Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part I

Koichi Aoyama sat on the seaside lawn of the park that had once been Hamarikyu and gazed vacantly at the steamships docked there. Behind him blazed a gigantic crimson sun. The surroundings rapidly took on the hues of dusk. Perhaps because it was a weekday. Except for the occasional young couple passing by, there was no one around at all. The 50,000 yen he had stolen from his uncle’s secret savings had been completely spent during ten days of travel. In his pocket remained only just enough money to cover tonight’s rent.

Traveling from hot spring to hot spring, he had tried everything a twenty-one-year-old like him could do, but now that he thought about it, none of it had been worth anything. That mountain, this valley, that woman, this woman—ah, how utterly pointless. A world not worth living in. He could never return to his uncle’s house. He hated the thought of returning to work. Just recalling the cluttered office desk at the bicycle wholesaler and the grimy ledgers lined up before it made him feel nauseous.

As he vacantly gazed at the darkening sea and sky, that illusion surfaced once more. A naked woman filling the sky—she resembled the Madonna in Western paintings, yet something differed. Even more beautiful and alluring. She glowed with carnal desire. The young man thought he wanted to be swallowed by that beautiful woman. He thought he wanted to be swallowed into her belly like being swallowed by a whale. To tell the truth, he had been haunted by this fantasy since boyhood. He had seen it often even in his dreams. During a middle school field trip, when he saw Nara’s Great Buddha, he felt so enraptured he nearly swooned. Kamakura’s Great Buddha had felt more visceral. He couldn’t forget the feeling of entering inside its body—so much so that he had gone to Kamakura three or four times just for that alone. He thought how wonderful it would have been if he could have lived inside it.

“I’m really pushed to the edge now. “Has the time come for me to commit suicide?”

Koichi Aoyama tried voicing something that had been lingering in the corner of his mind. For him, even during his hot spring tour, the thought that he would commit suicide once he spent all this money had always been present. That thought held a certain sweetness. He stared fixedly at the sea before him, but he couldn’t bring himself to jump in. He thought there was still some time before he reached the absolute brink. That brief postponement felt indescribably languid and pleasant, like when he heard the alarm clock and burrowed into the futon.

The darkness had grown so deep that the sea and sky were now indistinguishable. The lights atop the steamships' masts began to sparkle beautifully. "I'm all alone..." The loneliness was unbearable. That morning after arriving at Ueno Station, he had watched two movies in Asakusa and Yurakucho. The movie theater crowd had appeared like creatures from an entirely different world than his own. Afterward, he had walked Ginza Street from Kyobashi to Shimbashi three times back and forth. It was because he couldn't stay still. The people passing through there too had seemed like foreigners from another land.

It had grown a bit colder. Autumn had come. The season of fallen leaves was drawing near. Koichi stood up and began walking with a vacant expression. Aimlessly walking wherever his feet led him, he came upon the bustling Shimbashi intersection. After all, deep in his heart, he had been longing for the crowd.

Mingling with the sidewalk crowd while thinking he wanted to melt into and vanish within that mass of people, he walked toward Owari-cho. "If only I could walk like this forever," he wished. Yet he knew that when night grew deep, Ginza would become a wasteland where the streetcar rails stood out starkly. That prospect terrified him.

He walked while peering into shop windows like the crowd, but nothing registered in his eyes. Glittering items, with which he had no connection, were merely lined up meaninglessly.

Suddenly, he stopped. Something had seared itself sharply onto his retina. The face that had stopped before the bright shop window belonged to a large-framed, beautiful woman in Western dress who looked like a foreigner. Before he had committed any misdeeds, he had encountered her twice before in Ginza by chance. He clearly remembered it being exactly twice. She seemed to be from some wealthy household, but there was something unforgettable about her face and figure.

Koichi was following the woman almost unconsciously. He didn’t care if she noticed him. Such things no longer mattered. The woman had no companion. She ambled along carefreely at a sluggish pace. At the street corner stood a café as beautiful as a Western confection. After pausing as if wondering what to do and hesitating briefly, the woman entered the shop. The youth followed after her as if pulled by a string.

Since the woman had taken a seat at a secluded table with no customers nearby, Koichi also walked over in that direction and sat down at the table right next to hers.

The woman might have known all along that she was being followed. She suddenly looked directly at the youth’s face and smiled sweetly.

“We’ve met two or three times before.” “I remember quite well, don’t I?” Koichi started involuntarily. To have someone address me with such familiarity was something I had never anticipated. Moreover, realizing she had remembered me so clearly made a deep ringing resound in my ears. He became aware that his face had turned red.

“Won’t you come over here?” “There’s something different about your eyes today.” “Did something happen?” When she gestured toward the adjacent chair with her eyes, Koichi moved there. “So something’s happened, hasn’t it? “Your eyes—eyes of loneliness, eyes that say there’s no reason to live.” “What’s wrong?” “You lost your job, didn’t you?” Whenever the woman spoke or shifted position, a sweet fragrance drifted over. He felt it seeping from her beautiful gums and rose-colored lips.

“It’s something worse than losing my job.”

Koichi muttered in a low voice, like someone driven to desperation. “Something worse?” The woman laughed through pursed lips while artfully knitting her brows. To Koichi, that contrived frown appeared both terrifying and alluring.

“I’m a thief.” “I stole it.”

“Oh my—”

The woman put on a show of gasping, but in reality, she didn’t seem particularly surprised. “And I’ve gone and spent all that money.” “So you’re really desperate now, aren’t you?” “So that’s why you have those eyes, aren’t you?” “You’re about to commit suicide. Look, you can’t do it here. Come to my place.” “Let’s discuss this calmly.” “That’s fine, isn’t it?” “In your current state, you’re in the mood to follow me anywhere.” “Isn’t that right?”

"I don't want to meet other people." Koichi was thinking about the woman's husband, children, and household help. "Of course I understand that." "I don't have any family." "I'm all alone in the apartment."

The woman stood up, leaving about half of her drink behind, and headed toward the counter, so Koichi followed her.

The woman hailed a car in the alley and ordered, "Near the Kōjimachi Hitokuchizaka tram stop." Inside the car, they hardly spoke. Koichi was captivated by the soft warmth transmitted through the fabric of both their clothes.

It was an apartment like a luxury hotel. Passing by the superintendent’s room with its small window and climbing the stairs brought them to the woman’s room at the start of the second floor’s wide corridor. The woman took a key from her handbag, opened the door, and flipped the light switch. Plush armchairs, a sofa, and an ornate carpet with red patterns filled the parlor, while the adjacent room appeared to be a bedroom—the edge of an opulent bed just visible in the next room.

“I’ll just go wash my hands, so wait there.”

The woman disappeared into the bedroom. It appeared there was a bathroom in that direction as well.

When she emerged after making him wait about ten minutes, she had changed into something resembling a black velvet nightgown. And she was holding a small silver tray bearing a bottle of Western liquor and two glasses. She sat in the chair facing Koichi, deftly poured Western liquor into the glasses, and as she extended one toward him—suddenly,

“What about your parents?” she asked.

The velvet gown had a bright red silk lining. Whenever she moved, the lining flipped up, revealing her glossy upper arms and legs. Beneath the gown, she seemed to be wearing nothing at all; through the soft velvet, he could clearly make out the lines of her entire body. What a magnificent figure she has, he thought. Suddenly, the colossal nude statue—resembling that Madonna yet more sensual than the Madonna—flashed through Koichi’s mind.

“I don’t have parents.”

The strong liquor in the glass seared Koichi’s throat. He felt as if he had become the protagonist of a fairy tale. In fairy tales, or on movie screens, he wondered what gestures the young man corresponding to Koichi would make.

"I have no parents or siblings. I was raised by my uncle, but he's a bachelor himself. My aunt passed away long ago. This uncle and I just don't get along at all. I worked at a bicycle wholesaler's shop, but I hated that place so much it made me shudder. That's why I snapped." "So you stole the money?" "It was my uncle's secret savings. His entire fortune. He has a single machine for pasting paper bags and barely scrapes by. Money he pinched and saved—more precious than life itself to him. I tracked down the bankbook and seal he'd hidden away. There was about fifty thousand yen…"

“So you’ve used it all up. Did you enjoy it?” “I was always one step away from suicide. There was a sort of pleasure in that.” “How long has it been since you stole it?” “About ten days.” “You didn’t get caught, did you?” “My uncle might not have gone to the police. My uncle must have been so shocked when his secret savings were stolen that he fell ill. He really became ill, and might still be bedridden even now. But my uncle loves me as if I were his own child, so I get the feeling he’s enduring it without going to the police. He’s a pitiful man.”

“Do you feel sorry for him?” “He’s pitiful. But I never want to see him again. I hate him so much it makes me shudder.” “You’re quite the odd one. The closer someone is, the more you hate them. …What about friends?” “I don’t have any. Everyone’s a different sort of person from me. There’s not a single person who understands how I feel. Mrs., you couldn’t possibly understand my feelings either.” “Oh, ‘Mrs.’? Do I look like a married woman to you?”

“Then what are you?” “A woman alone, just like you.” “I haven’t told you my name yet.” “I’m Sumie Aikawa.” “I live as I please with money inherited from my parents.” “I’ll be your friend.” “It’s too sad seeing you so all alone.”

The woman stood up and moved to the sofa where Koichi was sitting. At that moment, the front of her gown—its belt unfastened—fluttered open to her chest, offering a fleeting glimpse of her peach-toned body. As expected, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. That glance struck Koichi like electricity. He felt as though every hair on his body stood on end. He felt the woman's hands embracing his shoulders. Koichi pressed his hands against his face and remained silent for a long time. Before long, his shoulders trembled strangely, and from between his hands escaped a voice like a girl’s laughter. And then, from between his fingers, something glittering began to seep out.

The woman silently watched it. She had let him do as he pleased. Koichi finally stopped crying and raised his tear-streaked face. And then, in a low, nasal voice, he said bashfully: "Why do you think I cried? ………… It's because I love you."

He was trembling violently from passion.

“That’s enough now.” “Don’t cry.” “I understand your feelings perfectly.” “I like you too.” “Your tear-streaked face looks completely different, you know.” “You’re beautiful.” “Do you know how beautiful you are?…… I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

The woman was toying with Koichi’s hair.

(The following seven pages of 200-character manuscript paper are missing.)

She could tell by the look in his eyes.

“Exactly nine o’clock sharp.” “There’s a reason.” “Don’t forget.”

After seeing him out to the door, she whispered it again near his ear.

II

Keisuke Miyagi ceremoniously saw off Managing Director Minagawa of Rokuroku Shokai after concluding their important discussion, then crushed his half-smoked cigar in the ashtray and clapped his hands together twice as if dusting them off. He then stood before the mirror on the hat rack, adjusted his tie slightly, slipped on a mouse-gray overcoat, pressed down his soft hat carefully with both hands, returned to his desk, retrieved a large leather briefcase from the bottom drawer as though handling something precious, and tucked it under his arm.

When he opened the president’s office door and stepped out, the employees were still at work. Many remained glued to their desks, though one man who had just returned from outside stood pulling documents from his briefcase to review them. Others lingered chatting while exhaling thick plumes of cigarette smoke. The president himself made his way through them with a smile, heading toward the exit. He had no particular instructions left for the staff. Miyagi Trading Company maintained its upward trajectory through successful dealings with America’s Scott Trading Company.

One of the employees who had been chatting approached, following the president.

“President, where are you off to today? "The other day, Aiko-san was pretty resentful, you know." "You should visit her once in a while…"

“Now, now—mind how you speak to the President. Keep those thoughts to yourself.” Though both men kept their voices low, they showed no particular concern about being overheard. That the President maintained three separate mistress residences was common knowledge within the company—indeed, it had become something of an open secret beyond its walls too. President Miyagi performed the act of reprimanding his employee’s flattery, though not a trace of anger showed on his face. Capable enough in business dealings yet equally known as a womanizer and pushover, he remained to his staff an approachable president who demanded little formality.

When he descended the stone steps of the building, the driver had opened the Lincoln’s door and was waiting.

“Kawada-cho.” It was his nearby villa.

A little past five o'clock, the car stopped at a crossroads in Kawada-cho. “You may return. “As usual, you don’t need to come pick me up in the morning.” President Miyagi had a habit of deliberately having the car stop one block short of his villa. After confirming the car had driven away, he tucked the familiar briefcase under his arm and set off in the direction opposite to his villa. After passing about four street corners and emerging onto the main avenue, he hailed a passing small automobile and commanded, “Ichigaya Station.”

By the time he alighted at Ichigaya Station, his soft hat had been replaced with a hunting cap without him noticing. He entered the station restroom as he was, removed his overcoat, folded it compactly, and placed it inside the briefcase. The folded soft hat was also inside there. Then he bought a ticket to a nearby station, exited through a different entrance without boarding the train, and this time hailed a medium-sized taxi.

When he next emerged from the restroom at Suidobashi Station, his trousers had changed to old beige gabardine with lost creases, and his shoes had transformed into an oddly flashy style.

This time, he didn’t take a car, walked all the way to Kanda, entered a movie theater, and changed his jacket in the restroom there. He took off his shirt and put on a thick brown horizontally striped jacket. Then, he took out something like a large compact and applied some makeup.

And by the time he emerged onto the street through a different exit of the movie theater, the president of Miyagi Trading Company had completely transformed into Boss Sonoda. He deliberately mussed his hair into an unkempt mess, and even the way he wore his hunting cap perfectly captured the persona. A modest fake mustache, subtle shadows around the eyes, lips darkened to a sinister hue—not a single trace remained on that face to remind one of Keisuke Miyagi.

He hailed another small taxi and headed to Kanda Station. After depositing the briefcase at the temporary storage there, he hurried to the nearby drinking alley. Having spent over an hour on his elaborate disguise, the area had already grown pitch dark.

Entering one of the drinking alley’s establishments—the Blue Angel—with its row of tavern eaves, he found the place still devoid of customers and completely empty. The male server at the counter greeted him with a “Welcome.” Miyagi gave a slight nod in acknowledgment and headed up the back stairs to the second floor. The second floor was reserved for the owner’s residence; customers were not permitted upstairs.

The second floor had two rooms: one a six-tatami matted space; the other a four-and-a-half-tatami area with a bed, separated by a blood-colored curtain hanging heavily between them. The six-tatami room contained an old sofa whose springs twanged and jabbed at one’s backside when sat upon; two rattan chairs; a grimy round table; and a dim electric lamp crowned with an oversized pink shade. When Miyagi settled into the rattan chair, Master Takashi—who had been occupied behind the curtain—peered out in his jumper.

“You’re early today.” “You must’ve been eager.” “Yeah, I was supposed to come by seven.” “I’m hungry.” “No weird stuff.” “The usual sandwich will do.” “And Scotch.” “Hurry up.” Master responded “Righto” and went creaking down the stairs, but soon returned with a silver-plated tray bearing a plate of sandwiches, a whiskey bottle, and two neatly arranged glasses.

“Here, have a drink.”

Miyagi followed Master’s lead, downed about half his glass in one gulp, then picked up a sandwich. It was a vulgar way of eating, his lips smacking noisily. A remarkably meticulous performance. “Hey, Boss Sonoda… I’m in a bit of a tight spot again. Please, do me this favor.” “Hmph, again? You’ve been coming here quite frequently lately.”

“You use this place pretty often too, don’t you, Boss?” “Yeah, got it. There—that’s all for today.”

Miyagi, who was called Sonoda, casually pulled out a wad of bills from his trouser pocket and handed it to Master Takashi. “When you’re done with your business, take that out—the usual toy.” The master silently entered the bedroom, opened the closet, and took out a small automatic pistol.

“Are you using it again today?” “We don’t kill people here. Just putting on a little show. The rounds are properly chambered though.”

Around the time the two of them drank half the whiskey bottle, a signal came from below, and the guest they'd been expecting arrived. Footsteps ascended the stairs timidly. Eventually, a woman around thirty years old appeared—dressed in Western-style clothing with a somewhat charming demeanor.

“Now, please, this way.” Takashi suppressed his expression and solemnly guided the woman to sit on the sofa. Sonoda didn’t so much as glance her way as he nursed his glass with small sips. “Mr. Kawai told me to come here… So this Mr. Sonoda person…” “It’s me.”

Sonoda turned around and stared intently at the woman’s face. “So you’re saying you want me to let this one slide, huh?” “Yes – if I meet Mr. Sonoda, I was told you would forgive me.”

The woman spoke with every ounce of her courage. She must have been burdened by some profoundly shameful secret.

“And what’s the price for looking the other way?” “I can’t freely access funds… This is all I could gather.” Sonoda didn’t so much as glance at the bills she hesitantly extended.

“Money won’t do.”

“Then what should I offer…”

When Sonoda blinked, Master Takashi stood up and left the room. The door shut tight behind him. Then came the creak of stairs. Sonoda kept stealing furtive glances at the woman's face while playing with the pistol. He clicked open the magazine and ostentatiously displayed the live rounds inside. "If I tell your husband you've taken a lover, all hell will break loose." "Your lover's got a wife too." "So there's nothing you can do." "That's your weak spot." "You'll have to obey my every word." "The evidence is airtight." "Detective Kawai works for me." "Expose this and you're finished." "Got it?"

The woman turned deathly pale and trembled. Even if she regretted coming, there was no going back now. "You there, know about Jekyll and Hyde?" "I'm actually a decent man at heart, but when I turn into Hyde, I can't help myself." "Murder doesn't faze me." "Dr. Jekyll needed medicine, but I don't." "A little magic lets me become Hyde whenever I want." "A Hyde starving for blood." "A Hyde without mercy or pity."

Sonoda bared his gums and bellowed a raucous laugh. The thought of how menacing his face must appear at that moment filled him with delight beyond endurance. “A cruel twist of fate—but when I see a beauty like you turn ghostly pale, trembling like a leaf while glaring at me with such devilish hatred, I simply can’t help myself.”

“Then what should I do?”

In her sharply raised eyes, tears swelled, looking about to spill at any moment. Her eyes burned with hatred. The frail woman’s anger—this was Sonoda’s supreme delight. For cats, the tastiest mice are those that struggle. “Hyde here delights in making people do what they hate most and watching them squirm.” Sonoda—as if joking—aimed the pistol’s muzzle at the woman’s chest while contorting his face into a vicious expression, his voice emerging low and forceful.

“Take off your clothes. “I want to see you with nothing on.” Sonoda kept his pistol trained on her as he waited—waiting to see how this respectable wife bound by propriety would squirm in confusion, how she would suffer through waves of shame and discomfort while removing her garments piece by piece, how she would twist herself in disgrace until her very flesh seemed contorted.

III

Koichi Aoyama visited Sumie Aikawa’s luxurious apartment at exactly nine o’clock on the appointed night. As instructed, he offered no greeting at the entrance, climbed the stairs, and returned to the familiar room.

He went to the barber, took a bath, and transformed into a refreshingly new state. I couldn’t fathom why such tremendous fortune had come to a young man like me. I was about to burst with anticipation.

The door might not be locked. First he knocked lightly, then more forcefully. There was no reply. An oppressive silence filled the air. He turned the knob and pushed, but it wouldn’t open. Locked after all. She couldn’t possibly be gone. Maybe she was holding her breath inside—playing along with their secret rendezvous by making him use the duplicate key. He took out the key and opened the door. Expecting her to be hiding by the wall beside it, he eased it open inch by inch. No sign of movement. “Ms. Sumie.” He whispered her name. Stillness answered.

He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“Ms. Sumie, it’s me.”

This time, he raised his voice a little. (Unfinished)