scoop flea powder from a tin can using a lotus-engraved dipper to refresh the repellent. All three kept beer cups within easy reach. Beside the veranda sat a wooden bucket on the bare earth, its water chilling several beer bottles. The small man intermittently refilled their cups from these bottles. Each emptied bottle would be recorked and propped against the threshold after pouring. Hachi watched this meticulous ritual, convinced they were engaged in some peculiar ceremony.

The thicket was densely overgrown, yet the rain poured through relentlessly. Hachi's workman's coat clung tightly to his skin, the rain pounding against it making him feel wretched. When he looked around, where the side fence met the rear trifoliate orange hedge stood a large tree with foliage so thick it looked pitch black. It seemed to be a camellia tree. Hachi crawled beneath it and squatted. Here, the rain didn't penetrate. Just as he thought this favorable spot couldn't be better, mosquitoes began biting his face and legs. He wanted to crush them dead, but fearing to make noise, kept rubbing at the bites. The mosquitoes mocked his efforts—scattering only to immediately return and settle again. Hachi alternated between rubbing around his face and the areas near both ankles.

Mrs. Arakawa came out from the kitchen holding something. She had apparently brought pickles. The small-statured man said, “This is most kind,” and accepted the bowl from Mrs. Arakawa’s hands. Colonel Arakawa glanced at his wife and asked: “Did you set up the mosquito net in the six-tatami room?” “Yes,” she replied. “It has been set up.” “How are the children?” “They are resting in the four-and-a-half-tatami room.”

“I see. In that case, there’s nothing more to be done. Let the maid go to bed, and you should get some rest too.” “Yes. In that case, I shall take my leave from everyone.” The ruddy-faced man, holding a stone and deep in thought, said to Mrs. Arakawa:

“No— “You must find it quite troublesome to provide accommodations for us so frequently.” “Ahahaha.” “Not at all. “It’s no trouble whatsoever.”

Such exchanges could be heard clearly. Mrs. Arakawa withdrew to the kitchen area. After a while came the sound of the kitchen door being closed. Then followed two or three instances of sliding doors or panels being opened and shut, after which complete silence fell. A clock chimed. When Hachi counted, it marked ten o'clock.

In the Go game, the master seemed to have lost. He took out a handkerchief tucked into his loosened collar, wiped sweat from his forehead, and laughed loudly. The ruddy-faced man settled his large frame comfortably and smiled. This time, the small-statured man came forward as the ruddy-faced man's opponent. The master stood up and looked outside. For a moment it seemed their eyes might meet, but of course there was no way to see into the thicket. Hachi felt not the slightest fear; rather, he thought the master seemed like a decent gentleman. The master took out beer bottles chilling in the wooden bucket, uncorked them, poured into three cups, and downed his own in one gulp. Hachi involuntarily swallowed saliva.

This round of Go appeared to require considerably more effort than before. The small-statured guest remained deep in contemplation, reluctant to place his stone. The master observed for some time before abruptly rising and striding to the center of the tatami room, where he sprawled in a starfish position and began fanning himself with a nearby uchiwa. Only at lengthy intervals could one hear the clack of stones through the rain's patter, leaving the gathering utterly hushed. Having crawled beneath the camellia tree where barely any rain penetrated, Hachi sensed his workman's coat drying of its own accord. As night deepened yet retained its oppressive mugginess, he found the cooling touch against his skin paradoxically agreeable. Only the relentless mosquitoes proved troublesome. Though Hachi reasoned he should abandon this endeavor already, actual progress seemed frustratingly elusive. The intervals between stone placements grew ever longer. The small-statured man added more mosquito repellent before sitting arms-crossed in prolonged deliberation. This prompted the master to erupt in thunderous snores. The small-statured man rose and went to shake his superior awake.

“If you sleep, you’ll catch a cold.” “Hmm... Ah... Did I nod off? Ah...” The master sat up abruptly. With the air of someone greatly restored by his brief nap, he cheerfully approached the Go board’s side.

“Well! The battle situation hasn’t progressed one bit, has it?” The ruddy-faced man settled comfortably and smiled as he looked at the master’s face. “Still quite a ways to go.”

The small-statured guest once again faced the board. Still, he did not place his stone readily. The clock struck eleven. Hachi squatted under the camellia tree, patiently observing Arakawa and his guests. Though one might call it patience, in truth it was simply that Hachi’s temperament wasn’t particularly hasty, so he didn’t feel especially restless. During the Meiji 37-38 War, the phrase "holding standby positions" was often employed in military orders and such. Hachi didn’t particularly mind maintaining his standby position. Whenever beer passed through the throats of the host and guests, Hachi swallowed his saliva and endured. This was the hardest part. Hachi also thought of such things. He tried imagining whether he couldn't sneak to the far end of the veranda, go beneath it to that wooden bucket, and bring back a bottle. However, even Hachi couldn't help but admit this plan was too reckless. Moreover, even if he did manage to successfully bring back a bottle, removing the cork would prove difficult. In stories from soldiers who went off to war, to drink liquor left behind by the Russians they’d smash the bottle necks with bayonets—but unfortunately he lacked any such implement for breaking bottle mouths. There were no suitable stones nearby either. Moreover, if he broke the glass bottle, it would make noise. In Hachi’s head, these impossible deliberations came and went. And the funny thing was, he completely forgot why he was squatting there like that. At such times, he found himself entertaining carefree thoughts quite unbecoming of a thief—remarking on this heavy rain, how disastrous it would have been if there were no camellia tree like this, wishing at least the sky above would clear.

The match between the ruddy-faced man and the small-statured man showed no sign of concluding. The beer was being drunk vigorously. Among them all, the master was thoroughly sated in his rounds. Having drunk too much, the master apparently needed to urinate and entered the bathroom. The bathroom was located at the far end of the veranda opposite Hachi's position. The sound of the master clearing his throat, spitting phlegm, and urinating reached Hachi's ears. Upon hearing this, Hachi too felt an urgent need to relieve himself. The moment this urge struck him, a thought formed in his mind: That soldier gets to drink alcohol before pissing. I have to piss without even getting a drink. He found himself contemplating his wretched circumstances. Soon the pressure became unbearable. But relieving himself here would make noise. The rain had unfortunately dwindled to a fine drizzle. Any urination sounds would now carry clearly. After agonizing deliberation, Hachi mustered all his lifetime's cunning and aimed his stream at the camellia tree's trunk. Even so, his aim occasionally went astray. Each mishap startled him, but mercifully went unnoticed by all.

Hachi recalled something at that moment. "I've heard that thieves take a shit before breaking in," he thought. He considered trying it as a prelude, but found himself unwilling. The author reflected that when a thief defecates and overturns a washbasin over it, this undoubtedly serves as an apotropaic ritual—yet there seemed to be a deeper reason behind such practices. When breaking into houses to steal, nervous stimulation can involuntarily trigger intestinal peristalsis. It's exactly like how students sometimes feel the urge to defecate when heading out for exams. During the Meiji 37-38 War, there were soldiers who defecated in sorghum fields while under enemy artillery fire. Newspapers had written this up as bold behavior. That too was simply nervous stimulation. Hachi's mental functions had grown so dull that no such stimulation occurred. Thus he felt no need to shit.

The clock struck twelve. After a while, the Go match concluded. It appeared the small-statured man had won this time, for the ruddy-faced one was laughing and rubbing his closely cropped head. The master stood up from his seat as if he had thought of something. “Wait, wait. This time I’ll take my turn. But since we’ve run out of beer, I’ll bring a substitute.” Having said this, he took out a bottle of cognac with three small cups from the cupboard beside the alcove and placed them beside the Go board. Though the cognac’s cork had been removed, it hadn’t diminished much. The small-statured man took the bottle in hand and examined its label.

“This is no mere substitute.” “Quite a premium quality indeed.”

Having said this, he poured into three cups. The ruddy-faced man immediately took his own cup, put a little in his mouth, and clicked his tongue. While sitting across from the small-statured man, the master took his cup and poured it down his throat in one gulp. "Cognac is meant to be drunk like this." The small-statured man said, "Excuse me for a moment," stood up, took the beer cup out to the edge of the veranda, washed it with water from the bucket, then poured hot water from the small kettle on the tea tray into it—spilling the cognac from the small cup over it all.

The Go game between the master and the small-statured man began. The small-statured man maintained his deliberate, pondering style of play, while the master placed his stone the instant his opponent retracted his hand. Diluting his drink, the small-statured man contemplated each move as he positioned stones. The master would set down a stone and gulp undiluted liquor without hesitation. However swift the master's movements became, the small-statured man deliberated with unwavering thoroughness. Thus an appropriate measure of time elapsed.

After a while, the ruddy-faced man who had been watching nearby suddenly laughed with an "Ahaha" and said, "If it's come to this, there's no hope of turning things around." Eventually, the master said, "When you lose, lose with grace," and began dismantling the stones he had placed.

“When you lose, lose with grace.” “Now then.” “Let’s sleep, let’s sleep.” “It must be rather warm inside the mosquito net.” As he put away the stones, the small-statured man said. The master was nonchalant.

"Nonsense." "I'll leave the rain shutters slightly open - that should do."

When the master stood up and pulled the rain shutters from their compartment, the two guests left gaps of about one shaku between each panel before closing them. The host and guests left the room in disarray and apparently went to sleep in the mosquito net hung in the adjoining room. The clock struck one o'clock.

Hachi emerged from the thicket and came to the outside of the room where everyone slept, peering at the situation. Light shone from the direction of the eight-tatami room, but the space hung with mosquito nets lay in utter darkness. At first came the sound of fans being used, but soon this ceased and snoring arose. The master's and the ruddy-faced man's snores became discernible as separate rhythms. Before long, he could distinguish the small-statured man's breathing too. Hachi knew all three had fallen deeply asleep.

Hachi's state of mind differed slightly between when he had been in the thicket and after coming to the rain shutters. He grew markedly timid. Beneath his thoroughly soaked clothes, sweat welled up, streaming down the centerline of his chest in particular. Back in the thicket, even when it was hot, nothing like this had happened. Yet Hachi possessed a firm resolve to get inside the house quickly. And within his consciousness, the most vivid mental image was that of drinking alcohol. His desire to enter was chiefly a desire to drink alcohol. At the same time, it wasn't that he lacked thoughts of taking things. This stemmed from his belief that having become a thief, he must take things—not from any particular desire to do so. The craving for drink was a ferocious instinct. The notion of stealing amounted to nothing more than a sense of duty—the need to preserve a thief's dignity.

Hachi advanced along the outside of the rain shutters to where the bucket stood. The eight-tatami room lay with its shoji screens removed entirely, its lamp turned low and left burning in this space. Yet despite this openness, the karakami door bordering the six-tatami room—where three men slept beneath their mosquito net—remained fast shut. Hachi had spent minutes listening to their slumber breaths when he slipped through the rain shutters' gap sideways onto the veranda. As he crouched there imagining how visible he'd be if anyone stirred within that netted chamber, he darted past the Go board into the room itself. Having trodden only on bamboo leaves in the thicket and garden moss beneath, his feet bore little dirt— nothing but damp traces from the veranda's edge lingered.

Hachi first noticed four or five beer bottles arranged on two serving trays. Though he suspected they were likely empty, he picked them up to check—none held a single drop remaining. Next, he took the cognac bottle beside the Go board. It was still about three-quarters full. Hachi poured it into a beer cup until it was full and drank it down in one gulp. He thought it was a bit strong, but as it went down from his throat and settled in his stomach, there was a tingling, warm sensation that left him feeling remarkably good. Hachi drank a full large cup of cognac in three gulps. By the time he finished the third gulp, his entire body had begun glowing warmly, and he felt as if steam might rise from his rain-soaked workman’s coat. He poured what remained from the bottle into the cup but left it as it was. He decided to catch his breath before drinking.

Hachi swatted away the mosquitoes gradually gathering around him as he surveyed the room's interior. A space this barren was unusual. The alcove displayed no hanging scrolls - instead, two large artillery shells stood planted there. Around them lay haphazard stacks of books and magazines. A massive framed plaque hung from the decorative beam. Though illiterate, Hachi recognized this bore some marshal's four-character motto: "Move Through the Nine Heavens." A solitary desk sat pushed close before the alcove. In its lidless writing box, black and red ink bottles jostled for space among carelessly thrown brushes, pens, and pencils. Above stacks of ruled manuscript paper and grid-lined Western sheets rested a triangle ruler and compass serving as paperweights. Beyond these, only the Go board, mosquito repellent burner, and open bowls holding bottles and pickles remained - nothing else worth noting.

When Hachi had been outside the rain shutters, he had been timidly fidgeting about, but now his composure had returned. This was likely helped by the cognac gradually taking effect. That three grown men—soldiers no less—were sleeping just beyond a single sliding paper door in the adjacent room hardly concerned him now. Yet even in this calm state, Hachi found himself wondering: What if they were to wake up now? Would they cut me down with sabers? Or shoot me with pistols? But where would they even keep such weapons? He guessed they must have taken them to where they slept. This assumption proved accurate. Colonel Arakawa, master of the house, always kept his military uniform and saber in his sleeping quarters. Though naturally carefree—he’d once carelessly left his uniform lying about for his wife to tidy—a certain incident had since made him keep them close even while sleeping. Colonel Yasuoka with his ruddy complexion and diminutive Lieutenant Colonel Utsunomiya, both guests tonight, followed their host’s example by keeping their full military attire within reach wherever they lodged.

What Arakawa had experienced was during the 37-38 Year War, after the Battle of Mukden had concluded, when the army was encamped near Changtu. To prevent the soldiers from growing weary, they set up theater stages there and had them perform plays. When Arakawa went to stay at the Kogiku Army headquarters one day on business, there was also a theater performance there. After finishing dinner, he went to see it. It was a cold evening, and everyone was bundled in furs and other garments to watch. Almost none had brought their swords.

At that moment, General Kogiku arrived. General Kogiku alone had brought his military sword and kept it unsheathed by his side even while watching the performance. This had greatly pleased Arakawa. Arakawa had heard warrior tales from the time of the Kōetsu War. Among them was one about a samurai who went unarmed to play Go at a neighbor's house and found himself caught off guard when a fight broke out. Later, when news of this reached his superiors, he was stripped of his position and stipend. Recalling this, Arakawa sensed the military commander's mindset. From then on, Arakawa never let his military sword leave his side under any circumstances.

Hachi thought it would be good if the soldiers didn't wake up. Thinking about whether he might be cut down or shot wasn't a very good feeling. However, Hachi didn't feel particularly keenly that this danger was upon his own person. He thought such a thing was possible. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to believe it would happen any moment now. Hachi was beginning to feel the cognac's effects. Those who love drink are not necessarily strong drinkers. Especially as drinkers grow older, their tolerance for alcohol weakens. Hachi himself had been a strong drinker until around thirty. Approaching forty, his fondness for drink remained, but his tolerance had weakened. Hachi's head was growing slightly unsteady. Yet his throat was dry and craving a drink, so he took a sip of the cognac he'd poured into the cup. This time, it seemed too strong. Hachi mixed in hot water from the nearby kettle and tried taking another sip. Finding it went down smoothly, he gulped it down. The clock struck two o'clock.

Hachi felt somewhat awakened by the clock's chime and remembered his duty as a thief. He recalled that he needed to take something with him. Then he looked around his surroundings again. Yet nothing particular caught his eye. Hachi lacked even the energy to consider venturing beyond this room. The muscles of his face had slackened completely, his eyes—made red-rimmed by the upward pull of his burn scar—appeared dull and unfocused. No sooner had he resolved to take something than he seemed on the verge of forgetting again. So he rallied himself—this wouldn't do—pressing both hands against his cross-legged knees, stiffening his arms while muttering "Hmph...mocking me..." under his breath as he scanned his surroundings once more.

At this moment, Hachi noticed the desk placed before the bedding had drawers fitted to it. He stood up and carried his sluggish body to the desk. When he stood up, he felt as if riding a balloon, but once he sat cross-legged before the desk, his mind returned to its usual state. The desk was constructed from distylium wood or similar material, with brass fittings adorning its drawers. He placed his hand on it and pulled, and it slid open smoothly. The drawer was mostly filled with discarded letters. Some were still in envelopes. Some were not inside any. There were also ones in Western letters mixed in. Picture postcards were jumbled among them. When he brushed aside some of the discarded letters and looked, several beautiful lacquered small boxes lay in one corner. When he opened them, the insides were all empty. These were medal display boxes. In the opposite corner lay a rather large box made of reddish wood with a pronounced grain pattern. Upon it were placed two items side by side: a small silver box adorned with a golden chrysanthemum crest and what appeared to be a green-leather coin purse fitted with silver hardware. When he saw this, Hachi’s eyes faintly glimmered.

Hachi spread these three items out on the tatami mats and first opened the large red wooden box. This was filled with brass tools of various shapes. This was a set of geometric tools kept in a mahogany box. Then he opened the silver container bearing the chrysanthemum crest. This was a cigarette case. It had been bestowed upon Master Arakawa by a certain prince, owing to His Highness having received care during his time at Saint-Cyr. Finally, Hachi opened the leather container that appeared to be a coin purse. From the moment he first picked it up, he had known only that something clinked inside and that it was heavy. Hachi, though he didn’t understand what it was, had pinned his hopes on this.

What Hachi had opened was undoubtedly a coin purse. Crafted from green leather into a square shape, not only its edges and hinges but also the scale-patterned ornaments at each corner—even the initial 'A' at its center—were all silver. This was something Arakawa had purchased in Paris during his early days in France, when everything still felt novel. The opening mechanism required twisting a small silver knob set crosswise. Hachi twisted open this knob with his gnarled, clumsy fingers. The interior folded like pleats into multiple storage compartments. In each compartment lay two or three coins. These coins varied in size and type—mostly silver pieces. Yet none appeared to be the familiar fifty-sen, twenty-sen, or ten-sen denominations. What most seized Hachi's attention were the slightly larger coins gleaming golden-bright. Seeing these, he felt simply taking them would suffice. With those same clumsy fingers, he methodically extracted every item from the coin purse and deposited them into his workman's pouch.

With this, Hachi felt a sense of relief that his task was completed. Now then, he thought to make his exit, but his eye caught the cup of cognac diluted with hot water that still remained undrunk. There was still unfinished business. There, he took up the cup and gulped down another mouthful. This time, it wasn't good. It seemed to him that the sharp, biting taste from when he first drank it had been better. Hachi poured cognac from the bottle into the small cup there and downed it straight. This time, the sensation that seeped all the way to his stomach felt indescribably good.

At this moment, the nerves that had been tensed during his earlier inspection of the drawers slackened all at once, leaving Hachi feeling terribly sluggish throughout his body. There, he planted his left hand on the tatami. The snoring from the neighboring room that had constantly occupied his awareness gradually seemed to grow more distant. He planted his left elbow. His eyelids grew heavy. Hachi forced his closing eyes open both from the thought that he mustn't sleep and from being stung by mosquitoes. His eyelids grew heavy again. He forced his eyes open again. In this manner of repeatedly opening and closing his eyes several times over, there were moments when he would genuinely doze off for a while, making the neighboring room's snoring completely inaudible. At such times, both the imminent threat of his own snoring escaping his throat and the vicious mosquito stings would startle him into reopening his eyes.

In something written by Anatole France, there was a story about a boatman who survived a shipwreck, climbed onto a whale with its back exposed to the sea, and began gambling atop the whale’s back. Hachi’s dozing might have rivaled even that gambling conducted on a whale’s back.

Hachi had been dozing off and on like this for thirty minutes. During this time, the clock struck three, though he remained unaware of it. A brief doze can surprisingly restore one's spirits when taken sparingly. When something suddenly startled him awake, his drowsiness had vanished completely. The disturbance likely came from one of the soldiers sleeping next door—perhaps a sleep-mumbled word or restless turn of body. Opening his eyes revealed the truth: he'd fallen asleep without realizing it and entered a dreamscape mid-slumber. In this dream-state lingered Kuma—that troublesome handyman he'd always clashed with—harassing him relentlessly. He couldn't fathom why their paths crossed here of all places... Ah! Now he remembered! They'd been arguing about those stolen gold and silver coins! Exactly! Kuma kept badgering him about unpaid train fare until finally—as always—he'd thrust his hand into his workman's pouch expecting copper coins... only to pull out that accursed golden disk instead! The shock jolted through him anew even now. Kuma's eyes gleamed unnaturally as they locked onto his face: "Fancy stuff you've got there!" Panic-stricken and grasping for excuses—just as complete helplessness set in—something yanked him back to reality. Hachi instinctively shoved his hand into his pouch before full consciousness returned. Both workman's coat and pouch felt thoroughly dry now. The coins remained safely inside.

Reaching in haphazardly and pulling out one at random, he found himself holding that shining gold coin from earlier. Its size matched a one-sen copper piece. Hachi broke into an involuntary grin.

Hachi's mind had cleared, and when he looked outside, the darkness had begun to lift slightly. The rain seemed to have stopped unnoticed. Hachi stood up. His head no longer swayed. Suddenly fear surged through him, and he wished he could flee even if it meant sprouting wings. With his spirit extinguished and leaving behind the lamp flickering toward extinction, Hachi slipped through the gap in the shutters.

Dawn's cold air struck his face. The raindrops clinging to spiderwebs in the trifoliate orange hedge still glistened like pearls. A low mist drifted through the thicket. Hachi shuddered. Though he felt the urge to urinate, thinking this was no time for that, he circled around to the front gate along the path he'd taken when entering. The geta he'd removed and left there the previous night remained just as they were. He briefly considered whether to put them on or carry them, then slipped them onto his feet. In the stable, a horse's hooves clattered. He peeked into the caretaker's quarters but found Taikichi absent. There being a box for discarding horse manure, Hachi relieved himself into it. Not far off came sounds of people talking while pulling a cart past. They must be heading to market or such.

Hachi kept watch on the outside traffic for a while, but there was no one passing by this mansion. He placed his hand on the side gate. At that moment, the side gate was abruptly opened from outside, and a man entered. Hachi and the man came face to face, and for that first moment, they stared at each other in silent astonishment. The man who had entered was the caretaker; he had secretly gone to Shinjuku and tiptoed back from two or three blocks away. The caretaker was the first to speak. “Who the hell are you?”

It was a quiet voice. Hachi, seeing the caretaker’s lax manner, tried to slip past him and get outside through the side gate. The caretaker's hand almost unconsciously threw the umbrella he had been holding and seized Hachi's arm. “Thief!” This time, it was a loud voice. The two men grappled. Since his body had been ruined by alcohol, he couldn’t muster much strength. Moreover, Caretaker Taikichi—a fair-skinned man whose nose, cheekbones, and jaw formed four angular protrusions on his face—wasn’t particularly strong either. But even a dog becomes stronger when fighting in its master's residence. Taikichi pressed his back against the side gate and seized Hachi’s arms with both hands, refusing to let go. And he shouted loudly again.

“Master!” “Thief!” “A thief has entered!”

When Taikichi first shouted "Thief," Mrs. Arakawa—who had been lying in the four-and-a-half-mat room near the front entrance—heard it and quietly went to inform her husband. The master got up and surveyed his surroundings, but instead of taking the military sword at his side, he picked up the wooden sword he used for exercise practice and came out to the entrance. Although both guests were still in their yukata, they each took their military swords and followed their host. The three men emerged at the entrance precisely when Taikichi shouted for the second time.

Colonel Arakawa observed the two men grappling. The thief-like man held no weapons. Nor did he show any sign of resistance. Colonel Arakawa made a face devoid of tension and spoke. "That's enough. He's harmless—release him." Taikichi let go. Hachi remained crouched where he was. To Taikichi—who still stood idly pressing his back against the side gate—Arakawa said: "What did he take? Did he break into your quarters?"

“Yes, sir…” “Then you don’t know? How did you catch him?” Taikichi was thoroughly flustered. “Yes, sir... Well, you see... When I was coming in from outside, this guy here was trying to get out—we collided.”

“What?” “You went to Shinjuku again?” “You disgraceful wretch.” “So you don’t even know whether that man took anything?” At this moment, Mrs. Arakawa came out and said to the master:

“Um, I just checked, but the Western coins that were in your desk drawer are missing.” “As for anything else, it appears nothing else has gone missing.” “I see.” The master, with an expression that seemed to simmer with suppressed amusement, said to Hachi as follows.

“Hey... Did you take the coins that were in the desk drawer?”

Once Hachi had resigned himself to being unable to escape, he became remarkably composed. He had not the slightest intention of hiding the coins stuffed in his belly band. Moreover, Arakawa’s large, square face—with its somehow composed air—had appealed to Hachi from the very first moment he saw it, and one could even say that part of why he had followed him afterward and broken in to steal was precisely because he had taken a liking to the master. Now, seeing how he sternly scolded the caretaker for his nighttime escapade yet when questioning him about the stolen items—for reasons unknown—seemed to soften his demeanor, Hachi found himself liking the master even more. With that, he abruptly thrust his right hand into his belly band, grabbed a handful of seven or eight coins, placed them on the ground, looked at the master’s face, and spoke as follows.

“Master. I’m sorry.” Hachi’s face had a large scar stretching from the outer corner of his right eye, making him remarkably ugly. Moreover, the dark, dull life he had experienced thus far had left indelible traces on his face. Yet there was not the slightest hint of malice in it. Watching this, Arakawa’s expression grew even more serene. “This must be your first time breaking into a house as a thief.” “Yes, sir...” “It’s my first time, sir.”

“That must be the case. Don’t go around thieving anymore.”

Yasuoka and Utsunomiya came out to look at the coins Hachi had produced and crouched without showing any caution toward him. Hachi was naturally not adopting any attitude that would require caution. Taikichi peered over Hachi's head in an awkward crouch.

Yasuoka said to the master as follows: “They’re all foreign coins.” “That’s right,” he replied. “I collected them when I went abroad, but things like pounds, twenty-franc coins, and twenty-mark coins—I exchanged them for cash when needed and used them up. That’s why only such worthless silver coins were left.” “Even so,” Yasuoka pressed, “there’s one yellow one mixed in here, isn’t there?”

Utsunomiya, who had been examining the coins in his hand, laughed. “Ha ha ha. It’s certainly yellow, but this is merely a Sou.”

The master also joined in and laughed.

“Ha ha ha. It’s definitely a *Sou*. “A hefty five *centimes*.” “Because they were too new and clean, I kept them.” “If you leave them unused, they stay clean forever, huh.” As an intelligence officer who read foreign newspapers, Utsunomiya added: “Even so, there’s talk that France plans to abolish copper coins and replace them with small *aluminium* ones, so before long *Sou* might become rare.”

Yasuoka was showing Utsunomiya the Spanish piaster and Portuguese tostão and asking questions.

Hachi had been listening without understanding any of it, but he grasped one thing—the yellow-glinting objects were not gold coins. And yet, even having brought out those items there, he couldn't help feeling a sense akin to disappointment. Taikichi said to the master, intending to demonstrate his resourcefulness.

"Master," he said. "Shall we hand this guy over to the constable?"

Hachi's eyes, looking at Taikichi, shone. Arakawa told the caretaker, “Don’t speak out of turn,” and to Hachi, “You just go on now—you shouldn’t be taking up thieving,” he said. Hachi silently bowed, glared sidelong at Taikichi, and went out through the side gate.

At a nearby house came the clattering sound of storm shutters being slid open, followed by a cough.

(September 1909)